Chapter 1 - The Locked Closet
I did not wait for the young officer to explain himself.
I dropped Rosie’s torn body onto the porch and shoved past the man with a strength I did not know I possessed.
The wooden frame of the front door was splintered and hanging by a single broken hinge.
The inside of my mother-in-law’s house smelled intensely of bleach and burnt copper.
I ran down the narrow hallway while the older officer yelled for me to stop and step outside.
I ignored him completely because I could still hear that tiny, hoarse voice crying out.
The sound was coming from the heavy oak door of the hallway coat closet.
The older officer grabbed my shoulder, but I twisted away and threw my weight against the closet door.
It was locked from the outside with a thick, heavy brass padlock.
"Get it open!" I screamed at the men in uniform.
The younger officer rushed forward with a heavy iron crowbar he had retrieved from his tactical belt.
He wedged the metal bar behind the padlock and threw his entire body weight into it.
The metal bracket snapped with a loud, metallic crack that echoed through the silent house.
I ripped the door open and dropped directly to my knees on the hardwood floor.
Mia was huddled in the darkest corner of the small space, her face streaked with tears and dirt.
She was clutching her yellow strawberry shirt tightly with her tiny, trembling hands.
I pulled her into my chest and buried my face in her hair, sobbing with a relief that physically hurt my ribs.
I checked her arms, her legs, and her head, frantically searching for any sign of injury.
She was perfectly unharmed, just terrified and shivering in the warm house.
"Mommy," she whispered into my neck, her voice shaking violently.
"I have you, baby," I promised, kissing her forehead over and over again. "Mommy is right here."
The younger officer gently placed a hand on my back and asked if my daughter was okay.
Before I could answer him, the older officer called out from the kitchen at the end of the hall.
His voice was entirely stripped of its professional calm.
"You both need to come see this immediately," the older officer commanded.
I picked Mia up, resting her heavy weight on my hip, and walked slowly toward the kitchen.
The bright afternoon sun was streaming through the kitchen window, highlighting a massive, dark red puddle spreading across the white linoleum floor.
There was enough blood to completely soak a large kitchen towel that had been carelessly discarded near the stove.
But Lorraine was nowhere to be found.
The younger officer pulled his service weapon and began clearing the adjacent laundry room.
I covered Mia’s eyes with my hand so she would not have to see the horrifying mess on the floor.
Then I noticed the smear of red dragged across the smooth stainless steel of the refrigerator door.
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Someone had dragged a bloody finger across the metal to write a single, terrifying sentence.
The message read, "Jackson owes us, and now we are collecting."
