Chapter 7: Perrin Comes Downstairs
The officers were thorough and quiet.
They moved through the house with the particular efficiency of people who had seen worse and were not going to show it.
One of them went to the basement.
The other stayed with Nora and took her statement in careful, unhurried sentences.
I stood in the hallway and listened to Nora's voice — steady now, steadier than I expected — and tried to hold onto something solid.
Mrs.
Hallett appeared at my elbow.
"The boy is asking," she said.
"I know."
"He won't come down on his own.
He's waiting for you to say it's safe."
I went upstairs.
Perrin was sitting on the edge of his bed in his pajamas, still holding the mug Mrs.
Hallett had given him, though it had long gone cold.
He looked up when I came in and his face did the same thing it always did — trying to read mine before committing to any expression of his own.
"Is she really there?" he said.
"Mom.
Is she really downstairs?"
"She's really there."
"Is she hurt?"
I sat down beside him.
"She's tired.
And she needs a doctor.
But she's going to be okay."
He looked at the mug.
"I knew she was there.
I knew it wasn't a dream."
"I know you did."
"Rhea said I was making things up." He said her name the way you say the name of something that frightened you.
Carefully.
From a distance.
"She said I had bad dreams because I missed Mom.
She said that's why I heard things."
"She was wrong."
"She lied."
"Yes."
He was quiet for a moment.
Then: "Is Rhea going to come back?"
"No."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
He set the mug on the nightstand.
He stood up.
He was nine years old and he stood up the way someone stands up when they have been waiting a very long time to do the next thing.
"Okay," he said.
"Take me to Mom."
We went downstairs together.
Nora saw him from the sofa before he saw her.
Her hand went to her mouth.
She made a sound that wasn't a word.
Perrin stopped in the doorway.
For a moment neither of them moved.
Then he crossed the room at a run and she caught him with both arms and they held on to each other without speaking, and the officer who had been taking notes looked down at his notebook and didn't write anything for a while.
I stood in the doorway.
Mrs.
Hallett appeared beside me, folded her arms, and looked at the sofa.
"Good," she said simply.
I couldn't speak.
So I nodded.
The second officer came up from the basement and touched my arm.
"Sir.
We're going to need you to come outside.
There are some questions about the individual at the front of the property."
Rhea was still on the garden wall.
She had not moved.
A third officer was standing a few feet away, and as I came down the path I heard her speaking — not frantically, not desperately, but in the same measured tone she had used in the basement.
Still trying to shape the story.
Still choosing her words.
"— a misunderstanding that got out of hand.
I never intended — "
"Ma'am," the officer said.
"I need you to stop talking until — "
"I want to explain.
I think if you understand the full context — "
"Rhea." I stopped in front of her.
She looked up at me.
"They found the cot," I said.
"They found the tray.
They found the lock on the outside of the basement door." I paused.
"Stop talking."
Her mouth closed.
The officer looked at me.
"Sir, we'll need a full statement.
And the phone with the recordings."
"Mrs.
Hallett has it.
She's inside."
He nodded and moved toward the house.
Rhea and I were briefly alone on the path.
"The forged records," she said quietly.
"I can tell them where they are.
I can make this easier."
"Tell the detective," I said.
May you like
"Not me."
I walked back inside and didn't look back.
