Chapter 8 - RACHEL’S SECRET PHONE
Rachel had a second phone.
Of course she did.
Police found it buried in a flowerpot behind our garage.
The prepaid phone contained messages between Rachel and Caleb.
Not many.
Enough.
Caleb had apparently found Rachel’s number written on a grocery receipt.
He had texted her from Eric’s spare phone.
HELP ME.
HE LOCKED ME IN.
Rachel replied:
I’M TRYING.
Caleb:
CALL POLICE.
Rachel:
I CAN’T.
Caleb:
WHY?
Rachel never answered.
Three days later:
PLEASE.
Then nothing.
I read the printed transcripts until the words blurred.
“What was she trying to do?”
Ortiz sat across from me.
“We think she planned to help Caleb leave without involving police.”
“Why?”
“Because she was afraid her affair with Eric would come out.”
There it was.
The reason.
Ugly.
Small.
Cowardly.
A child was trapped, and my wife was worried about embarrassment.
“What happened to Caleb?”
“We think Rachel gave him money.”
“Think?”
“We found an ATM withdrawal.”
“How much?”
“Three hundred dollars.”
“When?”
“The same night Eric claims Caleb escaped.”
“So Rachel helped him?”
“Possibly.”
Hope hit me so fast it hurt.
“You think he got away?”
“Maybe.”
Then Ortiz leaned forward.
“But we found another message.”
“To who?”
“Eric.”
My stomach tightened.
Rachel had texted Eric:
HE’S GONE.
Eric:
WHERE?
Rachel:
I DON’T KNOW.
Eric:
YOU BETTER FIND HIM BEFORE HE TALKS.
Rachel:
DON’T COME HERE. MARK GETS BACK NEXT WEEK.
That last sentence.
My name.
In their messages.
They had planned around me.
Around my schedule.
Around my trust.
Then police traced Caleb’s prepaid phone signal.
The last known location wasn’t the river.
It was a bus station.
Security footage showed a skinny boy in a hooded sweatshirt buying a ticket with cash.
Destination: St. Louis.
Alive.
Caleb had escaped.
I actually sat down on the floor when Ortiz told me.
Alive.
They issued alerts.
Within twenty-four hours, a youth shelter in St. Louis called.
A boy matching Caleb’s description had stayed there months earlier.
He used the name “Ben.”
He left after three nights.
But he had told a counselor something.
“My uncle says he’ll find me.”
That night, Lily sat beside me eating cereal.
She had started eating more.
Slowly.
Painfully slowly.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Is the quiet boy okay?”
I looked at her.
“We think he got away.”
She smiled for the first time in days.
A tiny smile.
“I knew he would.”
“How?”
“He was brave.”
I swallowed.
“So were you.”
She shook her head.
“I cried.”
I took her hand.
“Brave people cry.”
She considered that.
Then said, “Mom cried too.”
I froze.
“When?”
“The night the quiet boy left.”
“Why?”
Lily shrugged.
“She said Eric would kill her.”
My heart stopped.
“Lily.”
She looked at me.
“Did Mommy help Caleb escape?”
Before she could answer, someone knocked on the front door.
Sam opened it.
A police officer stood outside.
May you like
And behind him was a teenage-looking boy with hollow eyes.
Caleb.
