The officer looked at me carefully.
“Are you Linda?”
I nodded because my throat wouldn’t cooperate.
He held out the folded note.
“This is for you.”
My hands went cold.
I knew the handwriting immediately.
Grant.
I unfolded the note right there under the porch light.
It said:
Mom, don’t call anyone.
Don’t ask questions.
Just listen to him and get in the car.
I stared at those words.
For a second, I couldn’t breathe.
Grant was my wild one.
The one I worried about whenever my phone rang late at night.
The one who had always managed to get himself into trouble.
I looked at the officer.
“What happened?”
He kept his expression flat.
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me.”
My heart started pounding.
“Is my son alive?”
His eyes flicked away for half a second.
That tiny movement terrified me more than anything he could have said.
“Please,” I whispered. “Is Grant alive?”
He swallowed.
“He’ll explain everything.”
“Where?”
“I can’t discuss details here.”
“Then tell me one thing.”
He waited.
“Is my son alive?”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
The relief lasted only a second.
“Then why am I getting into a police car?”
He didn’t answer.
Instead, he said quietly, “Please come with me.”
I looked back into my house.
The table was still set.
The food was waiting.
The candles were dying.
“My children were supposed to be here,” I whispered.
The officer hesitated.
“I’m sorry.”
I should have called Mark.
I should have called Sarah.
I should have called every one of my children.
Instead, I grabbed my cardigan, locked the door out of habit, and walked toward the cruiser.
The back seat smelled like disinfectant and old fear.
The door shut with a heavy click.
My stomach dropped.
The officer got into the front seat and started driving.
“Just tell me if my son is okay,” I said.
“Where are we going?”
“Not far.”
“Not far where?”
He glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
“Someplace safe.”
“Safe from what?”
My voice rose.
“Did Grant get hurt?”
He said nothing.
“Did he do something?”
“Ma’am, please.”
“Don’t ‘please’ me!”
I leaned forward.
“Just tell me if my son is okay!”
He paused.
“You’ll have answers soon. I promise.”
Then my phone buzzed.
A text from Mark.
I opened it.
Mom, please don’t freak out. Just trust us.
I stared at the message.
Trust us.
After four hours of silence.
I typed back:
WHERE ARE YOU?
The message was delivered.
But it wasn’t read.
I looked at the officer.
“Are they in danger?”
He didn’t answer.
“You know my kid.”
Silence.
Then, quietly, he said:
“Yes, ma’am.”
My heart lurched.
“Are they in danger?”
“No.”
“Then why am I in a police car?”
He exhaled.
“Just hold on.”
Then I looked through the window.
And suddenly, I recognized where we were going.
