“I told you not to follow me.”
“I didn’t.”
He held out his phone.
“Rebecca received this.”
On the screen was a photograph.
Emily sat in a chair inside a warehouse.
She didn’t appear injured.
But beside her stood an older man.
Thomas Holloway.
And beside Thomas—
my son Ryan.
I looked at Michael.
“You said Ryan didn’t know.”
“He didn’t.”
In the photograph, Ryan wasn’t restrained.
He stood beside Thomas willingly.
Below the picture was a message.
Bring Michael. Both children go home.
Michael whispered, “Oh God.”
Then my own phone rang.
Ryan.
I answered immediately.
“Mom?”
“Ryan?”
His voice shook.
“Don’t trust the picture.”
“Where are you?”
“I can’t explain.”
“Is Emily there?”
“Yes.”
“What is happening?”
A sound came from behind him.
Ryan rushed his words.
“Dad is alive, isn’t he?”
I looked at Michael.
“Yes.”
Silence.
Then my son laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
