Chapter 4 - THE ROOM ABOVE THE CEILINGThe school emptied in under five minutes.
Police surrounded the building.
The figure on the roof vanished behind the air-conditioning units.
Reyes grabbed my arm.
“You stay outside.”
“My students are still inside.”
“Not anymore.”
“Then Lily?”
He looked at me.
“She's with an officer.”
I watched Bear.
He was staring upward.
Every hair along his spine was raised.
A K9 unit arrived twenty minutes later.
The officers searched the roof.
Nothing.
No man.
No yellow cap.
No footprints.
Until a detective found a loose vent cover.
Behind it was a crawl space.
Inside the crawl space they found another camera.
It pointed downward.
Directly into Lily's classroom.
The camera had been there for weeks.
Maybe months.
The school was searched floor by floor.
Then the maintenance records revealed something strange.
A contractor had been entering after hours using a master key.
His name was Daniel Mercer.
I knew him.
Everyone at school knew him.
He had repaired the boiler last winter.
He had fixed the cafeteria freezer.
He had installed the new playground lights.
He smiled constantly.
He brought donuts.
He knew every teacher by first name.
He also knew exactly where Lily sat.
Reyes brought him in for questioning.
Mercer claimed he had no idea what they were talking about.
“I haven't been here since October.”
Reyes placed a photograph on the table.
“You're in the hall November 14.”
Mercer stared at it.
“That isn't me.”
“You're wearing the same jacket.”
“So do a thousand men.”
“Your van was found three blocks away.”
Mercer laughed nervously.
“I'm a maintenance worker. I have a van.”
Then Reyes put the yellow lunchbox on the table.
Mercer's face changed.
Only for half a second.
But I saw it.
So did Reyes.
“What is that?” Mercer asked.
“You tell me.”
Mercer leaned back.
“I don't know.”
Lily was in another room with Mrs. Holloway.
The police had told us to keep her away from the investigation.
But children notice everything.
Especially frightened children.
At 3:15 p.m., Lily disappeared.
Nobody saw her leave.
Her classroom door was locked.
The officer guarding the hall swore he had not moved.
Then Bear began barking.
We followed him down the corridor.
He stopped at the old library.
The door was closed.
Inside, a bookshelf stood crooked.
Bear scratched the carpet.
Mr. Davis pushed the shelf.
It moved.
Behind it was a narrow opening.
A passage.
It led downward.
Nobody breathed.
Reyes drew his weapon.
Police entered first.
The tunnel smelled like damp earth and bleach.
At the end was a small room.
A chair.
A table.
A laptop.
A child's drawing taped to the wall.
It was Lily's drawing.
She had drawn herself standing beside her father.
Except her father was crossed out in black ink.
Underneath was another drawing.
A dog.
Huge.
With a pink heart on its collar.
Lily gasped.
“That's Bear.”
I crouched.
“You drew him?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Who did?”
She pointed into the tunnel.
“The man.”
Reyes turned.
“Lily, have you ever been down here?”
“No.”
“Then how did he know about Bear?”
She looked at me.
“He didn't.”
“What?”
“He told me the dog would come.”
The room went silent.
Reyes stared.
“When?”
“Before.”
“Before what?”
She whispered:
“Before my dad died.”
I felt the air leave my lungs.
Lily's father had died two years earlier.
At least, that was what everyone believed.
Car accident.
Case closed.
Funeral.
Obituary.
Photographs.
A grieving child.
But now Lily was staring at the drawing of the dog.
And she was saying something that made no sense.
“My dad told me Bear would find me if the bad man came back.”
Reyes slowly lowered his flashlight.
“Lily…”
She pointed at the wall.
A second piece of paper was taped behind the chair.
On it was an old photograph.
A younger man standing beside a German Shepherd.
The dog's ear was torn.
A scar ran across its nose.
Reyes looked at Bear.
Then back at the photograph.
May you like
He whispered:
“That dog isn't a stray.”
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