Chapter 3 - The detectives drew their weapons.“Stay behind me,” one ordered.
We listened.
Footsteps moved across the second floor.
Slow.
Heavy.
Deliberate.
Someone was inside my house.
One detective ran upstairs.
The other pushed Maya and me into the kitchen.
“Do not move.”
A crash came from above.
Then another.
“What was that?” I whispered.
The detective didn't answer.
A few seconds later, he shouted:
“Clear!”
We ran upstairs.
Every bedroom was empty.
Except Maya's.
Her window was open.
The curtains moved in the cold air.
The window screen had been cut.
On Maya's desk sat a small black envelope.
The detective opened it carefully.
Inside was a USB drive.
Nothing else.
Maya stared at it.
“I've seen that before.”
“Where?”
“Sophie's backpack.”
The detective looked at me.
“What was on it?”
“I don't know.”
“You never opened it?”
Maya shook her head.
“Sophie told me not to.”
“Why?”
“Because she said it could get us killed.”
I wanted to believe this was teenage paranoia.
But someone had just entered our house.
Someone had photographed my daughter while she slept.
Someone had left us a message.
And now there was a USB drive in her bedroom.
The detective inserted it into a department laptop.
One folder appeared.
PROJECT 10:43
Inside were nineteen video files.
The detective opened the first.
Static.
Then a hallway.
The school hallway.
The timestamp read:
10:43 p.m.
A figure walked into view.
A man.
He was wearing a dark jacket and baseball cap.
He looked around.
Then someone stepped into the frame.
Sophie.
She was crying.
The man grabbed her arm.
The video ended.
The room went silent.
Maya whispered:
“That's him.”
“Do you recognize his face?”
“No.”
“But you recognize the jacket?”
Maya nodded.
“He wore it before.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
Then said:
“Coach Daniel.”
My stomach dropped.
Daniel Reed was Maya's cheerleading coach.
Everyone loved him.
He had coached the team for six years.
He had a wife.
Two children.
And a spotless reputation.
The detective immediately called the school.
Within minutes, we learned Coach Reed had not reported for work.
He had also turned off his phone.
The second video was opened.
It showed the school parking lot.
Sophie walked toward a black SUV.
Then stopped.
Someone inside rolled down the window.
Sophie leaned closer.
Suddenly she stepped backward.
She looked terrified.
Then she ran.
The SUV followed her.
The third video was different.
It showed Maya.
She was standing in the gym hallway.
Alone.
Then Sophie appeared.
They argued.
Maya pointed toward something behind them.
The video ended.
I turned toward my daughter.
“What were you arguing about?”
Maya looked like she wanted to disappear.
“Sophie found something.”
“What?”
“Money.”
The detective frowned.
“Money?”
“She found out the cheerleading booster account was missing thousands of dollars.”
My mouth went dry.
“So?”
“She thought someone was stealing it.”
“Who?”
“She didn't know.”
“But she suspected Coach Reed.”
Maya nodded.
“She said Coach Reed wasn't the only one.”
The fourth video played.
It showed Sophie entering an office.
She opened a drawer.
Pulled out a file.
Then looked directly at the camera.
As though she knew she was being watched.
She whispered:
“If anything happens to me, find the person who signed the second account.”
The file disappeared.
The video ended.
The detective paused it.
“Who's the person?”
Maya shook her head.
“Sophie never told me.”
Then she suddenly remembered something.
“Yes.”
Everyone turned toward her.
“She did tell me one thing.”
“What?”
“She said the person wasn't a teacher.”
The detective asked, “Then who?”
Maya looked at me.
Her voice became barely audible.
“Someone important.”
“Important how?”
“He had keys to everything.”
Before anyone could respond, the front door downstairs slammed.
The detectives rushed down.
I followed.
No one was there.
But on the floor sat a white envelope.
My name was written across it.
My hands shook as I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
It showed Sophie.
But this time she wasn't behind the gym.
She was inside a car.
And beside her sat someone whose face had been cut out of the photograph.
On the back were seven words:
SHE WASN'T THE ONLY GIRL THEY SILENCED.
I looked at Maya.
She suddenly began crying.
“Mom,” she whispered.
“What?”
“There was another girl.”
“Who?”
May you like
Maya swallowed.
“She disappeared last year.”
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