Chapter 2 - THE MAN WHO CALLED HIMSELF THEIR FATHER
The first thing I noticed was that neither little girl wanted to get out of the trash can.
The second was the dark purple bruise circling the wrist of the child in pink.
My name is Margaret Ellis. I was sixty-three years old, a retired elementary school librarian, a widow, and someone who had spent thirty years believing there was no problem a cup of tea and a patient conversation couldn't begin to solve.
But standing on my driveway that Tuesday morning, looking into the terrified faces of two little girls, I knew I was facing something far beyond a neighborhood misunderstanding.
"Sweetheart," I whispered, crouching beside the bin, "who are you hiding from?"
The girl in yellow pressed one finger against her lips.
Then she pointed toward the house next door.
"The bad daddy."
My stomach tightened.
"Is he your daddy?"
She shook her head.
Her sister immediately grabbed her arm.
"Don't tell," the girl in pink whispered.
I looked toward the neighboring house.
Every curtain was closed.
A black SUV sat in the driveway.
Nothing moved.
"Okay," I said gently. "You don't have to tell me anything right now. But we need to get you somewhere safe."
I lifted the smaller girl first.
She was frighteningly light.
Her arms locked around my neck with such desperation that I nearly lost my balance.
The other child climbed out with my help, then grabbed the hem of my cardigan.
I led them through my side gate and into my kitchen.
The moment I closed the door, both girls began crying.
Not loudly.
That was what frightened me most.
They cried without making much noise, as though someone had taught them that being heard was dangerous.
I settled them at my kitchen table and brought two glasses of water.
The girl in yellow drank hers immediately.
Her sister watched the back door.
"Can he see us?" she asked.
"No, honey."
"Can he hear us?"
"No."
"Promise?"
I hesitated.
Then I knelt beside her.
"I promise I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."
She studied my face.
After a moment, she nodded.
I asked their names.
The girl in yellow said hers was Lily.
Her sister was Lucy.
Both were three.
At least, that was what Lily told me.
When I offered them toast and sliced bananas, they ate so quickly that I had to remind them to slow down.
Lucy slipped half her toast into the pocket of her shorts.
"For later," she explained.
Something inside my chest cracked.
I had just reached for my phone when Lily grabbed my wrist.
"Don't call him."
"I'm not calling him, sweetheart."
"Don't call the police either."
I froze.
"Why not?"
Lily lowered her voice.
"Because the police man came before."
My heart began beating harder.
"What happened when he came?"
She looked at Lucy.
Lucy shook her head violently.
Then Lily whispered, "He gave us back."
Before I could ask another question, a vehicle door slammed outside.
Both children ducked beneath the kitchen table.
I crossed to the front window.
The tall man from next door stood in my driveway.
He was wearing a charcoal-gray jacket, dark jeans, and an expression that made the morning suddenly feel much colder.
He looked at my trash can.
Then at my house.
Then he walked directly toward my front door.
Three heavy knocks shook the frame.
"Mrs. Ellis?"
I had never told him my name.
"Mrs. Ellis, I know you're home."
I glanced toward the kitchen.
Lily had both arms wrapped around her sister.
I picked up my phone, opened the emergency dial screen, and slipped it into my cardigan pocket.
Then I approached the door.
"Can I help you?"
The man smiled through the glass.
It was an ordinary smile.
That made it worse.
"Morning. I'm Daniel Mercer. Your new neighbor."
"Good morning."
"Sorry to bother you. My daughters wandered off."
I said nothing.
He continued.
"Twins. Three years old. One in yellow, one in pink. Have you seen them?"
I kept my hand on the lock.
"Why would they be over here?"
His smile faded slightly.
"They like exploring."
"At their age?"
"Kids are kids."
He leaned closer.
"Mrs. Ellis, I really need to find them."
I could feel my phone against my hip.
"Have you called the police?"
His jaw tightened.
"That won't be necessary."
"Two missing toddlers sounds like an emergency."
"They're not missing."
The words came too quickly.
He caught himself.
"I mean, they're probably nearby."
Behind me, the kitchen floor creaked.
Daniel's eyes moved past my shoulder.
"Is someone in there?"
"My television."
He stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he would force his way inside.
Then he smiled again.
"Well, if you happen to see them, please bring them home."
He reached into his pocket and produced a business card.
I didn't take it.
He slipped it through the mail slot.
"Here's my number."
Then he walked away.
I waited until his SUV pulled out of the driveway.
Only then did I turn around.
Lily stood at the kitchen doorway.
Her face had gone white.
"Is he gone?"
"For now."
She hurried toward me.
And then she said something that made my blood run cold.
"That's not our daddy."
I crouched in front of her.
"Then who is he?"
Her lower lip trembled.
"He took us from Mommy."
Lucy began crying again.
I wrapped my arms around them both.
"Where is your mommy?"
Lily looked toward the house next door.
Then she whispered, "In the room under the stairs."
I stared at her.
"What room?"
"The one where he keeps her when she cries."
Before I could respond, my phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar number appeared on the screen.
A text message.
I KNOW THE GIRLS ARE INSIDE YOUR HOUSE. YOU HAVE FIVE MINUTES TO RETURN THEM.
And beneath it was a photograph.
May you like
Taken through my kitchen window.
Of me holding both children.
