Morning came through the windows like an accusation. I was still on the living room floor. Sevyn slept beside me, curled into a ball, her hand still holding mine. My fever hadn't broken. My face was swollen where Cullen hit me. The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
I pushed myself up. My body screamed. Every muscle felt bruised from the inside out. I looked toward the kitchen. Cullen sat at the table, coffee cup in front of him. Melody stood by the counter. She was making breakfast. The smell of eggs turned my stomach.
"Where's Oakley?" My voice came out cracked. Raw.
Cullen didn't look at me. "Don't start."
"He hasn't come out." I gripped the arm of the couch. Pulled myself to standing. "He hasn't come out of the dryer."
Melody turned. Her face was soft with concern. She looked at Cullen, then back at me. "Maybe..." She paused. Bit her lip. "Maybe you put him somewhere last night? When you were confused?"
Cullen's head snapped up. He stared at Melody. Then at me. Something shifted behind his eyes.
"His room," he said. He stood. Moved toward the stairs. "I'll check his room."
I followed. My legs barely held me. I gripped the railing with both hands. Cullen took the stairs two at a time. He threw open Oakley's door. The bed was made. The floor was empty. Toys sat on the shelf exactly where they'd been yesterday.
Cullen went through the closet. Under the bed. He moved fast now. Frantic. He pushed past me, back down the stairs. I heard him in the garage. The yard. The basement.
Nothing.
When he came back inside, his face was white. His hands shook as he pulled out his phone.
"I'm calling the police," he said. His voice was tight. Controlled. "Oakley is missing."
Melody gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh my God."
I stepped forward. "He's in the—"
"Shut up." Cullen didn't look at me. He was already talking to the dispatcher. "My son is missing. Six years old. Blond hair. Blue shirt. I don't know how long he's been gone."
I sank onto the stairs. Pressed my fingertips against my collarbone. Held them there.
The police arrived in fifteen minutes. Two officers. A man and a woman. The woman had kind eyes. She crouched in front of me.
"Mrs. Turner? I'm Officer Reyes. Can you tell me when you last saw your son?"
I looked past her. At the hallway. At the laundry room door.
"He's in the dryer," I said.
Officer Reyes blinked. "I'm sorry?"
"The industrial dryer. In the laundry room." My voice was steady now. Flat. "Camden locked him inside yesterday. I tried to get him out. I couldn't open it. I passed out. He's still in there."
Officer Reyes looked at her partner. The male officer moved toward the laundry room. I heard his footsteps. Heard the door open. Heard him try the latch.
"It's jammed," he called out. "I can't get it open."
Officer Reyes stood. She touched her radio. "We need industrial cutting equipment. Now."
Cullen's face went gray. He looked at Melody. She shook her head slowly, eyes wide. "That's impossible," she whispered. "Camden would never—"
"Ma'am, I need you to step back." Officer Reyes moved between Melody and the hallway. "Everyone needs to step back."
More police arrived. Firefighters. Someone with a massive pair of industrial bolt cutters. They gathered around the dryer. I stood in the doorway. I couldn't look away. My fingertips pressed harder against my collarbone. The skin there would bruise.
The cutters bit into the latch. Metal screamed. Once. Twice. Three times.
The door swung open.
Oakley's body tumbled forward into the firefighter's arms. Small. Limp. His blue shirt was twisted around his torso. His face was—
I don't remember the sound I made. I remember Officer Reyes catching me. I remember my knees hitting the floor. I remember the way the room tilted and kept tilting, like the whole world had come loose from its axis.
Someone was screaming. High and thin and broken.
It might have been me.
Behind me, Cullen made a noise like he'd been punched. I heard him hit the wall. Heard him slide down it. Heard Melody crying, gasping, saying "No no no no no" over and over.
A paramedic knelt beside Oakley. Checked for a pulse. Looked up at the officers and shook his head once.
The room went silent.
Absolute.
Complete.
I pressed my fingertips against my collarbone and stared at my son's small, still body and felt something inside me crack clean through.
