Chapter 2 - A Room With a Lock
Kala’s apartment had a crooked bookshelf, a refrigerator that hummed too loudly, and a spare room barely large enough for a twin bed.
It was the safest place I had ever been.
Before we left the convention center, Professor Hart helped me contact the police department serving my neighborhood. An officer arranged to meet us at Kala’s apartment so I wouldn’t have to sit in a crowded lobby after the exam.
Nobody promised an immediate arrest.
Nobody called my evidence a guaranteed victory.
For once, the absence of a grand promise made me trust the people helping me.
Officer Denise Rowan arrived carrying a notebook rather than an attitude.
She asked whether I needed medical attention. She asked who had access to my location. Then she explained that I could pause the interview whenever I needed.
I told her about the garage.
Saying it aloud without someone interrupting felt strange.
I kept expecting a familiar objection.
You misunderstood.
You provoked her.
You always make everything difficult.
Officer Rowan simply asked questions.
Where had Tamson been standing? Which hand had she grabbed? What had happened immediately afterward?
When I described my father telling the doctor I had tripped, my voice caught.
“I didn’t correct him.”
“Were you afraid of what would happen if you did?”
“Yes.”
She wrote that down.
Kala provided her recording of my father refusing to surrender the drive. I provided the video copies and explained exactly how I had received and copied the file.
Then came the part I dreaded.
“I erased the copy on the original drive,” I admitted. “I’d already made backups, but I wanted him to stop threatening the door.”
Officer Rowan didn’t scold me.
“Tell the investigator exactly what you just told me. We’ll seek the original recording from the camera owner.”
The truth sounded less impressive than the careful trap I had imagined setting.
It also sounded sturdier.
By ten that night, the initial report was complete. Officer Rowan gave me a case number, discussed safety planning, and explained how to seek a protective order.
Then she left.
I sat at Kala’s kitchen table while she heated soup.
“My parents are going to tell everyone I’m destroying them.”
Kala placed a spoon beside my bowl.
“They can tell people the moon is made of cream cheese. You still need dinner.”
For the first time since the garage, I laughed.
It hurt my chest.
My phone vibrated again.
This time, the message came from my mother.
Your father has chest pains because of you. Please stop this before someone dies.
I went cold.
Kala saw my expression.
“What?”
I handed her the phone.
She read it twice, then set it down.
“If he has chest pains, they need emergency medical help. That doesn’t require you to return to an unsafe house.”
My fingers hovered over the screen.
I typed slowly.
If Dad is having chest pain, please call emergency services. I am safe. I will not discuss the report tonight.
Then I silenced the conversation.
No explanation. No apology. No three-page defense.
It felt almost indecent.
In the spare room, Kala laid out clean pajamas and placed my medication beside a written schedule based on the discharge instructions. She plugged in my phone where I could reach it with my left hand.
“You don’t have to earn the bed,” she said.
I looked up.
She shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable.
“You keep thanking me like you’re asking for a scholarship.”
After she left, I sat on the mattress and listened.
A neighbor’s television murmured through the wall. Water ran in the apartment above us. Somewhere outside, someone laughed.
Ordinary sounds.
Nobody testing my doorknob.
Nobody waiting for me to fail.
At six the next morning, I woke to coffee and toast.
Kala had packed my approved supplies.
My phone showed thirty-seven missed calls.
Beneath them was an email from the firm where I worked.
The subject line read: Your Employment Status.
My stomach dropped.
For a moment, I couldn’t open it.
Then I saw the sender.
Daniel Rusk, managing partner.
Varity, we received a troubling call from a person identifying herself as your sister. Please call me when you are available. Your position remains unchanged while we establish the facts.
I read the final sentence three times.
May you like
She had reached for my future again.
This time, someone had refused to hand it to her.
