Chapter 1 - THE HAND IN THE VENT
Ryan Hayes knew something was wrong before Ethan turned around.
The kitchen was too quiet.
Not ordinary afternoon quiet.
The kind children create when they know they are doing something adults have specifically told them not to do.
Ryan stopped in the doorway.
His seven-year-old son was kneeling against the far wall.
Near the floor, beneath the long marble counter, was a rectangular metal vent left from the townhouse's original service system.
Ryan had been meaning to have it sealed since they renovated.
Ethan was pushing pieces of bread through the gaps.
One at a time.
A torn crust lay beside his knee.
Another piece had fallen onto the hardwood.
“Ethan…”
The boy jumped.
His hand disappeared from the vent.
Ryan set his keys down.
“What are you doing?”
Ethan stared at him.
His eyes were already wet.
“Nothing.”
“Buddy.”
Ethan looked toward the hall.
Then toward the kitchen entrance.
Ryan followed his eyes.
Claire wasn't there.
“What happened?”
Ethan's lower lip trembled.
“Mom told me not to tell you.”
Ryan's stomach tightened.
“Tell me what?”
Ethan pointed toward the wall.
“But that little girl is hungry.”
Ryan stopped.
For a second he thought he'd misunderstood.
“What little girl?”
Ethan pointed again.
Ryan crossed the kitchen.
Fast.
Ethan grabbed his sleeve.
“Dad—”
Ryan dropped to one knee beside the vent.
The old opening was larger than it looked from above, about twelve inches wide and eight high.
Dark behind the grille.
He could see only dust.
Old wood.
A narrow service cavity running between the pantry and the original rear staircase.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
Ryan looked at Ethan.
“Where did you see a girl?”
“She talked to me.”
“When?”
“After lunch.”
“What did she say?”
“That she's hungry.”
Ryan reached for the screws holding the vent cover.
Footsteps rushed down the hall.
Claire appeared.
The second she saw Ryan kneeling there, her face changed.
Not confusion.
Panic.
“Ryan.”
He looked at her.
“What is behind this wall?”
“Nothing.”
Ethan stared at his mother.
Claire crossed the kitchen quickly.
“Get up.”
Ryan's hand remained on the grille.
“Ethan says there's a little girl in there.”
“He's confused.”
Ethan whispered:
“No, I'm not.”
Claire shot him a look.
Not angry.
Terrified.
Ryan stood halfway.
“Claire.”
She grabbed his wrist.
“Don't open it.”
Ryan stared at her hand.
“Let go.”
“There’s nothing in there.”
“Then why can't I open it?”
“Ryan, please.”
He pulled free.
The kitchen went silent.
Then a sound came through the wall.
Soft.
Broken.
A child crying.
Ryan slowly turned toward Claire.
Her breathing changed.
Fast now.
Shallow.
“What did you do?”
“It's not what you think.”
“I don't know what I think.”
He reached for the vent again.
Claire stepped between him and the wall.
“Don't.”
Ryan moved her aside.
Not violently.
Enough.
He crouched.
Then something small moved in the darkness.
Ethan stepped backward.
A tiny hand slid between two metal slats.
Pale fingers.
Dirty at the tips.
The child inside whimpered.
Ryan's face emptied.
“Oh my God.”
He dropped onto both knees.
“Hey.”
The little hand reached farther.
“It's okay.”
Claire covered her mouth.
Ryan touched two fingers gently against the child's.
“Can you hear me?”
A girl's voice came from behind the wall.
Weak.
Frightened.
“Daddy…”
Ryan froze.
The little hand closed around his finger.
“Please help me.”
Nobody moved.
Ethan stared at his father.
Ryan slowly turned his head.
Claire was backing away.
One step.
Then another.
Her face had gone white.
Ryan looked at her.
“Why is she calling me Dad?”
May you like
Claire opened her mouth.
No words came out.
