Chapter 2 - THE FRONT DOOR
Derek's footsteps climbed the driveway, steady and fast, while I sat trapped three miles away behind a line of brake lights.
I could hear every step through the phone.
Gravel under his boots.
One breath.
Another.
Then nothing.
"Front door's closed," Derek whispered.
"Can you see Noah?"
"Not yet."
My hand locked around the steering wheel so hard my knuckles hurt.
The traffic light ahead stayed red.
Derek moved along the porch.
I heard his fingers test the handle.
"Locked."
I wanted to tell him to break the door down.
I wanted to tell him to tear the entire house apart until he found my son.
But the dispatcher's warning was still in my head.
Do not engage if he can avoid it.
So I forced myself to say the one thing I did not want to say.
"Wait for the police if you can."
Derek did not answer.
A second later, he sucked in a breath.
"I see him."
My heart stopped.
"Noah?"
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"Living room. By the couch."
There was something in Derek's voice I had never heard before.
Not fear.
Not anger.
Something colder.
"What's happening?"
"He's sitting on the floor."
Derek paused.
"He's holding his left arm against his chest."
I shut my eyes for half a second.
That was all I could allow myself.
"Can he see you?"
"Not yet."
Then Derek said another name.
"Travis is in there."
The light turned green.
I hit the gas.
"What's he doing?"
"Pacing."
"Does he have the bat?"
Another pause.
"Yeah."
My stomach dropped.
"Where is it?"
"In his hand."
I stopped breathing.
Derek's voice stayed low.
"Police need to hurry."
I looked at the map on my dashboard.
Eleven minutes.
Eleven minutes might as well have been eleven hours.
Then I heard a dull sound through Derek's phone.
A window tap.
Derek had touched the glass.
"Noah."
He said it softly.
A few seconds passed.
Then I heard Derek breathe harder.
"He sees me."
"What is he doing?"
"He's getting up."
"Can he walk?"
"Yeah."
Relief hit me so sharply that it almost made me dizzy.
Then Derek's voice changed.
"No."
"What?"
"Travis saw him move."
I heard something through the phone.
A man's voice.
Muffled by glass, but loud enough to recognize the anger.
"Sit down!"
Then Noah cried out.
Every muscle in my body went tight.
"Derek."
"I know."
"Get him out."
That was all I said.
Derek walked to the front door and hit the bell.
Once.
Twice.
Then he knocked hard enough for me to hear it through the phone.
"Travis," Derek called.
The house stayed quiet.
"Open the door."
Nothing.
"Police are on the way."
That got a response.
Footsteps crossed the living room.
The front curtain shifted.
Then Travis's voice came through the door.
"Get off the property."
Derek remained still.
"Send Noah outside."
"He's fine."
"Send him outside."
"I said he's fine."
Derek's voice stayed almost unnaturally calm.
"I can see his arm."
Silence.
Then Travis laughed once.
It was a short, ugly sound.
"Kid fell."
My vision blurred at the edges.
I wanted to be there so badly that my body actually leaned forward in the seat as if I could somehow force the car through traffic by will alone.
Derek did not argue.
"Then you won't mind sending him outside."
The deadbolt clicked.
My stomach tightened.
"Derek, back up."
"I am."
The door opened six inches.
Travis's voice came clearer now.
"You got a problem?"
"No problem."
Derek sounded calm.
"I'm here for Noah."
"You're not taking him anywhere."
"His father asked me to get him."
"His father isn't here."
"Police are coming."
The door opened wider.
I heard Derek's shoes scrape backward across the porch.
Then Travis said something that made my entire body go cold.
"Police aren't going to find anything."
Derek did not respond.
"You hear me?"
Travis continued.
"Nothing happened."
Then Noah screamed.
Not cried.
Screamed.
"Uncle Derek!"
Everything after that happened fast.
Derek stopped talking to me.
I heard the phone shift against fabric.
I heard Noah crying from inside the house.
I heard Travis swear.
Then a hard metallic crack sounded against the porch railing.
"Back up," Derek said.
His voice was no longer quiet.
"Put the bat down."
Travis shouted something I could not make out.
Another crack.
Then Derek grunted.
"Derek!"
No answer.
I nearly drove onto the shoulder trying to get around a delivery van.
"Derek!"
The next sound was wood hitting concrete.
Then heavy breathing.
Then Derek's voice.
"I'm okay."
I almost collapsed into the seat.
"What happened?"
"He swung at me."
"Where's the bat?"
"On the porch."
"Where's Travis?"
"Inside."
I heard Derek step backward again.
He had not gone after him.
He had done exactly what the dispatcher said.
Then Noah cried out from inside.
"Please don't leave me!"
Derek's control broke for one second.
I heard it in his breathing.
"I'm not leaving you, buddy."
Sirens appeared faintly in the distance.
I heard them through my own closed windows and through Derek's phone at nearly the same time.
"They're close," I said.
"I hear them."
Travis slammed the front door.
The lock turned again.
Derek stood outside while my son cried inside.
That thirty seconds felt longer than the previous four years of my life.
Then two patrol cars turned onto our street.
Derek moved to the yard with both hands visible.
He told me later that the first officer was already out of the cruiser before it fully stopped.
A second officer came around the other side.
Derek raised both hands before either officer asked him to.
He pointed at the porch with two fingers and then toward the living-room window.
"Bat is by the rail. Child is inside."
The first officer told him to step toward the sidewalk.
Derek obeyed immediately.
I could hear the officer asking whether Derek had touched the bat.
"No."
"Did he strike you with it?"
"He clipped my arm after hitting the railing."
"Did you strike him?"
"No."
There was no pride in Derek's voice.
No attempt to sound tough.
He answered like a man describing where a fire extinguisher was mounted.
That calm mattered because every second the officers spent deciding who was dangerous was a second Noah remained inside.
Derek understood that before I did.
He moved farther into the yard and gave them a clear path to the door.
Then he looked through the front window again.
"He's still by the couch," he said.
The officer's head snapped toward the house.
"Can you see the child?"
"Yes."
"Is the male near him?"
Derek stared for half a second.
"Too near."
"Who called?"
"Child's father," Derek said. "I'm his uncle. The child is inside. Adult male has a bat. He swung it at me on the porch."
The first officer looked at the bat lying near the railing.
"Is anyone else inside?"
"My nephew and Travis."
"Child's mother?"
"Not home."
They told Derek to stay back.
Then both officers moved toward the door.
By then I was six minutes away.
One officer knocked.
"Police department. Open the door."
Nothing.
He knocked again.
"Police department. We need to check on the child."
A minute passed.
Then another patrol unit arrived.
I could hear Derek explaining the layout of the house.
Front hall.
Living room left.
Kitchen straight ahead.
Bedrooms upstairs.
Then someone inside screamed.
It was Noah again.
The officers stopped waiting.
The front door burst inward.
My phone filled with commands.
"Police!"
"Show me your hands!"
"Step away from the child!"
"Drop it!"
Then silence.
One second.
Two.
Three.
I realized I had stopped my car in the middle of an intersection.
A horn blared behind me.
I moved again.
"Derek?"
He did not answer at first.
Then I heard him exhale.
"They've got him."
My eyes burned.
"Noah?"
"They're bringing him out."
I heard a door open.
Then a tiny voice, shattered with crying.
"Uncle Derek."
Derek made a sound like someone had punched all the air out of him.
"I'm right here, buddy."
Noah came onto the porch barefoot.
He was wearing dinosaur pajama pants even though it was the middle of the afternoon.
His shirt was inside out.
His left arm was tucked tight against his body.
Derek knelt but did not touch the arm.
"Dad's coming."
Noah looked around the street.
"Where is he?"
"Almost here."
I turned onto my block less than four minutes later.
Three patrol cars filled the street.
A fire engine was pulling up behind them.
Neighbors stood on lawns and porches.
And on my front steps, an officer had Travis face down with his hands cuffed behind his back.
I barely saw him.
I saw Noah.
He was sitting on the grass wrapped in Derek's jacket.
I left my car door open in the street and ran.
Noah tried to stand.
His face crumpled.
"Dad!"
I dropped to my knees in front of him.
"I'm here."
He leaned into me with his good arm.
I held him as carefully as I could.
His whole body shook.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
That sentence broke something inside me.
"For what?"
He buried his face against my shoulder.
"I cried."
I looked over his head at Derek.
Derek looked away.
A paramedic crouched beside us.
"Sir, we need to examine his arm."
I nodded.
Noah refused to let go of me.
The paramedic waited.
Then another officer approached.
"Are you the father?"
"Yes."
"We need to ask you some questions, but medical comes first."
"Take us to the hospital."
He nodded.
Then Noah whispered something against my shirt.
At first I did not understand him.
"What, buddy?"
He lifted his face.
His cheeks were wet.
"Don't let Mom make me go back inside with him."
I went still.
"Mom isn't here."
Noah stared toward the house.
May you like
Then he said the sentence that changed the entire case.
"She knows he does it."
