Chapter 10 - THE BACKPACK
Noah’s belongings arrived the next afternoon in six black garbage bags and one blue backpack.
A county worker delivered them because Diane was not allowed to come to my building.
The worker apologized before she even carried the bags inside.
“This is what Ms. Mercer provided.”
I stared at the garbage bags.
Noah had lived with Diane for eighteen months.
His entire life in that house had been reduced to plastic bags tied at the top.
“Is that everything?”
“She signed a statement saying it was.”
I did not believe it.
Neither did the worker.
We inventoried the contents at my kitchen table.
Six shirts.
Four pairs of pants.
Underwear.
Socks.
Two school uniforms.
A winter coat despite it being August.
Three books.
A model airplane with one wing missing.
A toothbrush loose in a side pocket.
No framed photographs.
No trophies.
No birthday cards.
No drawings.
No game console.
No baseball glove.
No box of rocks Noah had collected with Mom at the state park.
No wooden dinosaur Dad had carved when Noah was a toddler.
I knew those things existed.
I had seen them in his room.
The worker wrote each missing item down.
Noah sat in the living room pretending not to listen.
When I asked about his favorite green hoodie, he spoke without turning around.
“She threw it away.”
“Why?”
“It had paint on it.”
“You loved that hoodie.”
He shrugged.
I stopped asking about individual items.
The blue backpack was last.
It was Noah’s school bag.
I unzipped the large compartment.
Inside were notebooks, pencils, a math workbook, and a lunch container.
The lunch container smelled sour.
I opened it carefully.
There was a half-eaten sandwich inside.
The bread was hard around the edges.
The county worker grimaced.
“How long has he been out of school?”
“Since the fracture.”
“Twelve days?”
“Yes.”
The sandwich had been sitting in the backpack for nearly two weeks.
Diane had packed it without opening the bag.
Or she had opened the bag and left it intentionally.
Neither possibility made sense.
Then I lifted the math workbook and heard a faint plastic click.
I stopped.
“What was that?” the worker asked.
“I don’t know.”
I set the workbook down.
The sound came again when the backpack shifted.
A tiny electronic chirp.
Noah turned around.
“What is it?”
“Stay there a second.”
I emptied the backpack carefully.
Nothing obvious remained.
Then the worker ran her fingers along the lining.
“There’s something in the bottom.”
The base of the backpack had a padded insert.
One seam looked newer than the others.
I remembered the police officer’s instruction not to destroy potential evidence.
I stopped touching it.
The worker called Marissa.
Marissa called Detective Ruiz.
Twenty minutes later, Ruiz arrived with a small evidence kit.
She photographed the backpack, then examined the seam.
A few stitches had been added by hand.
She cut only the thread necessary to access the pocket.
Inside was a small black tracking tag.
Noah stared from the couch.
“What is that?”
Ruiz answered carefully.
“A device that can help someone find the location of an item.”
His face changed.
“A tracker?”
“Yes.”
He looked at me.
“Did she put it there?”
“We don’t know yet,” Ruiz said.
Noah stared at the backpack.
“I never saw it.”
Ruiz bagged the device.
“When did you get this backpack?”
“Last Christmas.”
“Was it new?”
“Yes.”
“Who bought it?”
“Aunt Diane.”
I felt another piece shift into place.
Diane always knew when Noah got home from school.
She always knew if I picked him up early.
Once, I had taken him for ice cream after a dentist appointment.
Diane called me before we even ordered and demanded to know why we were not driving toward her house.
She claimed the dentist had called her.
I had believed it.
Another time, I took Noah to a bookstore after school.
Diane texted within minutes.
You need to bring him straight home.
She said she had seen my car while running errands.
I had believed that too.
I was beginning to understand that I had not trusted Diane because she was convincing.
I had trusted her because I had never imagined the amount of effort she was willing to spend controlling a child.
Ruiz asked Noah whether Diane ever talked about tracking him.
He shook his head.
Then he frowned.
“She said she always knew where I was.”
“What exactly did she say?”
Noah thought.
“You can’t disappear on me.”
Ruiz wrote it down.
I looked at the backpack again.
“Can you tell when the tracker was activated?”
“Possibly.”
“Can you tell who owns the account?”
“Possibly.”
I almost smiled despite myself.
“Careful words.”
Ruiz gave me a tired half smile.
“Careful words.”
The device changed the way I looked at the rest of the belongings.
We stopped treating them as ordinary household items.
Ruiz asked us not to wash clothes or throw anything away until the county finished documenting them.
The bags remained against my living room wall.
That evening, Noah asked if he could have his backpack back for school.
“Not that one.”
“Why?”
“It’s evidence now.”
He looked disappointed.
“I liked that backpack.”
“I’ll get you another one.”
He shook his head immediately.
“You already bought me stuff.”
“A backpack is not a luxury.”
“I can use a grocery bag.”
“No.”
He looked at me with the same wary expression he used around food.
I understood.
Everything in Diane’s house had become something he could lose.
Possessions were privileges.
Pain relief was a privilege.
Bathroom access was a privilege.
Calls to me were a privilege.
Even crutches had become a privilege.
I sat beside him.
“We need a house rule.”
He tensed.
The word rule did that to him.
I corrected myself.
“Actually, not a rule.”
“What?”
“A promise.”
He waited.
“If you need something basic, like food, water, medicine, the bathroom, clean clothes, school supplies, or help moving safely, you do not have to earn it.”
He looked skeptical.
“What if I’m in trouble?”
“You still eat.”
“What if I’m rude?”
“You still use the bathroom.”
“What if I lie?”
“We deal with the lie.”
He looked at his cast.
“But I still get crutches?”
“You still get crutches.”
The corner of his mouth moved.
“What if I become a criminal mastermind?”
I stared at him.
There he was again.
My brother.
“Then I will buy you an extremely uncool backpack for criminal mastermind school.”
He laughed.
It was the first real laugh I had heard from him since the porch.
The sound made my throat tighten.
Later that night, I ordered him a plain black backpack because he said bright colors were for second graders.
At 10:42 p.m., Detective Ruiz called again.
They had identified the account associated with the tracker.
It was registered to Diane.
I was not surprised.
Then Ruiz told me something I did not expect.
The tracker had not been activated at Christmas.
It had been activated four months ago.
The same week Diane filed the petition to extend guardianship.
“Why would that matter?” I asked.
“We don’t know yet.”
“Was she afraid he would run away?”
“Maybe.”
I looked toward Noah’s room.
Then I remembered something.
Four months ago was also when Diane first mentioned a therapist.
Four months ago was when the fake texts began.
Four months ago was when she started telling relatives I was refusing contact.
“What happened four months ago?” I whispered.
Ruiz heard me.
“That is exactly what we are trying to determine.”
Noah called from his room.
“Emily?”
I ended the call and went in.
He was sitting up in bed.
His face was pale.
“What’s wrong?”
“I remembered something.”
“What?”
“The first time she made me write sentences.”
I sat down.
“When was it?”
“After I tried to leave.”
My skin prickled.
“Leave where?”
“Her house.”
“Where were you trying to go?”
He looked directly at me.
May you like
“To yours.”
