Chapter 2 - The Word in the ICU
The detectives asked me to stay at the hospital while they questioned my mother and Chloe separately. I sat by Ethan's bed through the night and most of the next day.
The following morning, the two of them came to the ICU.
They came in crying — or performing it. My mother had a wad of tissues balled in her fist. Chloe pressed her fingers to her lips and murmured, "Poor baby," in the same breath she'd used the night before to tell me he got what he deserved.
They walked up to his bed.
Ethan's eyes opened.
Slowly, shaking, he lifted one small hand off the blanket and pointed straight at the two of them. The heart monitor spiked and began to shriek.
His cracked lips came apart, and one word fell out.
"Monster."
My mother lurched backward into the IV pole. Chloe screamed.
And Detective Marsh stepped forward, reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small black camera, holding it up where everyone could see it.
"We know what happened in that shed," he said.
The blood drained out of my mother's face.
Then Ethan whispered again, and this time the word froze every adult in the room.
"Daddy."
It came out of him like something he'd been holding under his tongue for months.
Nobody moved. The machines kept beeping. Marsh's hand stayed locked around that little camera. My mother stood at the foot of the bed with her mouth open and no color left in her cheeks. Chloe had stopped screaming, but her eyes were wet and huge and wild, fixed on Ethan like he'd just dragged something dead into the room.
I leaned in close to my son.
"Ethan," I whispered. "What did you say, baby?"
His swollen eyelids fluttered. His fingers curled weakly against the sheet.
"Daddy," he breathed. "In the shed."
The room went to ice.
Daniel was supposed to be overseas. On a base in Italy. That was what he'd told me — what every email and every clipped little video call and every stamped document from the base had seemed to back up.
I looked at Marsh. He was staring at my mother now.
"What does he mean?" I asked. My voice didn't sound like mine. It sounded like it had come a long way through a pipe and barely made it out.
My mother pressed the tissue to her mouth. Her eyes cut once toward Chloe.
Chloe shook her head. Fast. Way too fast.
"He's confused," she said. "He hit his head. Kids say all kinds of things."
Marsh didn't look confused. He took a step toward my mother.
"Mrs. Prewitt, when was the last time you spoke to Daniel Prewitt?"
"Two weeks ago," I said. "On a video call. He told me he was in Italy."
His jaw tightened. My stomach dropped through the floor.
"What?" I said. "What aren't you telling me?"
Ethan's hand moved again. This time he wasn't pointing at my mother.
He was pointing at Chloe.
"Phone," he whispered.
Chloe went rigid.
My mother made a short, sharp sound — a warning.
"That's enough," she snapped. "This is cruel. That child is half awake and you people are standing over him like he's—"
"Like he's a victim?" Marsh said.
She flinched.
Marsh turned to the uniformed officer by the door. "Take Ms. Kessler's phone."
Chloe clamped her purse against her chest. "You can't do that."
The officer moved toward her. She backed into the wall.
"I said you can't do that!"
"Chloe," I said.
She looked at me. And for the first time in my life I saw what was actually under my sister's face when she dropped the mask.
Not jealousy. Not resentment. Hate.
"You always got everything," she hissed.
"My son is in a hospital bed, Chloe. He might not make it."
"And you're still making it about you," she spat.
The officer got a hand on her purse and she came apart — twisting, kicking, screaming. My mother lunged toward her and a second officer stepped in front of her and held her back.
Marsh worked the phone loose and lifted it. "What's on here, Chloe?"
She said nothing.
My mother's lips barely moved, but I heard her from across the room.
"Don't."
It wasn't a plea. It was an order. And Chloe's whole body locked up when she heard it.
Marsh looked at the surgeon. "I need everyone out of this room except medical staff and the mother."
"No," my mother said.
The panic was gone from her voice now. What was left was authority — the exact tone I remembered from being a kid, when she would stand at the top of the stairs and say one word and the whole house seemed to get smaller.
"No," she said again. "You don't get to do this."
Marsh nodded at the officers.
They walked her and Chloe out. Chloe screamed my name the whole way through the ICU doors.
"You don't know what he is, Rachel! You have no idea what your precious little boy really is!"
Then the doors swung shut and she was gone.
I turned back to Ethan. My knees buckled and I caught the bed rail and made myself stand.
"Ethan, baby. Daddy was really there?"
His face twisted — not from pain this time. From fear.
"Dark," he mumbled. "He said be quiet."
The surgeon touched my arm. "Mrs. Prewitt, we have to let him rest. His body's under a tremendous amount of stress."
I nodded, but I couldn't make my hand let go of his. His fingers were so small in mine. Too warm. Too easy to break.
I bent and kissed the edge of the bandage near his wrist.
"I'm right here," I whispered. "Mommy's here. Nobody's ever taking you anywhere again."
His eyes slid closed. But right before sleep took him, he said one more thing.
"Red door."
May you like
I went still. "What red door, sweetheart?"
No answer. Just the machines. Just the small, steady lift and fall of his chest.
