Chapter 10 - The Man Across From the Preschool
Police reached David’s house before we did.
Empty.
Inside were photographs.
Emma entering preschool.
Emma leaving.
Me grocery shopping.
Mark driving to work.
Diane entering our house.
Hundreds.
This was no grandmother making reckless decisions alone.
Someone had been watching us.
A wall calendar contained dates corresponding to nearly every night Diane medicated Emma.
Several were marked with a red circle.
One contained a handwritten note:
R remembering?
Detective Coleman believed R meant Rachel.
Or Rebecca.
Then they found medical records.
Mine.
Childhood psychiatric evaluations I had never seen.
After Hannah died, doctors documented nightmares, fragmented memories and repeated claims that “Diane made us sleep.”
My parents eventually withdrew me from treatment.
But someone had stolen copies.
David.
Another folder contained Laura’s name.
Inside were photographs taken over the past five years.
Laura had been following David.
David had been following Laura.
The investigation was circular.
Then officers found blood on a basement stair.
Testing would take time.
I immediately thought of Laura.
Mark did too.
“We need to find her.”
Police searched David’s computers.
Most files were encrypted.
One wasn’t.
A video.
Laura sat in a chair.
Alive when recorded.
David stood behind the camera.
“Tell Rebecca to stop digging,” he said.
Laura laughed.
“You’re twenty-four years too late.”
“Where is the tape?”
“She already has it.”
He stepped closer.
“No, she doesn’t.”
Laura looked directly into the lens.
“Then maybe Emma does.”
The video ended.
Emma.
Again.
I returned to the hospital.
My daughter was sleeping.
I sat beside her for nearly an hour before she opened her eyes.
“Mommy?”
“Sweetheart, did Aunt Laura ever give you something?”
Emma frowned.
“She’s not my aunt.”
My heart stopped.
“What?”
“She told me not to call her that.”
“What did she tell you to call her?”
“Miss Laura.”
“When did you meet her?”
“At Grandma’s.”
Diane had introduced them.
Emma said Laura gave her a little jewelry box.
“Where is it?”
“Grandma took it.”
Police searched Diane’s belongings.
Nothing.
Then Emma remembered.
“Daddy got it back.”
I turned toward Mark.
He looked confused.
Then recognition struck.
“The wooden box?”
He had found a small carved box in Diane’s suitcase months earlier.
He assumed it belonged to Rachel because my initials were engraved underneath.
R.B.
Rebecca Bennett.
He put it in our bedroom closet.
Officers retrieved it.
Inside was a flash drive.
And a folded note from Laura.
Rebecca,
If you are watching this, Diane has started again.
But Diane is not the person who started the fire.
I stared at the next sentence.
Neither is David.
The person responsible has been inside your house many times.
May you like
Then Laura had written a name.
Dr. Stevens.
