For a split second, the words landed the wrong way. Claire pictured a family pet, some illegal python loose in a bedroom, a child cornered and terrified. But the way the girl said hurts made something colder slide down Claire’s back. Not because the meaning was clear, but because it wasn’t. The uncertainty was its own kind of alarm.
“Sweetheart, what’s your name?” Claire asked, voice low and steady.
The child sniffled hard. “Emily.”
“Emily, are you safe right now?”
A pause. Then, in an even smaller voice, “He’s downstairs… I locked the door but he said it won’t matter.”
Claire’s heart kicked once, hard enough to make her pulse buzz in her fingertips. Her screen had already populated with the location attached to the call: 1427 Maplewood Drive. Quiet neighborhood. Residential. No flags on the address besides a noise complaint eight months back.
“Emily, listen to me very carefully,” Claire said. “I’ve already sent police to your house. They are on the way right now. I need you to stay as quiet as you can. Can you do that for me?”
The girl inhaled sharply, like she was trying to stop herself from sobbing. “Please make them hurry. He said if I tell, he’ll put me in the room with it again.”
Claire’s fingers flew over the keyboard. She updated the call notes with every word. Child possibly trapped. Suspect father on scene. Unknown threat, potentially animal-related. High priority.
“Emily, what room are you in?”
