channeling the exact psychic echoes, the repressed memories, or the literal ghosts of the girl who had vanished thirty years ago.
He wasn’t comforting my daughter. He was interrogating her in her sleep, using her night terrors as a conduit to solve a decades-old cold case, treating my seven-year-old child like a human Ouija board.
Act VI: The Confrontation in the Dark
The digital clock on my nightstand ticked over to 1:30 AM.
On the screen, Evan was still sitting on Emma’s bed, his face a mask of cold, obsessive fixation, whispering names and dates into her ear while the child whimpered in her sleep.
My shock crystallized into a white-hot, blinding fury.
Every protective instinct I had sworn the day Emma was born flared up with the intensity of a forest fire. This man had lied to me. He had used my
