When he knocked, he heard hurried footsteps before the door opened to reveal a woman in her early thirties whose face carried the exhaustion of someone working more hours than the week comfortably allowed.
Her name, she would later say, was Marissa Cole, and her polo shirt bore the embroidered logo of a local diner that stayed open twenty-four hours, suggesting she had either just returned from a shift or was preparing for another.
“Ma’am, I’m Sergeant Avery. We received a call from this address,” he explained gently.
Confusion flickered across her features, followed quickly by concern. “A call? That doesn’t make sense. It’s just me and my daughter here, and I’ve been home for the last hour.”
He kept his posture relaxed, though he observed the tremor in her fingers. “Would you mind if I stepped inside for a moment, just to make sure everything’s okay?”
There was hesitation, the brief tightening around her eyes that often signaled fear of authority, yet she moved aside. “Of course. I don’t understand what this could be about.”
The living room was tidy but worn, with mismatched furniture and a stack of unpaid bills tucked beneath a mail organizer on the coffee table, while the walls were brightened by crayon drawings carefully taped at eye level, as if each piece had been hung with intention rather than convenience.
A Girl With Old Eyes
“Is your daughter home?” he asked.
“Lila’s in her room,” Marissa replied, lowering her voice. “She hasn’t been feeling well lately. I was just about to check on her before heading to my second job.”
As if summoned by her name, a small figure appeared in the hallway. Lila Cole was six years old, with large brown eyes that held a gravity far older than her years, and she clutched a stuffed rabbit so tightly against her chest that its fur was flattened where her fingers pressed.
What caught Thomas’s attention was not only the child’s solemn expression but the bandages wrapped around the rabbit’s paw, which mirrored the small adhesive strips on Lila’s own wrist.
He crouched to her level, careful to let his badge catch the light less prominently. “Hi there. I’m Tom. That’s a nice rabbit you’ve got.”
She studied him for a moment before whispering, “His name is Clover.”
“Clover looks pretty brave with those bandages,” he said lightly. “Did you both get hurt?”
Lila’s fingers tightened around the toy. “Clover takes the same medicine I do, so he knows it’s okay.”
A faint medicinal scent lingered in the air, something sharper than household cleaner, and Thomas felt that instinct sharpen further.
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