was there? It would be easy to overlook in the dark. I try to rewind the scene, but I reach the limits of my vision before there’s any change in the hallway.
M aybe the murderer came in through Daphne’s window? That would also explain the broken latch, if someone were breaking out of Daphne’s room. But wouldn’t her parents have heard that? And why come in through a second-story window when the front door is unlocked? I peek back into Daphne’s room—behind a set of white blinds her window is not only locked but barred. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen barred windows before, except maybe on television. So much for that idea.
There’s something very wrong here.
I mean, why kidnap Daphne and then come back to kill her parents?
Mayb e the killer was in the process of murdering the parents, Daphne heard, broke out, and ran away while the killer was distracted. That could explain the unlocked front door. But it tells me nothing about why they would lock Daphne in her bedroom in the first place. Who does that to a ten-year-old kid?
It’s so confusing that even if I hadn’t heard about Sophie’s readings from both Daphne and Mrs. Welsh, I would still be at a loss. With that extra information it’s possible I’m at even more of a loss. Like I have more puzzle pieces than before, but they all belong to different puzzles. I feel like seeing the future should be much more straightforward than this.
Putting my questions away for the moment, I continue searching the house. Two g uest rooms, a home office. At the far end of the hall I’m surprised to find another little girls’ room. I didn’t see any other kids in the family photos, though. The door is open and there’s a second pocket door on the right wall that adjoins it to the home office. It’s open too.
This door doesn’t say Daphne on it, but it looks like this might actually be her room . Clothes in the closet and dresser drawers, toys in the toy box, an iHome in one corner by a My Little Pony clock. The clothes are the right size and when I look in the laundry hamper I see a pink turtleneck just like the blue one she was wearing when we saw her today. It all looks completely normal except for the rather glaring absence of a place to sleep.
So apparently this is her regular room and at night she gets locked into a sleeping room? What is wrong with these parents!
But I stare at that pocket door. The home office has a decidedly feminine touch. If Mrs. Welsh works from home and specifically designed this room so she could work and watch Daphne at the same time, that says “loving mother” to me.
The sleeping room? A different message entirely.
As I head back down the stairs to check out the bottom floor, I wonder again if whoever took Daphne might be engaged in a little vigilante justice. Even if it isn’t a custody dispute with a blood father, some other rescuer might intercede—could be an uncle, or cousin, a family friend. Virtually anyone who knew about the abuse—which, technically, includes me.
And Sophie.
Regardless, a ten-year-old in the hands of someone with that skewed of a sense of justice is still a huge problem. No matter what answer I come up with, I just don’t see a way for any of this to turn out well for Daphne, and the thought makes me sick to my stomach.
A quick tour of the small basement doesn’t show me anything new except for two coat closets off the rec room, either of which could have been the one Sophie saw in her readings today. Out of ideas, I allow myself to wander a bit, hoping to stumble on something relevant. But before long I grumble in frustration and push myself out of the vision. After all, it’s not like I can’t go back.
For now.
Which, of course, is the other problem I still haven’t managed to solve.
A lot more ‘real time’ has passed than I thought, and I only spend thirty minutes staring uselessly at my homework before collapsing into bed, exhausted by the day’s efforts. At this point,
M aybe the murderer came in through Daphne’s window? That would also explain the broken latch, if someone were breaking out of Daphne’s room. But wouldn’t her parents have heard that? And why come in through a second-story window when the front door is unlocked? I peek back into Daphne’s room—behind a set of white blinds her window is not only locked but barred. I don’t think I’ve ever even seen barred windows before, except maybe on television. So much for that idea.
There’s something very wrong here.
I mean, why kidnap Daphne and then come back to kill her parents?
Mayb e the killer was in the process of murdering the parents, Daphne heard, broke out, and ran away while the killer was distracted. That could explain the unlocked front door. But it tells me nothing about why they would lock Daphne in her bedroom in the first place. Who does that to a ten-year-old kid?
It’s so confusing that even if I hadn’t heard about Sophie’s readings from both Daphne and Mrs. Welsh, I would still be at a loss. With that extra information it’s possible I’m at even more of a loss. Like I have more puzzle pieces than before, but they all belong to different puzzles. I feel like seeing the future should be much more straightforward than this.
Putting my questions away for the moment, I continue searching the house. Two g uest rooms, a home office. At the far end of the hall I’m surprised to find another little girls’ room. I didn’t see any other kids in the family photos, though. The door is open and there’s a second pocket door on the right wall that adjoins it to the home office. It’s open too.
This door doesn’t say Daphne on it, but it looks like this might actually be her room . Clothes in the closet and dresser drawers, toys in the toy box, an iHome in one corner by a My Little Pony clock. The clothes are the right size and when I look in the laundry hamper I see a pink turtleneck just like the blue one she was wearing when we saw her today. It all looks completely normal except for the rather glaring absence of a place to sleep.
So apparently this is her regular room and at night she gets locked into a sleeping room? What is wrong with these parents!
But I stare at that pocket door. The home office has a decidedly feminine touch. If Mrs. Welsh works from home and specifically designed this room so she could work and watch Daphne at the same time, that says “loving mother” to me.
The sleeping room? A different message entirely.
As I head back down the stairs to check out the bottom floor, I wonder again if whoever took Daphne might be engaged in a little vigilante justice. Even if it isn’t a custody dispute with a blood father, some other rescuer might intercede—could be an uncle, or cousin, a family friend. Virtually anyone who knew about the abuse—which, technically, includes me.
And Sophie.
Regardless, a ten-year-old in the hands of someone with that skewed of a sense of justice is still a huge problem. No matter what answer I come up with, I just don’t see a way for any of this to turn out well for Daphne, and the thought makes me sick to my stomach.
A quick tour of the small basement doesn’t show me anything new except for two coat closets off the rec room, either of which could have been the one Sophie saw in her readings today. Out of ideas, I allow myself to wander a bit, hoping to stumble on something relevant. But before long I grumble in frustration and push myself out of the vision. After all, it’s not like I can’t go back.
For now.
Which, of course, is the other problem I still haven’t managed to solve.
A lot more ‘real time’ has passed than I thought, and I only spend thirty minutes staring uselessly at my homework before collapsing into bed, exhausted by the day’s efforts. At this point,
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