“It's just to be safe,” he said quickly. “She's a sleepwalker, she comes out at night.”
Jepa turned sharply towards him.
—You close it.
Todd got annoyed.
—It's not like that. You don't understand.
Mark raised his hand in a low but authoritative voice.
—Take a step back, sir.
Todd hesitated, then did as he was told, stepping back with a frown. Mark's hand hovered over his cipher, ready to unlock it, while Jepa approached and carefully closed the latch.
The clang of metal rang loudly in the silent hallway. When the door opened, the room on the other side was dark and silent. Emma was sitting on the floor beside the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, clutching a phone in both hands as if it were the only solid thing left in the world.
She was wearing an oversized T-shirt that hugged her shoulders. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her eyes were red and wide as she stared intently at the officers.
Mark immediately crouched down, softening his voice.
—Hi Emma, are you okay now?
Behind her, the bed took up almost the entire room. It wasn't the small, cheerful bed in the photos on the wall. This one had high, padded sides, thick rails, and straps attached to the mattress. The sheets were white and starched, giving the set a classic, austere look.
Jepa's face was pale.
“What the hell is this?” he whispered.
Todd spoke quickly and defensively.
It's for her safety. I built it. I've seen something similar for children with epileptic seizures. She falls out of bed. I was trying to help her.
But there, with a crying child on the floor and a closed door behind them, the explanation rang hollow. Jepa took out his phone and started snapping photos.
Mark carefully guided Emma toward him, positioning himself between her and the bed. He returned to the hallway and picked up the radio. His voice was firm, but the gravity that characterized it was unmistakable.
—Central, this is Harris. There appears to be a restraint system installed around the pineapple bed and an external lock on the door. We're requesting Child Protective Services (CPS) and immediate medical attention.
At the end of the hall, Emma clutched her sleeve, shaking as the weight of the situation took over the house.
That evening, before the fireworks, the bus, and the voices that would fill the house, the evening had seemed almost normal to Emma.
She was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, coloring in thick black lines like those in a coloring book, while the television hummed softly in the background.
The lamp behind the sofa cast a warm yellow circle on the carpet. For a while, she pretended everything was as it was before the accident. Before the lights became strange.
Todd moved behind her through the house, his boots thumping heavier than usual. Emma gasped as he stopped walking and left her room.
He heard the sound of wood scraping the ground. The dull thud of something falling hard. When he looked around, his stomach knotted.
The frame of his regular bed was lowered, bouncing awkwardly against the wall. In its place, Todd dragged something tall and familiar, its sides rising higher than his mattress had ever reached.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a low voice.
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