“No,” she whispered. “He just… said he didn’t need pajamas and that bed was scary.”
That was enough. Mark carefully guided her toward the door, away from the bed, keeping his hand firmly on her back. As they passed Todd, she gasped, clinging even tighter to Mark.
Todd realized this, and something broke in his expression: pain, guilt, confusion, all mixed together. He'd already radioed the office that he'd be going to bed first, but the words still stuck in his throat, even more so now that he saw Emma pull away from Todd in fear.
Mark stepped out into the hallway and picked up the radio. His voice was still professional, but the tone was unmistakable.
—Office, Harris here. We have a 7-year-old girl locked in her room. A restraint system is available. I'm requesting immediate medical assistance.
As the radio crackled with recognition, the weight of the situation settled over the house. Todd leaped against the wall, rubbing his temples and staring at the floor.
Jepa remained close to Emma; his external erection subsided as he saw the girl approach Mark. At that moment, nothing was resolved.
There were no answers, only questions, suspicions, and a misguided sense that whatever the truth was, it was much more complicated than it initially seemed.
The ride to Maple Grove General Hospital was silent, which made it all the more poignant. The outside of the ambulance smelled faintly of disinfectant and plastic.
The overhead lights cast a dull white glow that made Emma's face appear even smaller against the pillow on the stretcher. She lay still, her hands folded on her stomach and her gaze fixed on the ceiling, as if afraid to move and make the situation worse.
Mark sat behind her head, so close she could see him if she turned; his presence was a silent abyss in the confusion of movement and sound.
“Am I causing trouble?” he asked suddenly, his voice barely louder than the Egyptian's purr.
“No,” Mark said immediately. “Don’t get in trouble. You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
She was moved as she absorbed it, then fell silent again.
In the hospital, the sliding doors whistled open and the fresh air gave way to the sterile, shimmering shine of children's hair.
The nurses moved quickly but gently, guiding Emma to an examining room, while another nurse questioned Mark in a low, efficient voice.
Todd arrived separately with another officer, his hands free but his posture rigid and his eyes fixed, as if every glance from a passing staff member was an accusation.
Shortly afterward, Dr. Karepi Lou left the room. She was in her forties, her dark hair was neatly slicked back, and her expression was calm, like that of years spent calmly speaking harsh truths. She glanced at Emma's medical chart and gave her a small, reassuring smile.
“Hi, Emma. It’s Dr. Lou,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
As the examination began, fragments of the story emerged calmly and precisely. Six months earlier, a car accident. A collision that at first glance didn't seem serious.
The octagonal convulsions that occurred upon awakening, episodes of sleepwalking in which Emma awoke in places she had no memory of visiting. The notes were detailed, precise, written by different authors over time. It was something new. It was an awakening.
A moment later, Rachel Brooks burst into the corridor, still wearing the high-visibility vest and steel-toed boots she wore in her warehouse job.
Her hair was slicked back quickly, her eyes wide with fear as she watched Emma walk through the open door. She ran to her daughter's side, hugging her gently, as if afraid she might break.
“I’m here,” Rachel whispered, her voice shaking. “I’m so sorry, honey. I’m here.”
When Rachel finally looked up and saw Mark and Jeffa standing nearby, her expression hardened with confusion and alarm.
“What’s going on?” he asked. “Why are the police here?”
He moved to a small family meeting room at the end of the corridor, with beige walls and comfortable chairs, ideal for conversations no one wanted to have. Jepa wasted time.
“Rachel,” he said, “your daughter was locked in her room last night. There was a bolt on the outside of the door and the bed…”
“It's for her safety,” Rachel interrupted, her voice cracking. “Todd would never hurt her. He saved her office. She stopped breathing in her sleep, and he saved her. He's the one who stays up with her when I can't.”
“Then why do you lock the door?” Jepa insisted. “Why a bed that looks like a storage bed? And why did you tell her she doesn't need pajamas?”
Dr. Lou intervened before the room could further fracture.
“Let's take it easy,” he said calmly. “There's an important medical context.”
He explained carefully, choosing his words carefully. For some children with October seizures, padded safety cots might be recommended to prevent serious injuries.
In the most severe cases, the straps, used correctly and temporarily, could prevent the child from falling or hitting his head during an epileptic seizure. But he added:
"These measures require clear explanation, supervision, and strict adherence to safety regulations. Closing a door from the outside," Dr. Lou stated firmly, "is part of a medical recommendation."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Dapa arrived shortly after, still wearing his headphones and ID badge, as if he'd gone straight from the emergency room to the hospital without a second thought. He stood at the door, watching Emma through the glass for a moment before entering.
“I just wanted to see her,” Dapa said softly, his voice softer than usual.
When Mark asked him if he was okay, Dapa hit him with his head.
“I got a call like that a long time ago,” he admitted. “A kid?” His voice was calm. “Everyone thought it was nothing.” He swallowed. “It wasn’t. I’d never make that mistake again.”
Back in the conference room, the questions continued to pour in. Todd was questioned separately; his apparent apathy gave way to obvious exhaustion.
Rachel sat with her arms folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the door and the floor, trapped between fear for her daughter and fear of what might happen next.
“Before anyone decides who's right here,” she said, looking directly at Mark, “we need to get a full picture. The medical examinations, the bed frame, the home environment… everything.”
Mark was incredulous. He had learned not to rush to judgment, even though everything within him yearned for clarity and easy answers. In this case, nothing was simple.
Outside the identification room, Emma watched through the glass as the adults spoke in low, serious tones. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she felt the weight of it, the weight weighing on her.
She hugged her knees to her chest and waited, wondering if she'd done the right thing. Somewhere down the hall, Dapa watched her silently, hoping that this time he'd heard her dream.
The next day, the house on Willow Street felt different. The fear that had gripped her the night before had been replaced by a quieter fever, the kind that accompanies writing and answering questions.
Sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating the dust motes in the air and revealing that it was, in fact, an ordinary place.
However, nothing about the investigation seemed normal when Officer Mark Harris returned, this time accompanied by social worker Lipda Perez and a forensic technician carrying a tablet.
Dr. Kare Lox appeared on the tablet screen, a serious expression on her face as she guided them from afar.
“Let's take it easy,” he said. “Details matter.”
They went to Emma's bedroom first. In the daylight, the bed seemed less disturbing, though also less ordinary. The padding on the sides was thick and carefully placed, not improvised from scraps of material.
Lipda drummed his fingers along the seams, noting how the foam was embedded beneath the fabric, designed to cushion impact rather than restrict movement. The rails, though tall, were evenly spaced and smooth, with no sharp edges or hidden snags.
“These straps,” Lida said, bending over to inspect them. “They’re not hidden. They’re positioned exactly where medical safety beds do: at the hips and shoulders.”
Mark looked at the screen.
“Is this what you expected?” he asked.
Dr. Lou felt uncomfortable.
To learn more, read the next page >>
To see the full instructions for this recipe, go to the next page or click the open button (>) and don't forget to share it with your friends on Facebook.
