Chapter 2: What the Closed Door Was Keeping
The key turned.
The door swung open.
The smell hit me first — stale air, old food, something I couldn't immediately name.
I stepped inside and stopped.
Every curtain was drawn tight.
The only light came from a single lamp in the corner, its shade cracked and yellowed.
There was almost no furniture.
A folding table.
Two chairs.
A mattress on the floor covered with a thin blanket.
Brenna set her backpack down quietly, like she was trying not to disturb something.
"This is how it's always been," she said.
I looked around slowly.
No TV.
No pictures on the walls.
No signs of a normal home.
Then I noticed the kitchen — bare counters, a near-empty refrigerator, a single pot on the stove.
"Where is Radley right now?" I asked.
She pointed toward a closed door at the end of the hallway.
I knocked gently.
No answer.
I knocked again.
The door opened a few inches.
A man in his late thirties looked out — pale, thin, startled to see a uniform.
"Radley?" I said calmly.
"I'm Officer Lionel.
Brenna asked me to come."
He looked past me at her.
Something crossed his face — not anger.
Something closer to shame.
"She shouldn't have," he said quietly.
"We're fine."
Brenna stepped forward.
"Tell him what you told me last night," she said.
"Tell him what you said you were going to do."
Radley's jaw tightened.
May you like
His eyes dropped to the floor.
And then he said four words that made my hand move toward my radio.
