Chapter 2 - The Monster in the Dark
“Because Tommy is still—” Ava’s voice cracked, dropping to a shattered whisper. “Tommy is still locked in the storm cellar beneath the reception hall. Wade said he ruined the family photos. He said Tommy had to stay in the dark until he learned how to smile right.”
For a split second, the room was so quiet you could hear the blood rushing in my ears.
Then, the world shattered.
I didn’t look at Diane. I didn’t look at Wade’s parents. I looked at Wade, who was suddenly gripping the arms of his chair, his eyes wide and terrified above his wired jaw.
"You locked my seven-year-old son in a cellar?" My voice wasn't a yell. It was dangerously calm, the kind of calm that precedes a devastating airstrike.
Wade tried to stand, but I crossed the room before he could fully rise. I grabbed him by the lapels of his ruined wedding suit, hoisting him inches off the floor. His father, Richard, surged forward, shouting legal threats, but a single, lethal glare from me froze the older man in his tracks.
"Where are the keys?" I demanded, the sheer force of my grip making Wade choke.
"He's... he's fine!" Wade mumbled through the wires. "It's just a timeout! Diane agreed!"
I turned my head slowly to look at my ex-wife. Diane’s face was the color of ash. She backed away, her hands trembling. "I didn't know it was the cellar," she stammered, tears spilling over her mascara. "He just said he was putting Tommy somewhere quiet so he wouldn't act out during the toasts. I swear, John, I didn't know."
"You didn't ask," Ava said from her chair, her voice cold and dead. "You never ask."
I dropped Wade. He hit the floor with a pathetic thud. I turned to my daughter. "Ava, stay here. Call 911. Tell them we need an ambulance and police at the Silver Creek Manor reception hall immediately. Do not let anyone leave this house."
I didn't wait for permission. I burst through the front door, sprinting to my rental car. The gravel flew as I slammed it into drive, tearing down the rural road toward the venue. My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. Please be okay, Tommy. Please hold on.
It took me six minutes to reach the sprawling estate. The wedding guests were mostly gone, leaving behind scattered folding chairs and half-empty champagne flutes on the lawn. I bypassed the main house and sprinted toward the back, scanning the ground.
There it was. Two heavy wooden doors set into the earth, secured with a thick, rusted padlock.
I fell to my knees, pressing my ear to the damp wood. "Tommy! Tommy, it’s Dad! Can you hear me?"
Nothing. Only the howling wind.
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced my chest. I didn't bother looking for a key. I ran to a nearby maintenance shed, grabbed a heavy steel crowbar, and brought it down on the padlock with every ounce of strength I had gathered over fifteen years in the military. Sparks flew. I hit it again. And again. On the fourth strike, the metal shattered.
I threw the doors open, coughing as a wave of musty, freezing air hit my face. I fumbled for my phone flashlight and shined the beam down the crumbling concrete stairs.
At the bottom of the steps, huddled in a ball against a wall lined with dusty, spider-webbed shelves, was a tiny figure in a tuxedo.
"Tommy!"
I scrambled down the stairs, falling to my knees beside him. He was trembling violently, his knees pulled to his chest, his eyes squeezed shut. He had his hands clamped over his ears, humming a broken, repetitive tune to drown out his terror.
"Buddy. Hey, buddy, it's me. It's Daddy."
He flinched when I touched his shoulder, a violent, full-body spasm that broke my heart into a million pieces. Then, he opened his eyes. In the beam of the flashlight, I saw the dried tear tracks cutting through the dirt on his pale cheeks. I saw the dark, purple bruise forming on his jawline.
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"Daddy?" he whispered, his voice hoarse from screaming. "Are you real? Or am I dreaming again?"
"I'm real, baby. I've got you." I scooped him into my arms, pulling him tightly against my chest. He buried his face in my neck, sobbing uncontrollably. As I carried him up into the fresh air, sirens began to wail in the distance. The police were coming. But as I held my broken boy, I knew the real war was just beginning.
