My son sobbed the entire drive to his grandmother’s house. “Daddy, please don’t leave me here.” My wife snapped, “You’re babying him.” I left him anyway. Three hours later, a neighbor called. “Your little boy ran to my house shaking. He’s hiding under my bed and won’t stop crying.”

She went down hard.

For a second Owen just stood there, frozen, staring. Then he dropped the spade and ran. He squeezed through a broken section of fence and disappeared into Genevieve’s yard.

The video ended.

William stared at the blank screen. Somewhere in the room someone was speaking into a radio. Somewhere else a paramedic asked for transport readiness. He could hear all of it and none of it.

His son had been dragged to a shed. Locked inside. Then attacked while fleeing.

It was all there. No room left for doubt. No margin for marital interpretation. No possibility that he had imagined anything. His instincts had not only been correct. They had been late.

“Where is Sue now?” he heard himself ask.

The officer touched the radio at his shoulder. “Unit at 247 Maple, status?”

A burst of static. Then: “Female victim on scene with severe facial trauma. EMS transporting. Significant blood loss.”