The Last Text Said “If the Little Girl Keeps Looking, We’ll Take Her Too”

Eight years old and he felt like he weighed nothing, like a month in that room had hollowed him out from the inside. He smelled like bleach too. They’d scrubbed him. They’d scrubbed everything.

“Mommy, the phone rings sometimes,” Mason whispered into my neck. “And the man tells the old people what to do. And once he said my name. He knew my name before continue reading …