Page 84 of The Hanging Dolls
He plopped on a squeaky chair, blinking at the pictures, refusing to believe they were real. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but all he could feel was a wave of terror crashing over him.
Questions clamored in his head, making it hurt. How did Ryan…Why? If anyone found out about this, then everything would be ruined. Travis would lose everything.
The room suddenly felt suffocating, the walls closing in. He began to shake violently, his mind screaming for him to do something—anything—to make it all go away. He stumbled out of the room, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he made his way downstairs to the kitchen.
There, in a moment of panicked clarity, he grabbed a pack of matches from a drawer. He barely registered what he was doing as he picked up the box of photographs and went out to the backyard, his fingers fumbling as he struck the first match. It flared to life, and without hesitation, Travis dropped it into the box. The photographs caught fire immediately, the flames licking up the edges of the images that had haunted him just moments before.
He watched in grim silence as the fire consumed the box, the faces in the photos curling and blackening until there was nothing left but ashes.
FORTY-SEVEN
Scott was going to spend the rest of his life trying to erase the night before. What kind of a man had he become?
Had he actually tried to hit a woman?
He gnashed his teeth together as a rancid taste flooded his mouth. He had to quit drinking. Again. The irony was that the first time he started drinking was the first time Carly had cheated on him. It all boiled down to that woman—years and years of her lies and infidelity and the foolish mockery she made of him, while he was that wimp who stayed at home cleaning the house for her.
And now he felt like a fool again for believing Lucy was his. She wasn’t and it oddly felt like a loss.
His muscles cramped around his bones; his head felt bulky. But he steeled himself. This was still his case. Even if Lucy wasn’t his, this felt personal. Like it was his mess to solve.
He stood on the worn front steps of Lily’s house. He wasn’t supposed to be here. If Travis found out, he’d be in real trouble. He took a deep breath and knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the quiet, still air.
After a few moments, the door creaked open, and Tim stared at Scott. He looked as though he hadn’t slept in days—hiseyes hollow, his shoulders slumped. He was a well-built man, working a rigorous job at the processing plant. In the last two weeks, he seemed to have lost half of his body weight.
“Detective Cohen,” he mumbled, his voice rough and tired. “You find anything yet?”
It was the question Scott hated the most. Especially when he had to sayno. “We have multiple leads. How’s your wife, Mary?”
A tingling silence.
Tim’s eyes darkened, and he glanced behind him at the hallway, his lips tightening into a thin line. “She doesn’t leave her room anymore,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s… she’s not well.”
He nodded, not pressing for more. “I have to check Lily’s room again. Would that be okay?”
Tim nodded and let him in. His feet dragged heavily. Despite Scott being taller and bigger, he felt dwarfed under Tim’s shadow. It was so looming and the grief spilled out of him, engulfing him.
Upon reaching Lily’s room, Tim stopped and his empty eyes welled with fresh tears. “I… I can’t go in.”
“It’s okay. I won’t take long,” Scott said gently.
Lily’s room looked untouched—a time capsule of a child’s life that had been abruptly cut short. Toys were scattered across the floor, a half-finished puzzle lay on the table in the corner. The bed was neatly made, but the blankets still carried the imprint of a small body that had once curled up there.
His eyes were drawn to a small, cluttered table by the bed. On it sat a large, well-worn medical box, the kind that was usually reserved for someone with chronic health issues. Scott stepped closer, his breath catching as he flipped open the lid. Inside were dozens of bottles, some labeled, some not, all jumbled together in a chaotic mess. He sifted through them—ibuprofen, cough syrup, Tylenol, antiallergics… he recalled Andy’s statementabout how Lily was regularly sick, especially in the days leading up to her abduction, and Bella’s insinuation that Mary was an obsessed, helicopter parent.
And then he saw it—a bottle tucked in the back, almost hidden among the others. He pulled it out, his eyes narrowing as he read the label. It was a prescription diuretic; just like the pharmacist had mentioned. But what caught his attention was the name on the label—it wasn’t Lily’s. It was prescribed to Mary Ellen.
Was Mary on kidney medication? Did it end up in Lily’s room by mistake?
“Mr. Baker,” he asked Tim who stood at the threshold, “is your wife taking kidney medication?”
“No.” He frowned. “Her mother used to be. My mother-in-law.”
A chill ran down Scott’s spine, as he turned the bottle over in his hands. “Mary Ellen?”
“Yeah. She passed away about six years ago.”
Scott’s heart pounded. If Mary Ellen had been dead for six years then why was Mary still picking up her kidney medication? What was it doing in Lily’s room? But he already knew the answer and the cold realization settled in his gut.
