“It’s okay, buddy,” I said quickly. “That’s your mom. She’s right there.”

“No,” the little boy cried, his breath hitching.

“What do you mean, no?” I asked, confused.

The boy’s next words turned the blood in my veins to ice.

“My mommy doesn’t talk like that,” he whispered, crying quietly. “And my mommy… my mommy has been in a wheelchair since before I was born. She can’t walk up the stairs.”

The air in the center suddenly felt ten degrees colder. I sat paralyzed, my mind racing to process the sweet voice I had heard against the terrifying reality.

“Leo,” I said, my voice barely audible. I had seen his name on the cross-referenced info. “Leo, I need you to listen very carefully. Do not move. Do not make a noise. Put the phone face down on the floor so the light doesn’t give you away.”

I heard a soft rustle, and the audio became muffled by clothes or carpet. Across the room, Sarah was on the radio. “Units 2-Bravo and 4-Delta, be advised. Confirmed intruder at 402 Sycamore. Caller is a juvenile in an upstairs closet. He reports an unknown female in the bedroom, impersonating his mother. The mother is disabled and cannot access the second floor. Proceed with extreme caution. Suspect is potentially armed and using deception.”

I checked the timer. The deputies were still six minutes out. In this part of the county, six minutes was the difference between a rescue and a recovery.

“Leo? You still with me?” I whispered.

“I’m here,” came the tiny, choked reply.

Through the headset, I heard the woman again. She was closer now.

“Leo? Mommy knows you’re in here, baby,” she said. The sweetness remained, but now I heard the artificiality. It was too rehearsed. It was the voice of a predator wearing a mask.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she sang softly.

Her footsteps resumed. Thump. Thump. Thump. She was searching. I heard curtains being torn back. The bed skirt being lifted. She was checking every corner. My heart hammered like a trapped bird. I’ve handled shooters and jumpers, but this slow-motion hunting of a child made my stomach churn.

“Dave?” Leo whispered.

“I’m right here, Leo.”

“I think… I think she’s looking under the bed.”

“Stay still, Leo. Like a statue. The police are almost there. They have their sirens on, can you hear them yet?”

“No,” he sobbed quietly. “It’s too quiet.”

Then, I heard a different sound. A metallic clatter from elsewhere in the house. A crash, followed by a muffled cry of pain.

“Leo,” I said, my pulse spiking. “Where is your mommy right now? You said she was downstairs?”

“She sleeps in the living room,” Leo whispered. “Because of her chair. She has a special bed there.”

“Is there anyone else in the house? A back door? A basement?”

“Just the kitchen door. That’s where the glass broke.”

I realized with horror that if there were heavy boots on the stairs and a woman’s voice in the bedroom, there might be multiple intruders. Or worse, the woman had broken the glass and was playing a game while the “heavy boots” were elsewhere.

“Leo, I’m going to try to call your mommy’s phone. Stay on the line with me, okay? Don’t hang up.”

I dialed the home phone on my secondary line. It rang three times before someone answered. No one spoke. I heard heavy, labored breathing. It was the wet, ragged breathing of someone struggling for consciousness.

“Hello? This is 911 dispatch. Who am I speaking with?”

A faint moan. “Help…” a woman’s voice gasped. This one was raspy and weak. “My legs… I can’t… he hit me…”

“Ma’am, stay calm. Help is on the way. Are you Leo’s mother?”

“Yes… Leo… is he okay? Where is Leo?”

“Leo is safe. He’s hiding. Ma’am, is there someone in the room with you?”

Suddenly, the line went dead. A sharp click, followed by the drone of a dial tone. I broke into a cold sweat. My hands shook as I updated the CAD: Multiple intruders. Mother assaulted. Line cut.

“Dave?” Leo’s voice came back, sharper. “She’s standing right outside the closet.”

My breath hitched. I stopped breathing.

Through the phone, I heard the woman again. The sweetness had vanished, replaced by a cold, flat tone.

“I can hear you breathing in there, Leo,” she said.

I heard her hand rest on the door. The wood creaked.

“I know you have a phone,” she said. “I can see the light under the door. Who are you talking to, Leo? Is it Daddy? Is it the police?”

Leo didn’t answer. He was doing as I said, but his whimpering was getting louder. He was breaking.

“If you don’t open this door right now,” the woman growled, “I’m going to have to tell your mommy that you were a very, very naughty boy. And you know what happens to naughty boys, don’t you?”

“Leo, don’t move,” I urged. “The police are two minutes away.”

“I’m scared, Dave,” Leo whispered. “She’s turning the handle.”

I heard the metallic scrape of the handle being turned.

Clack.

The door was locked. Leo had engaged the privacy latch. The woman pulled, and the door rattled.

“Open the door, Leo,” she hissed.

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