“He hid in the closet during a fire,” Miller said. “He never made it out.”

I looked at my screen. “Leo,” I said. “Where in the closet are you?”

“In the back. Why?”

“Is there anything else there?”

Silence. Then the sound of boxes moving. “There’s a little door,” Leo whispered. “It’s open. There’s a light inside.”

“Miller! Check the back of the closet!”

Miller moved. “What the…? Dave, there’s a tunnel. It leads to a room built into the crawlspace.”

“What’s in it?”

“Photos,” Miller said, disgusted. “Hundreds of photos of Leo and his mom. Taken from outside. Taken from inside while they slept. Dave… they’ve been living in the walls this whole time.”

Then, the growl returned. But Buster was growling at the crawlspace. And something was growling back. A wet, rattling snarl of pure madness.

“Vance! Get the kid out of here!” Miller exploded.

Leo was taken away, crying for Buster. Miller held the phone and his weapon.

“Miller, wait for backup!”

“I can’t. The mother is a sitting duck.”

I heard the crawlspace door kicked open. Tactical light flooded the space.

“Police! Don’t move!”

A feral scream ripped through the air. “My boy! Give me back my boy!”

A struggle, objects overturning, then silence.

“Miller?” I whispered.

“It’s over, Dave.”

“Who was it?”

“A girl,” Miller said hollowly. “Maybe sixteen. They had her chained in the crawlspace. She was wearing a child’s pajama set. The same kind Leo wears.”

Nausea hit me. Martha and her husband had been trying to recreate their family. They had kidnapped this girl, Chloe, years ago. Tonight, they wanted Leo.

“The growl,” I said.

“It was her,” Miller said. “She’s been in the dark so long, she only knows how to fight. She was mimicking the dog.”

The rest of the night was a blur. Martha and her husband were charged. Chloe was taken to a facility. But what stayed with me was the dog.

Two weeks later, I drove to the yellow house. Leo was in the yard with Buster. The dog was sleek now, his tail thumping as he caught a ball. Leo’s mother waved from the porch. She knew my voice.

I didn’t get out. I just watched them.

People ask why I do this job, how I handle the tragedy.

I do it for the Busters. I do it for the Leos who stay quiet in the dark.

Leo raised a hand in a shy wave. Buster let out a happy bark. It was a thank you.

I drove back, clocked in, and waited for the next red light.

“911, what is your emergency?”

Because in the dark, someone has to be the light. And that night, it was my turn.

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