Chapter 3: The Locked Bedroom Door
The police officer introduced himself as Detective Harris.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and had a calm voice that seemed completely out of place in our garden.
He asked everyone to remain where they were.
Then he crouched beside Caleb.
“Can you show me the recording?””
Caleb nodded.
I wrapped my robe around my shoulders and moved closer.
My hands were shaking.
“Caleb, are you sure?””
He looked at me.
“I watched it twice.””
Detective Harris glanced at my father.
“Mr. Hayes, do you know what recording your son is referring to?””
Dad folded his arms.
“No.””
The detective didn't react.
“Then let's watch.””
Caleb opened another file.
The image showed the upstairs hallway of the lake cottage.
It was almost midnight.
Smoke had not yet filled the entire house.
The clock in the corner read 12:03 a.m.
A figure entered the hallway.
It was my father.
He walked toward my bedroom.
I recognized the dark sweater he had worn that evening.
He tried the handle.
Then he looked down the hallway.
The camera captured his face clearly.
He took a key from his pocket.
And locked my bedroom door.
I stopped breathing.
“No,” I whispered.
Detective Harris leaned closer to the screen.
The recording continued.
Dad placed the key inside his pocket and walked away.
Two minutes later, smoke appeared at the end of the hallway.
Then the video stopped.
I stared at the screen.
My father had locked my bedroom door.
While the cottage was filling with smoke.
While Caleb was trapped upstairs.
While I was sleeping.
“Why?”” I asked.
Dad looked at me.
“June, listen to me.””
“Why did you lock my door?””
“I was trying to keep you safe.””
The detective raised his eyebrows.
“Safe from what?””
Dad swallowed.
“There was an argument earlier that evening. June was upset. She threatened to leave.””
I stared at him.
“I was sixteen.””
“You were being difficult.””
“So you locked me in my bedroom?””
“I didn't know there would be a fire!””
His voice echoed through the garden.
I felt something inside me break.
Not because he had locked the door.
Because he had just admitted it.
I remembered waking up that night and trying to turn the handle.
I remembered pulling it again.
And again.
I remembered thinking the door was swollen from the heat.
It hadn't been.
My father had locked me inside.
Detective Harris turned toward him.
“Did you remove the key before leaving the property?””
Dad hesitated.
“Yes.””
“Why?””
“Because I panicked.””
“Did you tell the firefighters that the bedroom door had been locked?””
No answer.
“Mr. Hayes?””
Dad rubbed his face.
“No.””
I stepped backward.
My mother began sobbing.
“Richard, how could you?””
He turned toward her.
“Don't start.””
“You locked her in!””
“I was trying to control the situation!””
“You could have killed her!””
Dad looked at me.
For a second, his expression changed.
Something like regret crossed his face.
Then he said something I would never forget.
“You weren't supposed to be in danger.””
I stared at him.
“Then who was?””
Nobody spoke.
Detective Harris asked Caleb to replay the footage.
This time, the officer noticed something else.
“Pause it.””
Caleb stopped the recording.
The detective pointed toward the lower corner of the screen.
“What's that?””
A second figure stood near the staircase.
The image was blurry.
But the person was holding something.
A small red object.
Detective Harris zoomed in.
It was the same red container Dad had carried into the living room.
My father went completely still.
“Where is that container now?”” the detective asked.
Dad shook his head.
“I don't know.””
Caleb looked at him.
“You put it in the truck.””
Dad turned sharply.
“Caleb!””
My brother flinched.
But he continued.
“I saw you the next morning. You were carrying it behind the garage.””
Detective Harris made a note.
“Which truck?””
“The black one.””
“Was it your father's?””
Caleb nodded.
“Yes.””
Dad stepped toward him.
“That's enough.””
The detective moved between them.
“Mr. Hayes, stay where you are.””
For the first time, my father obeyed.
A policewoman approached my mother and asked her to accompany her for a separate conversation.
Mom stood slowly.
Before she left, she turned toward me.
“June, I need you to know something.””
I looked at her.
“What?””
“I didn't know he had locked your door.””
I wanted to believe her.
But I remembered the kitchen video.
The match.
The bottle.
The way she had looked at Dad before answering every question.
“Did you know about the fire?””
She lowered her eyes.
“I knew there had been an accident.””
“That's not what I asked.””
Her lips trembled.
“I knew there was something wrong.””
I felt cold.
“You knew?””
“I was afraid of losing your father. I thought if we kept everything quiet…”
“You thought about keeping your marriage.””
She started crying.
“And not about keeping your daughter alive,” I finished.
She didn't deny it.
Detective Harris escorted her toward the driveway.
Sloane was standing near the pool, looking smaller than I had ever seen her.
Her silver dress was stained with spilled champagne.
She kept twisting her engagement-style bracelet around her wrist, although she wasn't engaged.
I approached her.
“Did you know Dad locked my door?””
She shook her head.
“June, I swear…”
“Did you know?””
“No.””
“Then why did you say you were protecting me?””
Her eyes filled again.
“Because I was scared.””
I stared at her.
“You keep saying that.””
She lowered her voice.
“I thought he'd blame me.””
“For what?””
She didn't answer.
Detective Harris turned toward her.
“Miss Hayes, I need you to come with me.””
Sloane immediately began crying.
“Am I under arrest?””
“Not at this moment. I need to ask you some questions.””
Dad moved forward.
“She isn't going anywhere without a lawyer.””
The detective nodded.
“She is entitled to legal counsel.””
Then he looked toward me.
“Miss Hayes, there's something else we need to establish.””
“What?””
He held up the tablet.
“The footage shows your father locking your bedroom door. But it doesn't show what happened immediately before the fire.””
I looked at him.
“Why does that matter?””
“Because your brother has described a second incident involving the staircase.””
Caleb's face changed.
Detective Harris turned toward him.
“Son, did you see someone near the staircase that night?””
Caleb nodded slowly.
“Yes.””
“Who?””
He looked at Sloane.
Then at our father.
And finally, he pointed toward the driveway.
“The person who carried the fuel upstairs wasn't Dad.””
Detective Harris followed his gaze.
“Who was it?””
May you like
Caleb's voice broke.
“It was Mom.””
