Chapter 8
The light buzzed and the room got colder. I could see my breath a little when I exhaled. Teresa kept her arm around me and her other hand was in her apron pocket. I felt her fingers moving against my side, restless, then still.
She pulled her phone out. It was an old black phone with a cracked corner on the case. She didn't hold it up like she was going to call someone. She looked at the door, then at me, then back at the phone.
"Claire, I need to do something," she whispered. Her voice was low and her lips barely moved. "I'm going to turn this on, okay? It will just listen. You don't have to be loud."
I nodded. My throat hurt from crying and I didn't want Melanie to hear me anymore.
She swiped and tapped. The screen lit up her hand. I saw the red dot appear and the numbers start counting. 00:01. 00:02. She set the phone on the shelf behind the folded towels, half-hidden, mic facing out. She covered it a little with a white towel so the light didn't show.
I stared at it. The numbers kept going.
Teresa crouched down so her face was level with mine. Her eyes were wet but her voice stayed steady. She put both hands on my shoulders.
"Tell me what happened in the hall," she said, so quiet I had to read her mouth too. "From the start. Just us."
I swallowed. I could still feel where Melanie's hand had been. My shoulder ached where her fingers had dug into my sweater.
"She grabbed me," I whispered. My voice shook and I had to stop and breathe. "By my collar. Right here. She pulled me past the lights on the wall. I tried to pull back but she wouldn't let go. She said I was a problem. She kept pulling me toward the stairs even when I said sorry."
Teresa's hands tightened just a little. She didn't interrupt. The red numbers on the phone kept ticking. 00:18. 00:19.
"Did you fall?" she asked.
I nodded. "On the basement steps. She pushed. You were there."
"I saw," she said. "I saw her push you, Claire."
She glanced at the door. I could hear voices on the other side, low and muffled. My dad's voice and Melanie's. He was talking fast and she was answering sharp.
Teresa made a decision. I saw it in her face, the way her jaw set. She stood up and raised her voice, not shouting, but clear enough to carry through the wood.
"Mr. Deaken, can you hear me?" she called toward the door.
There was a pause. Then my dad's voice, closer. "Yes. Teresa? Claire? Are you okay?"
"We're cold but we're okay," Teresa answered. She kept looking at the phone with the red dot. "Sir, I need to tell you what happened. I saw Mrs. Deaken grip Claire by her shoulder and collar and drag her down the hall while Claire was pulling away and crying. Claire said 'please, I'm sorry' and Mrs. Deaken said she was a problem and told her to get out of her sight."
On the other side Melanie cut in. "That is not what happened—"
Teresa kept talking over her, steady. "She pushed Claire into this storage room. I said stop, she's a child. Mrs. Deaken told me if I wanted to protect her I could stay with her, and then she shut the door and locked it from the outside. We have been in here since. Claire is eight. She is scared and she did nothing to deserve this."
I heard my dad say something low and angry that I couldn't make out. Melanie's voice rose, "You're taking her side—"
"She's a child!" Teresa said again, louder this time, and her voice cracked. "Look what you're doing. She's a child."
I started crying again without meaning to. Teresa dropped back down and pulled me against her apron. Her hand covered my ear, gentle.
The phone was still recording. 01:14. The little numbers kept moving behind the towel. I whispered into Teresa's shoulder, so only she and the phone could hear, "Don't let her turn it off."
"I won't," she whispered back. "It's still on. You did good. You told the truth."
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From the other side of the door, my dad pounded once, not on the brass plate this time but flat on the wood. "Melanie, give me the key. Now."
And for the first time since the hallway, I heard quiet on her side. No answer.
