Chapter 4
The phone buzzed against Ricardo’s ear for four long rings before a crisp, professional voice answered on the other end.
“This is Dr. Harrison. If this is an emergency, please dial emergency services.”
“Harrison, it’s Ricardo Vance,” the man said, his voice tight with barely contained fury. “I’m standing in my hallway looking at an orthopedic restraint harness strapped to my eight-year-old son. My wife claims you prescribed it. I want a yes or no right now: did you authorize this?”
A brief pause hung over the line, filled only with the faint sound of rustling paper.
“Mr. Vance,” Dr. Harrison began, his tone measured and professional. “Given the confidential nature of our family therapy sessions, I cannot discuss specific behavioral interventions over an unsecured phone line without both parents present on a recorded authorization.”
“Don’t quote policy to me,” Ricardo snapped, stepping away from Elena to pace the length of the bright modern hallway. “Did you or did you not tell my wife to strap my son into a harness?”
“We discussed containment strategies for self-harming behavior during our Tuesday session,” the doctor replied carefully. “Mrs. Vance expressed deep concern regarding the boy’s recurring episodes of distress. We agreed that physical safety protocols should be evaluated.”
“Evaluated, Harrison! Not implemented without my consent!” Ricardo shouted, stopping abruptly as he saw Elena watching him with cold amusement.
“Mr. Vance, I suggest you schedule an emergency consultation at my office tomorrow morning,” the doctor said smoothly before the line went dead with a sharp click.
Ricardo lowered the phone slowly, his fingers gripping the device so tightly his knuckles turned white. He turned to face Elena, who had not moved an inch from her spot near the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“You coached him,” Ricardo whispered, the realization dawning with sickening clarity. “You didn't get an explicit prescription. You manipulated a clinical recommendation into a blank check for abuse.”
Elena tilted her head, her long brown hair cascading over her shoulder.
“You think you know everything because you sign the checks, Ricardo,” she said softly, stepping closer to him with predatory calm. “You don't know what happens in this house when the sun goes down. You don't know why Leo cries every time he looks at the third-floor landing.”
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From the floor, Leo suddenly let out a sharp gasp, his hazel eyes wide with pure terror as he pointed a trembling finger toward the hallway ceiling directly above them.
Ricardo followed the boy’s gaze. A faint, rhythmic sound—like the slow scraping of heavy furniture across hardwood—was echoing from the locked room directly overhead.
