We left the school separately.
The police wanted Travis to meet them at the station.
Ryan drove me and Emma home.
I sat in the passenger seat, watching the road while Emma sat quietly in the back.
She had stopped asking questions.
That frightened me more than if she had been crying.
Children become quiet when they realize adults are worried.
At home, Ryan made lunch.
He kept glancing toward the windows.
I took Emma upstairs.
She sat on the edge of her bed.
“Mommy?”
“Yes?”
“Is somebody mad at Travis?”
“I don't know.”
“Are they mad at me?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
She nodded.
Then she whispered, “I didn't do anything.”
I sat beside her.
“I know.”
“Daddy thinks Travis is bad sometimes.”
“Daddy was wrong about that.”
She looked relieved.
“Does Travis know the bad person?”
“I think he's trying to figure it out.”
Emma nodded.
Then she reached beneath her pillow.
She pulled out a small plastic keychain.
“What's that?”
“Mark gave it to Travis.”
I froze.
“What?”
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Last Saturday.”
My heart began pounding.
“Emma, why didn't you tell me?”
“I forgot.”
I looked at the keychain.
It was shaped like a guitar pick.
A small black piece of plastic with a silver band around the edge.
“Who is Mark?”
“Travis's music friend.”
“Did he give you this at the school?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“At the band place.”
I stared at her.
“You were there?”
She nodded.
“Travis let me watch rehearsal once.”
Ryan had never mentioned it.
Neither had Travis.
I carried the keychain downstairs.
Ryan looked at it.
“What's that?”
“Emma says Mark gave it to her.”
Ryan's face changed.
“Travis needs to see this.”
We called him.
He arrived twenty minutes later.
The moment he saw the keychain, he went still.
“Where did she get that?”
“She says Mark gave it to her.”
“When?”
“Last Saturday.”
Travis picked it up carefully.
“That isn't mine.”
“What is it?”
He turned it over.
There was a tiny symbol engraved on the back.
A triangle crossed by a line.
Ryan looked at him.
“What does that mean?”
Travis stared at it.
“It was our old band's symbol.”
“Old band?”
“Before the current group.”
“What happened?”
Travis put the keychain on the table.
“The band broke apart after money disappeared.”
I remembered the police mentioning the financial dispute.
“Who was responsible?”
“We never proved it.”
“Who was suspected?”
Travis looked at me.
“Mark.”
Ryan swore quietly.
Travis continued.
“He handled bookings. Payments. Contracts.”
“And he disappeared?”
“He left town.”
“When?”
“About a year ago.”
“Then why is he here?”
“I don't know.”
The room fell silent.
I looked at the keychain.
“Could this be a message?”
Travis shook his head.
“Maybe.”
Ryan asked, “What was he accused of taking?”
“Band money.”
“How much?”
“Enough to destroy the group.”
“That's vague.”
Travis looked at him.
“About twenty thousand dollars.”
Ryan stared.
“And nobody reported him?”
“We did.”
The police had a record.
That explained why they had reacted differently when Travis finally mentioned Mark.
But something still didn't fit.
I looked at the keychain.
“Why give this to Emma?”
Travis didn't answer.
Ryan said, “Maybe he wasn't giving it to her.”
We all looked at him.
“He could have wanted Travis to find it.”
Travis nodded slowly.
“That makes more sense.”
“Why?”
“Because Mark knew I'd recognize the symbol.”
I looked toward the window.
“Then the message wasn't for Emma.”
“No.”
“It was for you.”
Travis nodded.
A cold feeling settled over me.
Someone had been using our daughter to send messages to Travis.
The thought made me sick.
The police returned later that afternoon.
We gave them the keychain.
The officer examined it.
“Did the child interact with Mark directly?”
Travis answered.
“She may have.”
“Where?”
“At the rehearsal space.”
“Was anyone else present?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“The band.”
The officer wrote down names.
Then he looked at Travis.
“You need to tell us everything about the financial dispute.”
Travis nodded.
He explained that Mark had handled the band's bookings and payments.
Several deposits had disappeared.
The group had assumed the venue owners were late.
Then they discovered forged invoices.
Mark vanished before the matter could be resolved.
The band dissolved.
Travis eventually joined another group.
“What does this have to do with your neighbor's daughter?” the officer asked.
“I don't know.”
“But someone wants you to think it does.”
Travis looked at the floor.
The officer continued.
“You've received a photograph of your house, someone watched the school, a note was left in your daughter's desk, and an object linked to your former band was given to the child.”
He paused.
“This is no longer random.”
Ryan put an arm around my chair.
“What should we do?”
“Until we identify the person, don't change your routines unpredictably.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It is safer than allowing someone to learn that their behavior controls you.”
I nodded.
The officer gave us additional instructions.
No walking alone.
No unscheduled pickups.
Keep Emma with trusted adults.
Document everything.
Then he left.
That evening, Travis sat on our porch.
Ryan joined him.
I watched through the window.
For a long time, neither spoke.
Finally Ryan said something.
Travis shook his head.
Then Ryan looked toward the house.
I stepped outside.
“What?”
Travis stood.
“Mark knew about Emma.”
“How?”
“He asked me about her.”
“When?”
“Several months ago.”
My heart sank.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn't think it mattered.”
I stared at him.
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
“What did he ask?”
Travis hesitated.
“He asked whether she was my daughter.”
I looked at Ryan.
Neither of us spoke.
“What did you tell him?”
“That she was my neighbor's child.”
“Did he ask her name?”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell him?”
“No.”
“Did he know where she lived?”
Travis looked down.
“He could have figured it out.”
“How?”
“My motorcycle.”
I understood.
If Mark had seen Travis ride away after rehearsal, he could have followed him.
“And the first time he saw you walk Emma home?”
“I don't know.”
Ryan's voice was quiet.
“Why didn't you tell us any of this?”
Travis looked at him.
“Because I didn't want to frighten her.”
“You should have frightened us.”
Travis nodded.
“You're right.”
I sat down.
“There's something else.”
They both looked at me.
“Why did Mark give Emma the keychain?”
Travis stared at the floor.
“I think I know.”
“What?”
“The money.”
Ryan frowned.
“What money?”
“Before the band broke up, Mark told me he'd hidden some records.”
“Where?”
Travis looked at me.
“In the old rehearsal building.”
I felt a chill.
“Records of what?”
“Payments.”
“Could those records prove he stole the money?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have them?”
“No.”
“Then why would he care now?”
Travis's face changed.
“Because I might.”
Ryan stood.
“You said you didn't have them.”
“I don't.”
“But you might know where they are.”
Travis nodded.
“I gave them to someone.”
“Who?”
He looked toward the street.
“My old bandmate, Derek.”
The same man who had been mentioned earlier.
I suddenly understood why there might be two men.
Derek and Mark weren't working together.
They could be looking for the same thing.
The officer had warned us that someone was controlling the situation.
But what if there were two separate people?
One searching for Travis.
Another searching for evidence.
And Emma had accidentally become the point where their paths crossed.
Then my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
Another photograph.
This one showed the old rehearsal building.
Underneath it was a single sentence.
YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME.
Travis stared at the screen.
Ryan asked, “What does he want?”
Travis's answer was barely audible.
“The records.”
I looked at him.
“Where are they?”
He didn't answer.
Because he had already realized the truth.
They weren't with Derek.
They weren't with Mark.
They were somewhere much closer.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Missing Records Were Closer Than Any of Us Realized, and Finding Them Forced Us to Revisit the Night Travis First Became Our Neighbor
The Man Everyone Else Feared Was the One Person My Daughter Ran Toward Without Hesitation
Part 7 of 12
