Chapter 3 - The Secret in the Purple Backpack
My old Volvo station wagon smelled of stale sunscreen and the dry, hot air of the afternoon as we tore down the state highway away from the hospital. I had bypassed the main road entirely, taking the winding county routes that cut through the old limestone quarries where there were no traffic cameras and no easy way for Caleb’s black pickup truck to follow us.
Emma was asleep in the back seat, exhausted by the sudden, terrifying shift in our weekend plans. Lily sat beside her, her small hand buried inside the pocket of my canvas bag, her fingers wrapped around my keys as if they were a lifeline.
We stopped at a secluded rest area five miles north of the city line—a small gravel pull-off surrounded by dense white pines and a single, rusted picnic table.
“Lily,” I said, turning around in my seat so I could look at her directly. “We need to know what Caleb was looking for in the basement. The nurse said the cut on your shoulder wasn't from a regular piece of glass. It was too straight, too deep.”
Lily didn't answer immediately. She reached down and pulled her purple backpack from the floorboard. The bag was heavy, its seams straining against whatever Sarah had packed at the bottom before dropping her off.
She unzipped the main compartment, bypassed the extra clothes and the coloring books, and reached into the secret lining behind the plastic water bottle holder. When she withdrew her hand, she wasn't holding a toy.
It was a heavy, stainless-steel cylinder about the size of a pill bottle, sealed with industrial electrical tape and stamped with a silver serial number that had been partially filed away. It felt freezing cold to the touch, even in the ninety-degree heat of the car.
“Caleb told Mommy this was their ticket out of the state,” Lily whispered, her small voice steady but incredibly thin. “He said he took it from the laboratory where he used to work before the police came the first time. He hid it in the lining of my backpack on Friday morning before we left the apartment.”
I took the cylinder from her hand. The coldness radiated through my skin, a strange, chemical chill that made the hair on my arms stand up. I realized with a sudden, sickening clarity why Caleb had been so desperate to stop us from going to the hospital, why he had chased us to the emergency room, and why Sarah had texted me to turn around.
This wasn't just a domestic dispute. Caleb hadn't just hurt Lily in a fit of rage—he had used her as a mule to transport stolen industrial or medical material, and the incision on her shoulder was the result of him trying to retrieve something he had hidden or used to demonstrate the material's value to a potential buyer.
My phone vibrated again. It wasn't a text this time. It was a restricted number.
May you like
I answered it, my thumb shaking against the screen.
“Megan,” Sarah’s voice was a ragged breath, accompanied by the distinct sound of wind rushing past a car window at high speed. “He’s got my phone. He knows about the backpack. He’s not going to the police, Megan. He’s coming to your house.”
