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On my way to my son’s house, I stopped for gas when a stranger suddenly warned me, “Don’t go. You’ll regret it.” I snapped back, “What the hell are you talking about?” He looked at me with pity and said, “Twenty minutes. You’ll understand.” Soon after I drove away, something terrible happened. / Chapter 3 / 3

PART 3: THE SECRET DANIEL WAS CARRYING

I couldn’t move.

I just stood there listening to the sounds around me.

Police radios.

Paramedics calling instructions.

The front door of my son’s home opening and closing.

Everything felt unreal.

“My son was going to confess?” I whispered.

Detective Miles nodded.

“Yes.”

“Confess to what?”

He looked at me carefully.

“Mrs. Whitaker, before I explain, I need to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Did Daniel seem afraid when he called you today?”

I thought back.

His voice.

The pause.

The way he said:

We need to talk.

“Yes.”

The detective’s face tightened.

“That’s what we thought.”

A cold feeling spread through me.

“What happened here?”

He looked at the house.

“Daniel contacted us earlier this week.”

My breath caught.

“The police?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Detective Miles lowered his voice.

“He said he had information about a serious crime.”

I stared at him.

My son?

The same boy who used to bring me flowers from the backyard?

The same boy who cried when he lost his first pet?

He had been carrying something dangerous?

“What kind of crime?”

Before the detective could answer, a paramedic rushed out.

“Detective!”

Miles turned.

“What is it?”

The paramedic looked toward me.

Then back at him.

“We found Daniel.”

My knees almost gave out.

“Is he alive?”

The paramedic paused.

That pause destroyed me.

“He is alive.”

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“But he’s injured.”

My hand went to my mouth.

“What happened?”

The detective looked at the house again.

His voice became quiet.

“Someone didn’t want him talking.”

The words hit me.

Someone tried to silence my son.

And suddenly the stranger’s warning made sense.

Twenty minutes.

That was the time between the gas station and the attack.

I looked at Detective Miles.

“Who would do this?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he said something that made my blood turn cold.

“Mrs. Whitaker…”

“Your son wasn’t the target.”

I stared at him.

“Then who was?”

He looked directly into my eyes.

“You were.”

And at that moment, I realized something.

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