Chapter 2 - Brianna Finally Said What Their Mother Had Made Her Do
Caitlyn did not go home that night.
There was no home to return to immediately anyway.
The fire had damaged the upstairs hallway and part of Caitlyn’s bedroom.
More importantly, the fire investigator had seen the outside lock.
Police had seen it.
Paramedics had heard Caitlyn say her mother walked away.
And Brianna had admitted she locked the door.
A child welfare investigator arrived before midnight.
Her name was Andrea Collins.
She sat beside Caitlyn at the hospital while nurses checked her breathing.
Luke waited in the hallway.
Meredith wanted to stay.
Andrea said no.
That became the first time Caitlyn saw somebody tell her mother no and not apologize afterward.
Meredith did not handle it well.
“I am her mother.”
“And right now, we need to speak with Caitlyn without family members in the room.”
“My daughter has anxiety.”
Caitlyn looked up.
“No, I don’t.”
Meredith’s smile froze.
Andrea noticed.
“Mrs. Monroe.”
Meredith finally left.
Caitlyn watched the door close.
Then she whispered,
“Is she mad?”
Andrea didn’t lie.
“She might be.”
“Will she come back?”
“Not while we’re talking.”
Caitlyn looked down at the hospital blanket.
“Okay.”
Andrea asked simple questions.
What happened?
Who locked the door?
Did Caitlyn see the fire start?
Had she ever been locked in before?
That last question changed everything.
Caitlyn nodded.
“How many times?”
“I don’t know.”
“More than once?”
“Yes.”
“More than five times?”
Caitlyn thought.
“Yes.”
Andrea kept her voice calm.
“Why?”
“When I’m bad.”
“What does bad mean?”
“When Mommy says I lie.”
“What do you lie about?”
Caitlyn shrugged.
“Things.”
“Can you give me an example?”
Caitlyn hesitated.
Then said,
“I told my teacher Mommy didn’t let me eat dinner.”
Andrea was quiet.
“Was that true?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Mommy said I lied.”
“What happened after school?”
“She made me apologize.”
“To whom?”
“Her.”
Caitlyn said it as if that was obvious.
Andrea continued gently.
“Any other examples?”
“I told Grandma Joan that Mommy pulled my hair.”
“Did she?”
“Yes.”
“What happened?”
“Mommy said I did it myself.”
Andrea’s pen stopped.
“How would you pull your own hair?”
Caitlyn demonstrated with both hands.
“She said I was making myself look messy so people would feel sorry for me.”
The room went quiet.
Seven-year-olds should not have explanations for how adults rewrite their pain.
But Caitlyn did.
She had years of practice.
By morning, a temporary safety plan placed Caitlyn with Rachel Meyers.
Meredith’s younger sister.
Caitlyn barely knew her aunt.
Rachel used to visit often.
Then, around the time Daniel disappeared, she stopped coming.
Meredith said Rachel was jealous.
Rachel said nothing.
Now she arrived at the hospital with puffy eyes and a coat thrown over pajamas.
When Caitlyn saw her, she remembered a birthday from years ago.
Aunt Rachel had brought a red kite.
Mommy threw it away after Rachel left because “people who disappear don’t get to buy affection.”
Rachel crouched in front of the hospital bed.
“Hi, Cate.”
Nobody called her Cate anymore.
Daddy had.
Caitlyn’s eyes filled.
“You call me that.”
Rachel’s face broke.
“Your dad used to.”
“Did you know Daddy?”
Rachel started crying.
“Yes.”
“Did he leave me?”
Rachel glanced toward Andrea.
“Can I answer?”
Andrea nodded.
Rachel looked at Caitlyn.
“Your daddy loved you very much.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Rachel swallowed.
“No.”
Caitlyn’s chin trembled.
“Then why didn’t he come?”
Rachel had no easy answer.
“Because grown-ups made a mess of things.”
That answer hurt.
But it felt more honest than anything Caitlyn had heard in years.
Down the hallway, Brianna sat with a detective.
Meredith was no longer allowed to speak with her daughters unsupervised.
Brianna looked smaller without makeup.
Sixteen.
Still a child herself.
Detective Ruiz sat across from her.
“You told Caitlyn you were sorry.”
Brianna nodded.
“Why?”
“I locked the door.”
“Why?”
Silence.
“Did your mother tell you to?”
Brianna began crying.
“She said Caitlyn needed to calm down.”
“What had Caitlyn done?”
“She found the boot.”
Ruiz leaned forward.
“What boot?”
“Dad’s.”
“So this was about the key?”
Brianna shook her head.
“I didn’t know there was a key.”
“Then why did the boot matter?”
“Mom hates his stuff.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Brianna.”
“She said Dad poisoned Caitlyn against her.”
“How? Caitlyn was three when he left.”
Brianna wiped her face.
“Mom says little kids remember feelings.”
Ruiz paused.
“Do you?”
Brianna looked away.
“What do you remember?”
“My dad yelling.”
“At whom?”
“Mom.”
“Did he ever hurt her?”
Brianna’s answer came automatically.
“Yes.”
Then she stopped.
Ruiz noticed.
“Did you see him hurt her?”
Brianna stared at the table.
“I heard things.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
“Did you ever see him strike her?”
“No.”
“Push her?”
“No.”
“Threaten her?”
Brianna’s eyes filled again.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you remember him saying?”
Brianna closed her eyes.
“Stop using the girls.”
Ruiz waited.
“What else?”
“You don’t get to scare her and call it parenting.”
“Who was he talking about?”
“Caitlyn.”
That mattered.
Daniel had been defending Caitlyn before he disappeared.
Ruiz continued.
“Why did you lock Caitlyn’s door tonight?”
Brianna whispered,
“Mom said she had another episode.”
“What episode?”
“She was asking about Dad again.”
“And?”
“Mom said she needed to stay in her room until she stopped.”
“Who started the fire?”
“I don’t know.”
“Was there a fire when you locked the door?”
“No.”
“Where did you go?”
“Downstairs.”
“Where was your mother?”
“Upstairs.”
Ruiz sat straighter.
“After you locked Caitlyn in?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Maybe ten minutes.”
“What happened next?”
“I smelled smoke.”
“What did you do?”
“I ran upstairs.”
“And?”
“Mom was standing in the hall.”
“What was she doing?”
Brianna’s mouth trembled.
“Nothing.”
Ruiz’s face remained still.
“What did you say?”
“I asked where the smoke was coming from.”
“And?”
“She said, ‘Caitlyn always makes everything dramatic.’”
Brianna began sobbing.
“Then I heard Caitlyn pounding.”
“What did you do?”
“I tried to open the door.”
“Was it locked?”
“Yes.”
“You had locked it.”
“Yes.”
“So unlock it.”
Brianna shook her head.
“I couldn’t.”
“Why?”
Brianna looked up.
“Mom had taken the bolt handle off.”
Ruiz froze.
“A slide bolt?”
“Yes.”
“She removed the handle?”
“She used pliers before.”
“Before?”
Brianna covered her mouth.
Ruiz’s voice became very quiet.
“How many times has Caitlyn been locked in that room?”
“I don’t know.”
“Guess.”
“Mom does it when Caitlyn gets too loud.”
“Weekly?”
Brianna shook her head.
“Sometimes.”
“Monthly?”
“Yes.”
“And you helped?”
Tears rolled down Brianna’s face.
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because Mom said if I didn’t, Caitlyn would get worse.”
There it was.
Not cruelty for cruelty’s sake.
A system.
Meredith taught one daughter that controlling the other was helping.
“Did your mother ever tell you Caitlyn was dangerous?”
“Yes.”
“Violent?”
“Yes.”
“Was she?”
“No.”
Ruiz wrote something.
Then asked,
“Did your mother ever tell you what would happen if people believed Caitlyn was dangerous?”
Brianna went still.
Ruiz noticed immediately.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Brianna.”
“Mom said she might need special school.”
“What kind?”
“A place where kids live.”
“A residential facility.”
“I guess.”
“Why would Meredith want that?”
“I don’t know.”
Ruiz waited.
Brianna finally whispered,
“Because Caitlyn talks too much.”
Meanwhile, the fire marshal completed his first inspection.
The fire had not begun in the wall.
Not electrical.
It started in a laundry basket in the upstairs hallway.
Paper.
Fabric.
A small amount of an ignitable household liquid.
The fire itself was limited.
The smoke was what made it dangerous.
And the basket had been placed six feet from Caitlyn’s locked door.
When Meredith was told, she changed her story.
First she said wiring.
Then maybe a candle.
Then she suggested Caitlyn might have started something before being locked in.
But there were no matches in Caitlyn’s room.
No lighter.
No candle.
And Caitlyn had been inside when Brianna locked the door.
That afternoon, Rachel took Caitlyn to her apartment.
Small.
Two bedrooms.
No white columns.
No perfect lawn.
Caitlyn stood in the guest room doorway.
“Does this lock?”
Rachel looked at the door.
“From the inside.”
“Can Mommy open it?”
“Your mom doesn’t have a key to my apartment.”
Caitlyn considered that.
Then put the brown boot beside the bed.
Rachel stared at it.
“That was Daniel’s.”
“You remember?”
“Yes.”
“Why did Mommy say Daddy was bad?”
Rachel sat down.
“Your mom and dad fought.”
“Because of me?”
“No.”
The answer came so fast Caitlyn believed it.
“Never because of you.”
Caitlyn climbed onto the bed.
“Where’s Daddy?”
Rachel looked toward the key.
“I don’t know.”
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
Caitlyn stopped breathing for a second.
“You know?”
“I knew he was alive two years ago.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Rachel started crying.
“Because your mother stopped letting me see you.”
Caitlyn frowned.
“Why?”
“Because I asked too many questions.”
That sounded familiar.
People who asked questions disappeared.
Daddy.
Rachel.
Old babysitter Miss Tasha.
A school counselor Caitlyn suddenly stopped seeing.
Rachel picked up the storage key.
“We’re going to find out what your dad wanted you to know.”
The next morning, with police approval, Rachel, Ruiz, and Luke went to Harbor Storage.
Caitlyn stayed with Andrea.
Unit 317 was still active.
Paid annually.
In cash.
Nobody knew by whom.
The key worked.
Inside was not furniture.
Not boxes of old clothes.
There was one metal filing cabinet.
One locked trunk.
A small desk.
And shelves filled with envelopes.
Every envelope had the same name.
Caitlyn Monroe.
Dozens of them.
Birthday cards.
Christmas cards.
Letters.
Four years’ worth.
All unopened.
All from Daniel Monroe.
Rachel covered her mouth.
Ruiz opened the top drawer of the filing cabinet.
Inside were court documents.
Bank statements.
Photographs.
Medical reports.
And one digital recorder sealed in a plastic evidence bag.
On top was a note.
If Meredith ever tells the girls I abandoned them, play File 6.
Ruiz pressed the button.
Static filled the storage unit.
Then Daniel’s voice.
“Meredith, I’m recording this because you keep changing the story.”
A woman answered.
Meredith.
Calm.
Cold.
“Turn that off.”
“No.”
“You’re frightening Brianna.”
“No. I’m protecting Caitlyn.”
Silence.
Then Daniel said,
“If you lock that little girl in her room again, I’m taking both daughters and going straight to the judge.”
Meredith laughed.
“You think anyone is going to believe you?”
“I have photographs.”
“You have nothing.”
“I have Caitlyn’s teacher.”
“I’ll handle the teacher.”
Ruiz’s eyes narrowed.
Daniel continued.
“And I found the money.”
Silence.
Long.
Then Meredith’s voice changed.
“What money?”
“The withdrawals from Caitlyn’s account.”
Rachel looked at Ruiz.
The recording continued.
“You were never supposed to see those.”
Daniel answered,
“That’s the first honest thing you’ve said all night.”
Then Meredith said something that turned the storage unit cold.
“You think you can take my daughters, my house, and my life away from me?”
Daniel replied,
“I think I can stop you from hurting a seven—”
He corrected himself.
“A three-year-old child.”
Then Meredith whispered,
“You won’t get the chance.”
The file ended.
Ruiz stared at the recorder.
Rachel looked toward the shelves filled with letters.
Then she noticed something taped to the underside of the desk.
A photograph.
Daniel.
Caitlyn.
Brianna.
Taken at the Monroe house.
On the back, Daniel had written:
If I disappear from their lives, it will not be because I chose to.
May you like
And beneath that:
Ask Brianna what Meredith made her say in court.
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