“Did you say the freezer, Noah?” I grabbed him by the shoulders and felt his small body shaking under his shirt.

“The big chest freezer,” Noah sobbed, twisting the hem of his shirt tighter until his knuckles went white.

“Lily was crying, and Grandma put the heavy brass lock on the latch.”

“Where’s your grandmother right now?” I asked, my voice dropping low.

“She picked up her handbag and drove away to her lunch restaurant,” Noah said.

“She told me to stay in my bedroom, but I climbed out the low window and rode my bike.”

I scooped Noah up under one arm, threw my shop rag onto the gravel, and ran straight for my Ford F-150 parked on the apron.

“Robert, get in the cab and call nine-one-one on speaker,” I shouted over my shoulder.

“Tell them to send an ambulance to my house on Elm Street right now.”

“I’m right behind you, Julian,” Robert said, pulling his phone out of its leather holster before I reached the driver’s door.

I buckled Noah into the front passenger seat, his bloody knee leaving a faint red smear on the gray vinyl seat cover.

Robert climbed into the cab beside him, holding his phone out on speaker as the engine roared to life.

I threw the truck into reverse, backed across the gravel apron, slammed the shifter into drive, and accelerated hard west onto Thomas Road into the late morning traffic.

In the molded plastic tray on the dashboard, right next to the air vents, I always kept the silver key to the bike lock and the spare key to the heavy brass padlock.