She’s not my new mommy.” My four-year-old daughter stood on her chair clutching her stuffed rabbit against her chest.

Panic surged through my veins with terrifying intensity. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal, ignoring the red light as my car screeched through the intersection, horns blaring around me in protest.

I dialed Detective Ramirez’s direct extension with a trembling hand, keeping my eyes glued to the rain-slicked road ahead.

"Pick up, pick up," I muttered under my breath as the phone rang tone after tone.

"Ramirez," she answered crisply on the third ring.

"Detective, she's back! Vanessa is back at my house!" I yelled into the phone, pushing the engine to its absolute limit.

"Mr. Mercer, calm down. Where are you?" Ramirez demanded. "We have units stationed near your property—"

"She sent me a live photo from my living room! She bypassed your perimeter! Mrs. Gable and my daughter are in that house right now!" I screamed, tears of pure rage and terror pricking my eyes. "I'm two minutes away! Do not let her touch my daughter!"

"Code three! All units converging on 1042 Sycamore Lane, repeat, code three!" Ramirez shouted into her radio on the other end of the line, the sound of sirens instantly drowning out her voice. "Mr. Mercer, stay back! Do not go in alone if she's armed!"

I didn't care about protocol. I didn't care about police orders. All I cared about was the small, fragile little girl sitting in that living room, completely unaware that a monster had slipped back inside her sanctuary.

My tires skidded across the asphalt as I swung the car violently into my driveway, slamming the gearshift into park before the engine had even fully powered down.

I threw open the driver's side door and sprinted up the concrete steps toward the front porch.

The front door was unlocked.

I pushed it open, the heavy oak panel swinging inward with a loud thud against the wall.

"Mrs. Gable! Emma!" I shouted into the cavernous, quiet entryway.

Silence answered me.

The house felt colder than it had twenty minutes ago. The heavy scent of rain mixed with something metallic—something sharp and chemical.

I drew my breath in sharply, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I stepped cautiously into the living room.

The sofa was empty. The laundry basket sat half-unfolded on the rug. The building blocks were scattered across the floor in disarray, abandoned mid-game.