Tommy hit him again, this time in the stomach.

Derek collapsed to his knees.

The porch was rough under his hands.

The dogs inside started barking loud, frantic, throwing themselves against the door.

Marcus looked toward the house.

“Shut them up!” Derek wheezed.

“Please don’t hurt them.

Then do what we tell you.

” Tommy hauled Derek to his feet, shoved him toward the driveway.

Derek’s legs barely held him.

“Get in the car.

My son is asleep.

He’ll be fine.

Let’s go.

” They walked him to the black sedan parked down the street under a broken street light, opened the back door, pushed him inside.

The car smelled like stale cigarettes and old fast food.

Marcus got in the driver’s seat.

Tommy in the passenger side.

They drove.

Derek didn’t know where they were going.

Didn’t ask.

Just sat in the back seat.

Pain throbbing through his body, mind racing.

Blood dripped from his lip onto his shirt.

His son alone in the house.

The dogs barking.

God, please protect him.

Please.

They drove for maybe 20 minutes out of town.

Rural roads, trees pressing close, no street lights, no other cars, just darkness and the sound of the engine.

Finally, Marcus pulled over.

Side of the road, middle of nowhere.

The headlights illuminated trees and nothing else.

Tommy turned around in his seat.

Here’s what’s going to happen.

You’re going to leave town tonight.

You’re going to tell your probation officer you had a family emergency.

You’re going to disappear for a few months.

Let things cool down.

Then maybe maybe you can come back.

I can’t do that, Derek said quietly.

His voice sounded strange, distant.

You can.

You will.

My son will be fine.

Your sister can take him.

Your parents, whatever.

Derek shook his head.

No.

Marcus laughed.

short, harsh.

You think you have a choice? I’m not leaving my son.

Tommy leaned over the seat, got close.

Derek could see the veins in his eyes.

Let me be clear, Derek.

If you don’t leave, if you go to the cops, if you make any noise, we know where your sister lives.

We know where your parents are.

Accidents happen, house fires, car crashes.

You understand? Derek’s heart stopped.

The world narrowed to Tommy’s face in those words.

Accidents happen.

You understand? Tommy said again.

Derek nodded slowly.

His throat was too tight to speak.

Good.

Tommy opened the car door.

Cold air rushed in.

Get out.

Walk.

Think about what we said.

We’ll be in touch.

Derek climbed out of the car.

His legs barely held him.

He stood on the side of the empty road alone, the night pressing in.

The sedan drove off.

Tail lights disappeared into the dark.

Derek stood there for a long time, blood drying on his face, pain in his ribs with every breath.

He started walking.

Not toward home, not yet.

Toward a pay phone he’d seen a mile back.

Toward the only person he could trust, the choice.

Derek walked along Route Three in the dark.

His ribs screamed with every step.

His jaw throbbed, but he kept moving.

He thought about his son, asleep in the crib.

What if Marcus and Tommy went back? What if they decided to make their point more clearly? No.

Stop.

They wouldn’t.

Not yet.

They want me scared.

Not him dead.

But would they really stop at threats? He didn’t know.

That was the problem.

He didn’t know what they were capable of.

Or maybe he did, and that was worse.

After 40 minutes of walking, he found the pay phone outside a closed gas station, the neon sign dark.

His fingers shook as he dropped quarters into the slot.

Dialed.

Pastor William Henderson answered on the fourth ring, voice groggy.

Hello, Pastor Henderson.

It’s Derek Riley.

Derek? Henderson sounded more awake now.

It’s almost midnight.

What’s wrong? I need help.

Where are you? I don’t know.

Side of Route 3, maybe 5 miles from town, near the old mobile station.

Are you hurt? Derek touched his jaw, felt the swelling.

Yeah.

Stay there.

I’m coming.

Henderson arrived 23 minutes later in his old Buick, headlights cutting through the dark, found Derek sitting on the curb outside the gas station, head in his hands.

Henderson got out, took one look at him, and said, “Get in.

” They drove to Henderson’s house in silence.

Small ranch on the outskirts of Franklin.

Henderson’s wife was asleep.

He led Derek into the living room, turned on a lamp.

The light felt too bright.

“Sit,” Henderson said.

Derek sat.

The couch was soft.

He almost couldn’t feel it through the pain.

Henderson disappeared into the bathroom, came back with a first aid kit.

The red cross faded on the white plastic.

Started cleaning the blood off Derek’s face with careful hands.

Who did this? Marcus Webb, Tommy Castellano, men I used to know.

What do they want? They think I talked to the police.

They want me to leave town, disappear.

Henderson pressed gauze against Derek’s split lip.

The sting made Derek wse.

Did you talk to the police? No.

So, they’re threatening you for nothing.

They’re threatening my family.

Henderson stopped, looked at Derek.

Your son? Yeah, my sister.

My parents.

They said, They said accidents happen.

Henderson set down the gauze, folded his hands.

We’re going to the police.

I can’t, Derek.

If I go to the police, they’ll kill someone.

I know they will.

They’ve done it before.

You don’t know that.

I do.

Derek’s voice cracked.

There was a guy in Manchester, 1974, threatened to talk.

Marcus and Tommy paid him a visit.

He disappeared.

Never came back.

Everyone knew what happened, but nobody could prove it.

Henderson was quiet for a long moment.

The house creaked.

Somewhere a clock ticked.

Then, “Okay, let’s pray.

” They prayed together.

Derek’s hands shook.

His voice barely a whisper.

Henderson’s voice was steady.

God, we don’t know what to do.

We need your wisdom.

We need your protection.

Show us the way.

When they finished, Henderson said, “Here’s what we’re going to do.

You’re going to stay here tonight.

Get some rest.

In the morning, we’ll go to the police together.

I’ll be with you.

You won’t be alone.

We’ll explain everything.

They’ll protect your family.

What about my son? He’s alone in the house right now.

Call your sister.

Have her pick him up first thing in the morning.

Tell her to take him somewhere safe, out of town.

Don’t tell her where, just tell her to go.

Derek nodded slowly.

That made sense.

Get his son away from Franklin, away from Marcus and Tommy.

Okay, but Derek, you can’t run.

If you run, you look guilty, and they’ll never stop coming after you.

We face this head on with God’s help.

Agreed.

Agreed.

Derek called his sister from Henderson’s phone.

The rotary dial clicked as he spun it.

She answered on the third ring, voice thick with sleep.

Hello, it’s Derek.

Derek, it’s midnight.

What’s wrong? I need you to do something for me.

Early tomorrow morning, pick up my son from the house.

Take him to mom and dad’s.

Actually, no.

Take him to your place.

Don’t tell anyone where you’re going.

What? Why? Please, just trust me.

It’s important, Derek.

You’re scaring me.

I know.

I’m sorry, but I need you to do this early, like 7 a.

m.

Can you do that? Okay.

Yes, I’ll be there at 7:00.

Thank you, Derek.

What’s going on? I’ll explain later.

I promise.

He hung up, felt a small measure of relief.

his son would be safe, away from the house, away from Marcus and Tommy.

Henderson showed him to the couch, gave him a blanket and a pillow that smelled like lavender.

Try to sleep.

We’ll deal with this in the morning.

Thank you, pastor.

That’s what I’m here for.

Henderson turned off the lamp, went to his bedroom.

Derek lay down, stared at the ceiling.

The couch springs creaked under him.

Sleep didn’t come.

His mind raced.

What if his sister was late? What if Marcus and Tommy went back to the house before she got there? What if they were watching the house right now? Stop.

God is watching over him.

Trust that.

But trusting was hard when your ribs achd and your jaw throbbed and you could still hear Tommy’s voice.

Accidents happen.

Around 3:00 a.

m.

, Derek couldn’t take it anymore.

He got up, walked to the window, looked out at the dark street.

A cat crossed under a street light.

Nothing else moved.

God, I don’t know what to do.

I’m scared.

I want to trust you, but I’m so scared.

What if they hurt him? What if going to the police makes it worse? What if they make good on their threats before the police can stop them? He thought about his son.

Asleep in the crib, face peaceful, tiny hands curled into fists.

9 months old.

Didn’t even know his father was gone.

Wouldn’t remember any of this.

Maybe that’s better.

Maybe if something happens to me, at least he won’t remember.

The thought made Derek’s chest tight.

No, not alone.

His sister would be there soon.

7:00 a.

m.

4 hours.

But 4 hours was a long time.

Anything could happen in 4 hours.

Derek made a decision.

He couldn’t wait.

Couldn’t risk it.

He grabbed Henderson’s car keys from the kitchen counter where they sat next to a bowl of loose change.

Left a note on the table.

Pen trembling as he wrote, “I’m sorry.

I have to protect him.

I’ll explain everything later.

Thank you for everything, Derek.

And he left.

The night air hit him as he stepped outside, cold, sharp.

He got in Henderson’s Buick, started the engine.

The dashboard lights glowed green.

He knew Henderson would be angry, confused.

But Derek couldn’t explain.

Not now.

He just had to make sure his son was safe.

Then he could go to the police.

Then everything would be okay.

He drove toward Salsbury Road.

The last goodbye.

Derek drove back to his house.

It was 3:30 a.

m.

The street was quiet, empty.

No black sedan in sight.

He checked twice, three times.

Nothing.

He parked Henderson’s Buick in the driveway, got out.

The porch light was still on.

Moths circled it.

He unlocked the door, went inside.

The dogs rushed him immediately, confused, excited, tails wagging.

They’d been alone for hours.

He petted them quickly, felt their warm bodies press against his legs.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

He went upstairs, each step creaked.

His son was still asleep in the crib, the nightlight casting soft shadows, face peaceful, tiny hands curled into fists, breathing slow and steady.

Derek stood there for a long moment, just watching him breathe, memorizing his face, the curve of his cheek, the way his eyelashes rested against his skin.

I’m a terrible father.

What kind of father brings danger to his child’s door? What kind of father can’t protect him? Then he picked him up gently, wrapped him in a blanket.

The baby stirred, made a small sound, but didn’t wake.

Derek held him against his chest, felt the weight of him, the warmth.

This might be the last time he held his son.

The thought hit him like a punch.

Marcus and Tommy wouldn’t stop.

Even if he went to the police, even if they were arrested, there were others.

People higher up.

People who wouldn’t forget.

Derek carried him downstairs.

His ribs screamed with every step, but he held on tight.

Grabbed a diaper bag from the kitchen, formula, a bottle, extra clothes.

Threw it all in without thinking.

He put his son in the car seat in Henderson’s Buick.

buckled him in with shaking hands.

The baby’s head lulled to the side, still asleep.

Derek got in the driver’s seat, sat there for a moment, hands on the wheel.

“What am I doing? Where am I going?” He didn’t have a plan, just an instinct, a desperate half-formed idea.

If Marcus and Tommy wanted him gone, if they thought he was a threat, then he had to remove the most vulnerable piece from the board.

his son.

Get him somewhere they couldn’t touch him.

Somewhere safe.

Somewhere official.

Not his sister.

They knew where she lived.

Not his parents.

Same problem.

Somewhere public.

Somewhere with cameras and security and people who would protect a child.

Derek drove toward Boston.

It was the only thing that made sense.

Two hours.

The baby slept the whole way, oblivious.

Derek drove in silence.

No radio, just the sound of the engine and his own thoughts.

Am I running away? Is this cowardice? No.

This is protecting him.

This is making sure he survives even if I don’t.

But what happens after? Will he think I abandoned him? Will he grow up believing his father didn’t want him? The thoughts spiraled.

Derek gripped the wheel tighter.

His knuckles went white.

God, is this the right thing? Am I doing what you want, or am I just scared? No answer came.

Just the dark highway and the yellow lines disappearing under the car.

When he reached Boston, the sun was just starting to rise.

The sky pale gray, buildings dark against it.

The Massachusetts State House loomed ahead.

stone columns, golden dome catching the first light, symbol of power, of law, of protection.

Derek parked on a side street, sat for a moment.

His son was starting to wake up, eyes blinking, confused, not crying yet, but close.

“It’s okay,” Derek whispered.

“It’s okay,” he picked him up, held him close.

The baby’s weight felt heavier now.

Or maybe Derek felt weaker.

He carried his son toward the state house, found a side entrance that was unlocked.

Early morning cleaning crew, maybe slipped inside.

The hallway was empty.

Marble floors, high ceilings.

The air smelled like floor wax and old stone.

Derek found a quiet stairwell, set his son down gently in a cardboard box he’d grabbed from the trunk, something that had been there for months, left over from moving.

made sure the blanket was tucked around him.

Made sure he was warm.

The baby looked up at him with wide eyes, not crying, just watching.

“I love you,” Derek said.

His voice broke.

“I love you so much.

I’m sorry.

I’m so sorry.

” He pulled out a piece of paper and a pen from the diaper bag, wrote with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.

Please take care of him.

He placed the note beside the baby, kissed his son on the forehead.

The baby’s skin was soft, warm.

Derek closed his eyes.

Tried to memorize the feeling.

God will watch over you, he whispered.

You’ll be safe here.

Someone will find you soon.

Someone good.

This is wrong.

This is so wrong.

What kind of father? Stop.

He’ll be safe.

That’s what matters.

He’ll grow up.

He’ll be okay.

Derek stood up, took one step back, then another.

His son started to fuss.

Small sounds, not crying yet, but close.

Derek turned and walked away before he could change his mind.

His legs felt like lead.

Every step was agony.

Not from his injuries, from something deeper.

He walked out of the state house, got back in the car, sat behind the wheel for a long time, couldn’t see through the tears.

His whole body shook.

What have I done? What have I done? Then he drove.

Not home, not to Henderson’s house, to Lake Winnipegasi, the place where he used to fish with his father when he was a kid.

before everything went wrong, before bad choices and worse consequences, when life was simple.

Maybe if he went there, he could think clearly.

Maybe God would show him what to do next.

The end.

Derek parked by the old dock at Lake Winnipegasi.

The sun was rising fully now, light spreading across the water, turning it gold.

Beautiful, peaceful, like the world wasn’t falling apart.

He got out of the car, walked to the edge of the dock.

The wood was old, weathered, some planks missing.

Water lapped against the posts.

The sound was gentle, familiar.

He sat down, legs hanging over the edge.

The cold air off the water made him shiver.

God, what now? I did what I thought was right.

I protected him.

But I feel like I just made the worst mistake of my life.

Did you want this? Or did I just panic? Show me, please.

Show me what to do.

He sat there for maybe an hour, watching the water, thinking, praying, crying.

He thought about his son.

Someone would have found him by now.

Called the police, child services.

He’d be safe, fed, warm, protected.

But he’ll grow up thinking I didn’t want him.

Derek opened the car door, pulled out the Bible from the glove compartment, the one he’d brought from Henderson’s house, the one he always kept with him.

The pages were soft from reading.

He turned to Psalm 23.

Read it slowly.

The Lord is my shepherd.

I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

His voice cracked on the next verse.

Yay, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.

He closed the Bible, held it against his chest.

I’m in the valley right now, aren’t I? The shadow of death.

Marcus and Tommy, the threats, the fear.

But I will fear no evil.

I will.

A sound behind him.

Car engine.

Derek turned a black sedan pulling into the parking area.

His stomach dropped.

Marcus and Tommy got out, walked toward him slowly, not rushing.

They had all the time in the world.

Derek stood up.

His body moved on instinct even as his mind went blank.

“Derek,” Marcus said almost friendly.

“We thought you might come here.

Tommy remembered you talking about this place once.

Your dad used to bring you fishing, right? Derek didn’t answer.

Where’s your kid? Tommy asked.

House was empty.

Dogs were barking, but no baby.

He’s safe.

Where? Somewhere you can’t touch him.

Marcus and Tommy exchanged a look.

That’s cute, Tommy said.

You think you’re protecting him, but you just made this a lot worse.

We told you what to do, Marcus said.

His voice was calm, patient, like explaining something to a child.

Leave town.

Keep quiet.

Instead, you run to your pastor, steal his car, take your kids somewhere.

Now we have problems.

Derek’s heart pounded.

I didn’t go to the police.

Not yet.

But you will.

We can see it in your face.

You’re going to crack.

I won’t.

You will, Tommy interrupted.

And we can’t have that.

Derek looked at the water, looked at the dock, looked at Marcus and Tommy.

This was it.

The moment he’d been running toward since they knocked on his door.

God, if you’re there, if you’re listening, protect my son.

Let him grow up safe.

Let him know I loved him.

Derek didn’t fight when they grabbed him.

didn’t struggle when they pulled him toward the car.

His last words barely a whisper.

God forgive you and forgive me.

The discovery.

April 3rd, 1977, 6:45 a.

m.

A security guard at the Massachusetts State House made his rounds, keys jangling on his belt.

Heard crying in a stairwell, loud, insistent.

found a cardboard box.

Inside, a baby, red-faced from crying, otherwise healthy, fed recently.

A note written in shaky handwriting.

The guard radioed for police immediately.

By noon, the story was in the news.

Abandoned baby found at state house.

Photos of the building.

Speculation.

Who would leave a baby in such a place? Two weeks later, Derek Riley’s sister was reading the newspaper at breakfast, saw the photograph of the baby.

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