I carefully slid the bear from his arms without waking him and backed out of the room, easing the door nearly shut.
My mind raced through awful possibilities.
A prank? A surveillance device?
Someone watching us?
I carried the bear to the kitchen like it might explode, set it under the bright light, and tore open the seam I’d so carefully closed hours earlier.
Stuffing spilled onto the table. I reached inside and felt something hard.
I pulled it out and stared.
A small plastic box with a speaker and a button, held together with duct tape.
Then the voice came again.
“Mark? Mark, can you hear me?”
If it had been an adult voice, I’d have handled it differently—but this was a child, pleading for help from my son.
I couldn’t ignore that.
I pressed the button. “This is Mark’s dad. Who is this?”
The line went dead.
“No, no, wait,” I said, pressing the button again. “You’re not in trouble. I just need to understand.”
Static hissed.
Then a shaky voice: “It’s Leo. Please help me.”
The name hit me.
Leo—the boy Mark played with every weekend at the park, with the bright laugh and scraped knees.
But he hadn’t come to the park in months.
Mark had asked about him once or twice, then stopped. I assumed they’d moved or changed parks.
“Leo, are you safe right now?”
No reply.
Static hissed, then silence. I pressed again.
“Leo? Hey buddy. I’m still here. Please talk to me.”
Nothing.
I sat at the kitchen table for hours, staring at the bear, wondering if Leo was okay.
In the morning, Mark padded in, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
“Where’s Bear?” he asked.
“He’s okay. I’ll give him back, but we need to talk first.”
Mark climbed onto his chair, legs swinging, eyes fixed on me.
“Do you remember Leo?” I asked.
“From the park?” His face lit up.
“Yeah. Did he seem…different the last time you played?”
Mark frowned. “He didn’t want to play tag. He just wanted to sit. He said his house was loud now.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Did he say why?”
Mark shrugged. “He said his mom was busy. And grown-ups don’t listen when you tell them things.”
“Did he ever tell you where he lived?”
Mark nodded. “The blue house, a block from the park. We pass it on our Sunday walks.”
“The one with the white flowers by the mailbox?”
He nodded.
I knew what I had to do. After dropping Mark at school, I didn’t go straight to work.
I drove to Leo’s house.
I told myself I was just checking. Planning would’ve meant admitting I was worried.
When I knocked, the door didn’t open immediately. Voices and a TV murmured inside.
Finally, Leo’s mom answered.
“Oh, hi. You’re Mark’s dad, right?”
“That’s me,” I said, relieved she remembered. “Sorry to bother you. I know this is random.”
She smiled politely. “It’s fine. What’s up?”
