Page 25 of Beyond Redemption

Stella whispered something I couldn’t hear.

“Yes,” Liis replied. “We’ll color quietly. And we’ll be extra kind, right?”

A pause. “Wight,” Stella said, not quiet at all.

Instead of reprimanding her, Liis spoke in the tone she wanted Stella to emulate. “Like when you had a fever and needed cuddles.”

“Wight,” Stella said again. Shoes were removed, the end-of-day ritual unfolding almost the way it always did.

I stepped back into the living room as they came down the hall. Liis met my eyes first. One look told her everything she needed, and she acknowledged with a nod.

Bodhi didn’t rise to greet Liis or reach for Stella the way he normally would; his attention stayed fixed on Livvy, as if whatever she needed in that moment mattered more than anything else in the room.

Stella padded toward the table, already reaching for Livvy. I scooped her up instead, turning to see Liis already bringing crayons and paper.

“Look at that silly clown. What color should we make his hat?” I whispered as Liis carefully dumped the box upside down on the table, the twenty-four colors spreading out in front of our daughter.

Stella’s eyes scanned each of them. “Hmmmm,” she said in a dramatic tone. “Wed.”

“Good choice,” I said, pressing a quick kiss over the neat part in her dark hair, between the tiny bows of her pigtails.

Bodhi leaned toward Livvy. “Have you called your parents yet?”

The question hung there, unforced, reasonable. Exactly what someone would ask if they believed the story we’d given them.

Livvy’s mouth opened, then closed again. She looked at Liis, then at me, waiting for permission to finally tell the truth.

“They know,” Liis said, stepping in for Livvy.

“Are they flying in?” Bodhi asked.

“We’re working out what to do next,” Liis said.

Another truth—bent but intact.

Bodhi leaned closer to her, watching Livvy tuck her hands under her thighs. He’d accepted explanations of her family and past—that it was all so removed—more easily than he should have. Not because it made sense, but because he had never been given a reason to question it. He trusted easily. He saw the version of Livvy we let him see, the live-in nanny who came from somewhere ordinary. The girl with parents he’d never met because they lived so far away, had busy careers, but who loved her from afar.

Bodhi’s phone vibrated, then Liis’s, then mine. Bohdi glanced down, his thumb unlocking the screen. Probably a text from his parents or sister, just an update or check in, but nothing more. Liis and I checked our texts and then traded glances.

“Bodhi?” Livvy said. “What is it?”

Bodhi didn’t answer. His eyes tracked across the screen, jaw tightening by degrees. The color drained from his face. “Sunny just sent me something.”

Another buzz. Then another.

Liis was furiously tapping her screen, likely asking for more information.

Livvy saw the movement from her peripheral and turned to Liis. “What’s wrong?”

“Livvy,” I said, keeping my voice calm. “Did someone in the basement with you record what was happening?”

She froze. “I’m not… I’m not sure. Why?”

“Someone did,” Bodhi said, turning the phone so we could see.

The video was shaky. Vertical. Someone was breathing hard behind the camera. The caption across the screen, all caps and panic. MARYMOUNT. SHOOTER STILL ACTIVE. SEND HELP.

The footage lurched into motion on a blur of drywall and dim light. The camera pointed nowhere and everywhere, as if the person holding it had forgotten how hands worked. Shoes flashed past the frame, scuffed sneakers shifting in tight, frantic increments, then the image jerked sideways and caught the inside of a closet so packed with tables, chairs, and boxes there was scarcely enough room to breathe. Students were folded into themselves along the back wall, shoulders rounded, faces turned inward as if making themselves smaller might render them invisible. The cameraman poked the phone out the door just long enough for a stack of overturned chairs to fill the frame. After a loud bang somewhere outside, he pulled the phone back in and scrambled back into a corner. Somewhere off camera, someone was whispering prayers under their breath. Someone else was quietly crying.