As the door swung open, Officer Morales braced himself for what lay beyond the threshold. The air was thick and musty, carrying a stale odor that clung to the walls like a shadow. Jimena stepped inside, her small figure tense yet resolute.
Morales followed, his eyes scanning the dimly lit interior. The living room was sparsely furnished, with a threadbare couch and a cracked coffee table. Papers and empty food containers littered the floor, telling an unspoken story of neglect.
The windows, obscured by heavy drapes, let in only slivers of light, casting long shadows across the room. “Where is he?” Morales asked softly, trying not to startle the girl. “Upstairs,” Jimena replied, her voice a whisper.
“He usually sleeps during the day.”
Morales nodded, his instincts on high alert. He motioned for Jimena to stay close as they moved cautiously through the house. Every creak of the floorboards felt amplified, echoing through the silence.
The house, though modest in size, seemed to stretch on, its corridors winding like a labyrinth. As they reached the staircase, Jimena hesitated. She glanced up, her expression a mix of fear and determination.
“I don’t want him to see me,” she said, clutching her backpack tighter. “Stay here,” Morales instructed gently. “I’ll be right back.”
He ascended the stairs, each step deliberate and measured.
At the top, a narrow hallway led him to a closed door. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he approached, anticipation and dread intertwining. He paused, listening for any signs of movement from within.
Deciding it was now or never, Morales knocked firmly on the door. When there was no response, he turned the handle slowly and pushed it open. Inside, the room was dark, curtains drawn tightly shut.
A figure lay sprawled on the bed, oblivious to the intruder in his domain. Morales took a cautious step forward, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. He could see the man now—a disheveled, gaunt figure with unkempt hair and sallow skin.
Bottles of alcohol littered the nightstand, their contents long consumed. “Sir,” Morales called out, his voice firm yet controlled. “I’m with the police.
I need you to wake up.”
The man stirred, groaning as he turned over. His eyes blinked open, unfocused and bleary. “What the hell…?” he mumbled, trying to sit up.
Morales stood his ground. “We need to talk. There are concerns about the well-being of the children in this house.”
The man’s eyes flickered with recognition, then narrowed, anger seeping into his gaze.
“That little brat brought you here, didn’t she?” he spat, his voice venomous. Morales remained calm, his resolve unshaken. “We need to discuss the situation.
But first, you need to come downstairs.”
Reluctantly, the man swung his legs over the side of the bed, grumbling under his breath. Morales kept a vigilant eye on him as they descended the stairs. Back in the living room, Jimena stood by the door, her face a mask of defiance.
Morales approached her, a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” he said softly. “I’m here to help.”
Jimena nodded, a flicker of relief crossing her features.
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