PART 3: THE LOCKED BASEMENT AND THE BOY NOBODY KNEW WAS MISSING
“Mom knows where Marcus took him.”
Those seven words turned the hospital room colder than any winter night I had ever experienced.
I stared at my eight-year-old son, trying to understand how a child who should have been worrying about homework and cartoons had somehow become the only witness to something terrifying.
Officer Ramirez stopped in the doorway.
He had heard every word.
“Tommy,” he said gently, “you’re doing a very brave thing. You don’t have to explain anything else right now. There are people trained to help children tell their stories safely.”
Tommy looked at me.
“Dad, am I going to get in trouble?”
I reached for his hand.
“No, buddy. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever for telling the truth.”
He nodded, but his little fingers refused to release mine.
Officer Ramirez stepped into the hallway and spoke urgently into his radio.
I caught only pieces of his conversation.
“Possible second child…”
“Immediate welfare concern…”
“Request additional units…”
“Locate Marcus Hale…”
Then he returned and looked at me.
“Mr. Bennett, we’re treating this as an urgent missing-child investigation. We need you to remain with Tommy while we coordinate with the responding officers.”
“Is Lauren still here?”
His expression changed.
“She’s being interviewed.”
“Does she know what Tommy just said?”
“Not yet.”
I swallowed.
“Then don’t tell her until you find that little boy.”
The officer studied me for a moment before nodding.
“We’ll handle the investigation carefully.”
I sat beside Tommy’s bed, watching the green numbers flash across his monitor.
For the first time in my life, I understood what it meant to feel helpless while still being responsible for someone else’s entire world.
I was his father.
I was supposed to recognize danger.
I was supposed to keep him safe.
Yet for months, my son had been quietly begging me to notice something I couldn’t see.
And somewhere beyond those hospital walls, another child might be waiting for the same rescue.
Twenty minutes later, Ms. Collins entered with a small cup of water and a blanket.
She told me investigators were arranging a specialist interview for Tommy once his doctors confirmed he was well enough.
Until then, they wanted him to rest.
But Tommy wasn’t sleeping.
He kept watching the hospital door.
Every time footsteps passed outside, his body stiffened.
Finally, I leaned closer.
“Hey, champ. Want me to tell you the story about the dinosaur who was afraid of thunderstorms?”
It was an old bedtime story I had invented when he was four.
He shook his head.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“If the other boy is gone, does that mean Marcus will come looking for me?”
I felt my throat tighten.
“No one is going to be allowed into this room without the hospital knowing.”
He looked at the doorway.
“Mom always said Marcus could find anybody.”
I pulled my chair closer.
“Then tonight Marcus is going to learn that there are people whose job is to protect children.”
Tommy didn’t smile.
But he finally closed his eyes.
Just as his breathing began to settle, my phone vibrated.
An unfamiliar number appeared.
I almost ignored it.
Then a text message arrived.
YOU SHOULD HAVE LEFT THIS ALONE, ANDREW.
I stared at the screen.
Another message followed.
YOUR SON WAS SAFE UNTIL YOU CALLED THE POLICE.
My stomach tightened.
I immediately showed the messages to Officer Ramirez, who had returned to check on us.
He photographed the screen and recorded the number.
“Don’t respond,” he instructed.
“Do you think it’s Marcus?”
“We’ll investigate who sent them.”
A third message appeared.
ASK LAUREN WHAT HAPPENED LAST THURSDAY.
The officer read it.
Then his expression became noticeably more serious.
“Last Thursday,” he repeated.
I remembered something.
Something I had almost forgotten.
On Thursday evening, Tommy had called me from Lauren’s phone, asking me to pick him up.
That was the same call where I had heard a man demand the phone.
But there had been another detail.
A strange sound in the background.
At the time, I thought it was the television.
A child shouting.
Not Tommy.
Another child.
I looked at Officer Ramirez.
“I heard someone else during that phone call.”
“What do you mean?”
“A child. I thought it was the TV, but now I’m not sure.”
“Do you have a recording?”
“No. Just the call history.”
He nodded and wrote it down.
“That’s important information. Thank you.”
For the next hour, the hospital seemed to move around me while I stood still.
Doctors checked Tommy’s injuries.
A nurse brought him juice.
A child protection worker spoke quietly with the hospital staff.
And somewhere across town, police were trying to reconstruct what had happened inside a house I had once called home.
Then, at 11:47 p.m., Officer Ramirez returned.
He wasn’t alone.
A woman wearing a dark blazer and carrying a thin folder accompanied him.
“This is Detective Sarah Mitchell,” he explained. “She’s assisting with the investigation.”
Detective Mitchell introduced herself, then asked if we could speak outside Tommy’s room.
I followed them into a consultation area.
She opened her folder.
“Mr. Bennett, officers have secured the property and are conducting a lawful search of the basement.”
My pulse quickened.
“Did they find the boy?”
“Not yet.”
She paused.
“But they found evidence suggesting another child may have been kept there.”
I gripped the edge of the chair.
“What evidence?”
“A small sleeping area, children’s clothing, food containers, and a school notebook. We’re preserving everything for examination.”
I stared at her.
“Was he living down there?”
“We don’t know the full circumstances yet.”
She turned a page.
“However, there is something I need to ask. Do you recognize the name Benjamin Carter?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. Who is he?”
She slid a photograph across the table.
It showed a little boy with dark hair, bright brown eyes, and a missing front tooth.
He couldn’t have been older than nine.
My heart sank.
“Is that the child you’re looking for?”
“We’re trying to establish whether he’s connected to the evidence at the house.”
I studied the photograph.
Then I noticed something that made my skin prickle.
The boy was wearing a bright orange jacket.
I had seen that jacket before.
Not in person.
In one of Tommy’s drawings.
Several weeks earlier, Tommy had drawn two children standing behind a house.
One was wearing blue.
The other was wearing orange.
When I asked who the second boy was, Tommy told me he was imaginary.
I looked up.
“My son drew this boy.”
Detective Mitchell straightened.
“What?”
“I have the drawing at home. Tommy said it was someone he made up.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Two kids behind a house. One wearing an orange jacket. I remember because Tommy only had blue and green crayons left, and he asked me to find an orange one.”
The detective exchanged a glance with Ramirez.
“Mr. Bennett, we’ll need that drawing preserved. An officer can help arrange for it to be collected.”
I nodded.
Then I looked again at the photograph.
“Who is Benjamin Carter?”
Detective Mitchell hesitated.
“He’s a child who was reported missing four months ago.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Four months?”
“Yes.”
“From where?”
“A town about ninety miles north of here.”
I pressed my palm against my forehead.
Four months.
Four months during which Tommy had become increasingly withdrawn.
Four months during which Lauren had suddenly stopped allowing me inside the house.
Four months during which Marcus had been renovating the basement.
The detective continued.
“We’re investigating possible connections. We haven’t established that Benjamin was at the house, so please don’t discuss his identity with Tommy or show him the photograph.”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
But then I remembered another detail.
Something Lauren had said during an argument in June.
She had told me Marcus was doing important work for a family friend.
Something involving temporary housing.
At the time, it sounded ordinary.
Now I wondered whether anything about that explanation had been true.
I told the detective.
She wrote it down.
Then her phone rang.
She stepped away to answer.
Her expression changed as she listened.
“Where?”
A pause.
“Was anyone inside?”
Another pause.
“Send the location immediately.”
She ended the call.
Officer Ramirez looked at her.
“What is it?”
She spoke quietly.
“Marcus’s truck was located at an abandoned roadside motel outside town.”
My heart began pounding.
“Was he there?”
“The truck was empty.”
“What about the boy?”
“We don’t know yet.”
She closed her folder.
“Officers are searching the area.”
I stood.
“I can help.”
Detective Mitchell shook her head.
“The best thing you can do right now is stay with your son.”
“But if there’s another child…”
“We understand. And we’re taking it seriously.”
I sank back into the chair.
I hated that she was right.
Tommy had spent months feeling abandoned by the adults around him.
I wasn’t going to make him wake up in another strange room without his father beside him.
When I returned, he was awake again.
He looked relieved when he saw me.
“Dad, you came back.”
I smiled despite the ache in my chest.
“Always.”
He held up his dinosaur.
“Rex wants to know if we’re going home.”
I sat down.
“Tell Rex we have to stay a little longer so the doctors can make sure you’re okay.”
Tommy nodded solemnly.
Then he whispered, “Can we go to your house instead of Mom’s?”
I felt tears sting my eyes.
“That’s what I’m working toward, buddy.”
He stared at me for a moment.
Then he asked something I wasn’t prepared for.
“Does Mom love me?”
I looked at his small, frightened face.
I could have told him yes.
I could have said every mother loves her child.
But after everything that had happened, I wasn’t going to make promises about someone else’s feelings.
So I chose the truth I could give him.
“You deserve to be loved, Tommy. And you deserve to feel safe. Nothing that happened changes that.”
He looked down.
“I tried to be good.”
My heart broke.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I leaned closer.
“You didn’t have to earn being safe. You never did.”
He began crying softly.
“I thought if I was good enough, Marcus would stop being mad.”
I held his hand until he calmed down.
An hour passed.
Then another.
At 2:16 a.m., I was standing beside the vending machine when I heard raised voices near the nurses’ station.
I turned.
Lauren was arguing with a hospital security guard.
“I have a legal right to see my son!”
The guard remained calm.
“Ma’am, you need to speak with the investigating officers.”
She spotted me immediately.
“Andrew!”
I froze.
Her expression was wild.
Not angry in the familiar way I’d seen during our divorce.
Desperate.
She hurried toward me, but the guard moved between us.
“Andrew, please. We need to talk.”
I kept my distance.
“About what?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“You’re making a terrible mistake.”
I stared at her.
“Our son is in a hospital bed because someone hurt him. What mistake am I making?”
She flinched.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
She looked around the hallway.
“Not here.”
“There’s nowhere you can say anything that matters more than Tommy’s safety.”
She lowered her voice.
“Marcus isn’t who you think he is.”
My blood turned cold.
“Then why did you let him near our son?”
Her face crumpled.
For a moment, I thought she might finally tell me the truth.
Instead, she whispered, “He told me he’d make everything worse if I tried to stop him.”
I stared at her.
“You knew Tommy was being hurt?”
She said nothing.
“Lauren.”
Her eyes filled.
“I thought I could fix it.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
“Fix it? Tommy could barely walk when you dropped him off!”
She covered her mouth.
“I know.”
The words were so quiet I almost missed them.
I stepped backward.
“You knew.”
She started crying.
“Andrew, please.”
But something inside me had changed.
For two years, I had argued with Lauren.
Defended myself against her accusations.
Begged her to listen when I said Tommy was suffering.
Now she was standing in front of me, admitting she had known something was wrong.
And I had nothing left to argue about.
I turned toward the security guard.
“Please get Detective Mitchell.”
Lauren grabbed for my sleeve, but the guard stopped her.
“Andrew, don’t!”
I looked back.
“Why?”
She stared at me with an expression I had never seen before.
Pure terror.
“Because if Marcus finds out I talked, he’ll hurt someone else.”
I held her gaze.
“Who?”
Her lips trembled.
“His son.”
I went still.
“Marcus has a son?”
She nodded.
“Benjamin.”
For one terrible second, my mind went blank.
Benjamin Carter.
The missing boy.
The orange jacket.
The drawing.
I looked at Lauren.
“Benjamin Carter?”
She covered her face.
Detective Mitchell arrived moments later.
She took one look at Lauren and immediately guided her into a private interview room.
I wasn’t allowed to follow.
I didn’t need to.
For the first time, I knew the missing boy had a name that meant something to the people inside that house.
And Lauren knew much more than she had admitted.
I returned to Tommy’s room.
He was asleep.
I sat beside him and stared at the wall.
At some point, the sky outside the window began turning gray.
Morning was coming.
I hadn’t slept.
I hadn’t eaten.
And I had never been more frightened in my life.
At 6:03 a.m., Detective Mitchell returned.
She looked as though she hadn’t slept either.
“Andrew, we have new information.”
I stood.
“Did you find Benjamin?”
She shook her head.
“Not yet. But Lauren has provided information about a property Marcus sometimes used outside the city. Officers are on their way.”
My stomach tightened.
“Do you believe her?”
“We’re verifying everything.”
She paused.
“There’s something else. Lauren admitted she was aware Marcus had been using harsh punishments on Tommy.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did she say why she didn’t stop him?”
“She claims Marcus threatened her and the other child. That statement is being investigated.”
I looked through the glass at Tommy.
“He begged her to help him.”
Detective Mitchell said nothing.
“He must have begged her.”
Her voice softened.
“Andrew, Tommy is receiving care now. And we are working to protect both children.”
I nodded, but the guilt remained.
Then her radio sounded.
She answered immediately.
“Mitchell.”
I watched her expression as she listened.
At first, she looked focused.
Then concerned.
Then suddenly alert.
“Is the child conscious?”
My heart hammered.
She turned away.
“Get medical personnel there now.”
I stepped forward.
“Did they find him?”
She lowered the radio.
“Officers located a child at the second property. We’re confirming his identity, and he’s being evaluated by emergency medical personnel.”
I grabbed the back of a chair.
“Is he alive?”
She met my eyes.
“Yes.”
The relief was so powerful that I almost collapsed.
I covered my face with both hands.
For the first time since Tommy had walked through my front door, I felt something other than fear.
Hope.
But it lasted only a moment.
Because Detective Mitchell’s radio crackled again.
A man’s voice came through.
“Detective, we have a complication.”
She lifted the radio.
“Go ahead.”
“The child is conscious. He says his name is Benjamin. But he keeps asking for someone named Tommy.”
I slowly lowered my hands.
The detective looked at me.
The voice continued.
“He says Tommy promised to bring his father.”
My eyes filled.
I looked toward my son’s hospital room.
Tommy was still asleep, holding his green dinosaur.
He had kept a promise no eight-year-old should ever have been forced to make.
But before I could speak, the officer on the radio added something that made Detective Mitchell’s expression change completely.
“There’s more. The child says Marcus didn’t act alone.”
The detective stiffened.
“Who was with him?”
A pause.
Then the officer answered.
“Benjamin says there was another adult. Someone who came to the basement every Sunday.”
My stomach tightened.
Every Sunday.
The day Lauren brought Tommy back to my house.
The day she never got out of her car.
The day she shouted that he was being dramatic.
Detective Mitchell asked the question I was already thinking.
“Did Benjamin identify the person?”
The officer’s response was immediate.
“He gave us a description. We’re working to verify it.”
Then, after another pause, he added, “And he says the person took photographs of both boys.”
A chill ran through me.
Photographs.
Lauren had always loved taking pictures.
Her social media was filled with smiling family portraits.
Perfect holidays.
Perfect birthdays.
Perfect motherhood.
But suddenly, I remembered something she had said during our divorce.
Something that had sounded like an ordinary threat at the time.
“Andrew, you have no idea how much I know about you. If I ever need to, I can make anyone believe anything.”
I looked at Detective Mitchell.
“There’s something you need to know.”
She turned.
“What?”
“Lauren used to keep a hidden phone. She said it was for work. I saw it once, about a year before our divorce.”
The detective straightened.
“Do you know where she kept it?”
“In a locked drawer in her bedroom.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Small. Black case. Older iPhone.”
She made a note.
Then she asked, “Why do you think it’s relevant?”
I hesitated.
“Because Lauren used to take pictures of Tommy when he was crying.”
The detective looked up.
“What?”
“She said it was to document his behavior. Whenever he got upset, she’d hold up her phone and tell him to stop acting crazy.”
I swallowed.
“She used some of those pictures during our custody case.”
Detective Mitchell’s expression hardened.
“Andrew, we need to obtain those court records.”
“I have copies.”
“Good. Please preserve everything.”
She stepped away to make another call.
I returned to Tommy’s bedside, exhausted.
When he woke, I gave him a small smile.
“Hey, champ.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“Did they find him?”
I hesitated.
Then I remembered how frightened he’d been, how long he’d carried that secret.
“The police found Benjamin, buddy. He’s getting help.”
Tommy stared at me.
For a moment, he didn’t move.
Then his face crumpled.
“He’s alive?”
“Yes.”
My son began sobbing.
Not because he was hurt.
Not because he was afraid.
But because another child was safe.
“He thought nobody was coming,” Tommy whispered.
I held his hand.
“But somebody did.”
He looked at me through tears.
“I told him my dad was a good guy.”
I couldn’t speak.
“He said good guys don’t always win.”
I leaned closer.
“What did you tell him?”
Tommy wiped his cheeks.
“I said mine does.”
I broke down.
Right there beside the hospital bed, I cried harder than I had cried in years.
Because my little boy had somehow kept believing in me even when I had failed to understand what he was trying to tell me.
A nurse entered quietly and gave us a moment.
Then Tommy asked, “Dad, can Benjamin come live with us?”
I smiled sadly.
“That’s something the people helping him will need to figure out, buddy. He may have family looking for him.”
Tommy nodded.
Then he reached for his dinosaur.
“Can you give him Rex until he gets his own?”
I kissed his forehead.
“That’s a wonderful idea.”
At 9:30 a.m., a family court attorney contacted me.
An emergency custody hearing was being arranged.
The hospital had documented Tommy’s injuries, and child protection workers were recommending that he remain away from Lauren’s household while the investigation continued.
For the first time in two years, I allowed myself to imagine Tommy waking up every morning without fear.
Eating breakfast at my kitchen table.
Leaving his shoes scattered across the hallway.
Laughing at cartoons.
Being a child.
But just before noon, Detective Mitchell returned with news that shattered that brief peace.
“Andrew, Marcus Hale has been located.”
I stood.
“Where?”
“At a gas station near the state line. Officers have detained him while they investigate.”
“Did he confess?”
“Not at this stage.”
She paused.
“But investigators recovered an electronic device from the vehicle. We’re seeking authorization to examine its contents.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
She looked at me carefully.
“There’s another issue. Marcus made a statement about you.”
My stomach tightened.
“About me?”
“He claims you’ve been involved in this situation from the beginning.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He alleges that you knew Benjamin was being kept at Lauren’s house.”
I almost laughed from shock.
“That’s insane! I didn’t even know Benjamin existed until last night!”
“I understand. We’re documenting the allegation and checking the evidence.”
Then she added something that made my blood run cold.
“Marcus says he can prove it.”
I stared at her.
“How?”
She hesitated.
“He claims he has photographs showing you entering the property during the time Benjamin was allegedly there.”
My mouth went dry.
“That’s impossible.”
“Andrew, have you visited Lauren’s property recently?”
“No. She hasn’t allowed me inside for almost two years.”
“Not even once?”
I started to answer.
Then a memory surfaced.
Three months earlier.
A Saturday afternoon.
Lauren had called me crying, saying Tommy was sick and refusing to eat.
She begged me to come by.
When I arrived, she wouldn’t let me inside.
She told me to wait on the porch while she brought Tommy out.
I stood there for almost twenty minutes.
Then Marcus opened the door.
He was holding his phone.
At the time, I thought he was texting.
Now I wondered whether he’d been taking pictures.
I looked at Detective Mitchell.
“Wait. I was on her porch once.”
Her expression sharpened.
“When?”
“Three months ago.”
I explained everything.
She listened carefully.
Then she nodded.
“That may explain what he’s referring to.”
I felt sick.
They had known I was coming.
Lauren had invited me.
Marcus had been standing there with a phone.
And now he was claiming those photographs meant I knew about Benjamin.
The realization hit me like a physical blow.
“What if they planned this?”
Detective Mitchell didn’t answer immediately.
“We’ll follow the evidence, Andrew. A photograph of someone standing on a porch doesn’t establish what they knew or did.”
I nodded.
But my mind was racing.
Had Lauren spent months preparing to blame me if something went wrong?
Had Marcus been documenting my visits?
Had they been counting on the custody battle to make me look suspicious?
Then Detective Mitchell’s phone buzzed.
She read the message.
Her face tightened.
“There’s something else.”
I stared at her.
“What now?”
“Investigators have located a storage account registered under Lauren’s email address. It may contain relevant files.”
My heart began pounding.
“Files?”
“Photographs and video records, according to the preliminary information. We haven’t reviewed or authenticated the contents yet.”
I looked toward Tommy’s room.
My son was laughing softly at something on the television.
A sound I hadn’t heard from him in months.
And I suddenly understood something.
Whatever Marcus was planning, whatever Lauren had hidden, whatever evidence they thought they could manipulate, none of it mattered more than that sound.
My boy laughing.
My boy alive.
My boy safe.
I looked back at the detective.
“Find the truth. Whatever it is.”
She nodded.
“We intend to.”
Just then, my phone vibrated.
A message appeared from Lauren’s number.
It was only one sentence.
ANDREW, MARCUS HAS THE VIDEO FROM THE NIGHT YOU CAME TO THE HOUSE. IF YOU DON’T HELP ME, HE’LL USE IT AGAINST YOU.
I stared at the words.
Then another message appeared.
YOU NEED TO REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED THAT NIGHT.
My stomach dropped.
Because I suddenly remembered something else about that Saturday visit.
Something I had pushed out of my mind.
While I stood waiting on Lauren’s porch, I had heard banging from somewhere beneath the floor.
Three sharp knocks.
A pause.
Then three more.
When I asked Lauren about it, she told me Marcus was repairing pipes.
But now I knew Benjamin might have been inside that basement.
And those sounds might not have been construction.
They might have been a little boy begging someone to hear him.
I slowly looked toward Detective Mitchell.
“There’s something I forgot to tell you.”
She turned.
“What is it?”
“That day on the porch… I heard someone knocking from the basement.”
Her eyes widened.
“And I think I know why Marcus wanted me there.”
Before she could answer, Officer Ramirez hurried into the hallway.
“Detective, we need you immediately.”
She turned toward him.
“What happened?”
He looked at me, then back at her.
“The search team has recovered a locked case from Marcus’s truck.”
“And?”
“There are photographs inside. Pictures of Tommy and Benjamin.”
My heartbeat thundered.
Then he said the words that made everything around me seem to disappear.
“And there’s a third child in the photographs. A little girl. We haven’t identified her.”
I stared at him.
“A little girl?”
He nodded.
Detective Mitchell was already reaching for her radio when Officer Ramirez continued.
“There’s a date written on the back of one photograph.”
“What date?”
“Yesterday.”
Yesterday.
The same day Tommy came home unable to walk properly.
The same day Lauren left him at my curb.
The same day I called 911.
I looked through the hospital-room window at Tommy.
And for the first time, I realized that rescuing my son and finding Benjamin might not have ended the danger.
Because somewhere out there was another child.
A little girl whose name we didn’t know.
A little girl who might still be waiting for someone to notice she was missing.
And then my phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered before I could think.
“Hello?”
For three seconds, there was only breathing.
Then a woman’s trembling voice whispered, “Are you Andrew Bennett?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
She started crying.
“My name is Rebecca Carter. I’m Benjamin’s mother.”
I froze.
She continued before I could respond.
“I know the police found my son. But there’s something they don’t understand.”
“What?”
Her next words made my knees buckle.
“Benjamin wasn’t the only child Marcus took from me. He took my daughter too.”
I gripped the phone.
“Your daughter?”
“Her name is Lily. She’s six years old.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Rebecca’s voice broke.
“And Andrew, please listen carefully. Benjamin told the police that Lily was moved somewhere else yesterday.”
I pressed the phone harder against my ear.
“Where?”
Rebecca began sobbing.
“That’s why I’m calling you. Benjamin said the only person who knows where she went is Tommy’s mother.”
I looked down the hallway.
Lauren was sitting behind a glass door with two investigators.
Her face was pale.
Her hands were folded.
And when she looked up and saw me holding the phone, she began shaking her head.
Slowly.
Desperately.
As if she already knew what I had just learned.
Then Rebecca whispered one final sentence.
“Andrew, Benjamin said Lauren promised Marcus she’d make sure nobody ever found Lily.”
And in that terrible moment, I realized the woman I had spent two years fighting in family court might be holding the answer to a little girl’s disappearance.
But before I could tell Detective Mitchell what Rebecca had said, Lauren stood up inside the interview room, pointed directly at me through the glass, and screamed something I couldn’t hear.
Officer Ramirez rushed toward the door.
And when it opened, Lauren’s voice echoed through the entire hallway.
“ANDREW! DON’T LET THEM TAKE TOMMY HOME! MARCUS LEFT SOMETHING IN YOUR HOUSE!”……..
TO BE CONTINUED IN PART 4…
