Molly did not sleep all night. Her thoughts kept circling back to Angela. How had it happened, she asked herself, that she had lost the girl’s trust in an instant? Molly wanted so badly to help, and it had seemed to her that the goal was within reach. But the last straw had snapped. Angela had hidden again, and Molly had no idea what to do next.

  “Everything will work out,” Clive said when she told him everything. But those words brought no relief.

  A toy for a child is not just entertainment. It is a miniature model of the surrounding world and often becomes a vessel for strong emotions. For Angela, that dirty teddy bear was a universe. It was the people she had not been able to interact with for a long time. It was her light, which she had not seen for how many days, months, years. A favorite toy is a symbol of home. It gives a sense of safety and is associated with parents, calm, and family warmth.

  Toby.

  That grimy teddy bear had a name. It meant a great deal to the poor girl. And suddenly, an unusual question came to Molly’s mind. She even got out of bed and began wandering through the dark house, thinking it over.

  “A young girl,” she said quietly aloud to herself. It was easier that way, because her thoughts had blended into a thick, tangled mass. “I would say she is about seventeen or eighteen. If she has been in that basement for several months, maybe a year, such an attachment to a toy seems strange. No, that’s not quite right. After spending a long time in a basement, she could certainly become attached to a toy and make it part of her world out of sheer hopelessness. What troubles me is something else.”

  Molly pressed her fingers to her temples, as if trying to squeeze out the right answer.

  “Where did she get that teddy bear? Did she find it in the basement? Or did she come with it?”

  “My dear, what difference does it make?”

  Molly gasped and turned around. Her heart was pounding wildly. She pressed a hand to her chest and, seeing her husband, immediately scolded him for sneaking up so quietly.

  “I’m sorry,” Clive said, wrapping his arms around her. “I was standing there, listening to you reason things out. I don’t understand why you’re so worried about some filthy toy. You should go back to bed.”

  “You don’t understand. This is very important, and I intend to tell the detective about it. The bear has a name embroidered on its clothes. It’s her toy. I don’t believe she found it in the basement. And where would a child’s toy even come from down there?”

  “Then she was thrown into the basement with it. It’s simple, Molly. Come on, let’s go to sleep.”

  Clive had almost led his wife into the bedroom when she suddenly stopped short.

  “At that age? I doubt she would be walking around with a toy at sixteen or seventeen.”

  “What are you trying to say?” Clive asked tiredly.

  “Angela ended up in that basement as a child. That’s what.”

  All Sunday, Molly thought about it. More than once she picked up her phone to call O’Halloran or Orla Leary. She was eager to share her suspicions. A strange sense of pride took hold of her, and she did not try to hide it. Only shame and embarrassment stopped her. Those people had their own personal lives too. She could not disturb them on a day off. She just had to be patient. Monday was already tomorrow.

  After cleaning the house until it gleamed and preparing food, Molly went out into the garden. The plants were supposed to calm her. But her heart was restless, drawn toward the basement, toward Angela.

  Her patience did not last long. She fed the officers on duty, then took a bowl of cheese soup and went downstairs. At first, she intended to leave the soup and go, but some inner voice urged her to stay.

  Molly sat down on the second to last step. The light barely reached inside, and her eyes had not yet adjusted to the darkness, so she closed them.

  “I know you’re angry with me,” Molly began, believing that Angela could hear her from under the stairs. “I didn’t mean to take Toby away from you. I just wanted to look at him. He’s your best friend, isn’t he? I had a friend too when I was little. His name was Quiet One. A small horse my father brought me from a trip. I had no other toys. Only Quiet One. I loved him and never let anyone touch him. I loved brushing his long mane and talking to him as if he were alive. I even dreamed that one day he would come to life and turn into my prince.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Molly smiled sadly.

  “I slept with him and never let him out of my hands. But one day,” the old woman’s voice trembled and a tear rolled down her cheek, “I woke up in the morning and Quiet One was gone. Disappeared. My mother said he had left because I had grown up. And only years later did I realize that my mother got rid of him because a thirteen-year-old girl was already supposed to stop playing with toys. Never, ever, do you hear me, Angela, will I do that to you.”

  Suddenly, the woman flinched as she felt a light touch on her face. And she began to cry. The smell coming from the girl was disgusting, but Molly did not care. Nothing was more important than what had just happened.

  Everything fell back into place.

  An hour later, Molly returned for the bowl and discovered that Angela had eaten the soup. The girl has a good appetite, the woman concluded, and that is a sign of health. With each passing day, life was growing stronger in this fragile girl. Molly did not believe Orla when she suggested that Angela might be ill. She was agile and intelligent. Only one thing did not make sense. If Angela had ended up in the basement as a child, how had she survived?

  In the evening, Clive called and said he would stay in Londonderry at Joshua’s house because some urgent matters had come up. The officers had changed shifts, but there were no unfamiliar faces. Molly had already become friendly with all the men on duty. Yet despite the sense of safety, she could not fall asleep. In the end, she draped a warm shawl over her shoulders and went downstairs.

  Without turning on the light, she heated some water and made herself ginger tea. As she drank, she stared out the window, thinking about where and which flowers she would plant. The moon was shining so brightly that every tree in the garden was visible. And that bright glow enveloped a girlish figure.

  Molly thought she was imagining it and stepped into the conservatory. But when she looked more closely at the moving shape, it became perfectly clear. It was Angela.

  In her nightgown with a shawl over her shoulders, Molly went out into the garden. Angela was sitting under a tree, eating an apple. It was a winter variety and very sour, yet the girl did not grimace and ate with great appetite.

  She noticed Molly but did not get scared, did not run away, and did not stop eating.

  “So you come out of the basement at night,” Molly said casually, as if they were mother and daughter. “Are you cold? Do you want my shawl?”

  Angela nodded eagerly. Molly carefully wrapped the shawl around the girl’s shoulders and hugged herself.

  “Don’t worry about me. I’ll go lie down under a warm blanket and get warm.”

  Molly watched the girl closely. Angela ate the apple almost down to the stem, wiped her mouth with the hem of her dirty dress, and stood up.

  “And the people in the tent didn’t notice you?” Molly asked.

  Angela shook her head. She pointed toward the lake. From afar came the cheerful croaking of frogs and the cries of night birds. They stood in silence, enjoying the sounds of nature, the rustle of wind in the branches, the soft splashes of water along the shore. Molly scolded herself for never finding the time to walk to the lake. She even thought about getting a dog, just to have a reason to go out for walks.

  Suddenly, Angela began gesturing toward the cottage, as if telling Molly to go home and not stand there.

  “You want me to leave?” the old woman asked in surprise. Angela frowned and gently pushed her, meaning yes.

  Afraid of losing the thread again, Molly obeyed and went into the house. But she could not calm down. A few minutes later, she took off her nightgown, put on trousers and a sweater, and went to the lake. She had no idea what was drawing her there. Angela had pointed toward it, and a strange feeling had come over Molly. That feeling led her to the shore, where willow branches skimmed the water, and beneath their silky canopy Angela was swimming.

  And she swam well.

  Taken by surprise, Molly froze, trying to understand how Angela managed not to freeze in the cold April night water. Seeing her shawl and the dirty dress on the ground, she realized that Angela was naked. The girl splashed, dove under the water, and emerged again on the other side, careful not to swim out from beneath the dense willow branches.

  Molly did not know what to do. She could not move a hand or a foot and stood spellbound, watching Angela’s playful movements in the lake. Her figure was entirely in shadow, while pale moonlight filtered through the branches onto her head, its glow striking and sharp. If the officers had thought to come out here at that moment, no matter how she hid, they would have noticed her.

  When Angela straightened up, her long black hair and young, firm breasts were especially distinct.

  She came ashore, put on her dress, wrapped herself in the shawl, and quickly headed toward the fence. Molly decided to see where Angela would slip through to reach the basement, but the tall grass and her age, along with rheumatism, made it impossible to keep up with the nimble girl.

  Molly gave up and returned to the house.

  In the morning, she woke to the sound of someone scratching at the front door. That was exactly how it sounded to her, fingernails or claws. Assuming it was a cat or a dog, Molly got out of bed, intending to chase the animal away.

  Throwing on a robe, she went into the hallway and glanced at the clock. It was half past five. The yard was beginning to fill with a rosy glow, meaning dawn was near. For now, she had to turn on the light in the entryway so as not to trip over shoes left on the floor.

  Without asking who it was, Molly boldly opened the door, confident that a cat scratching so brazenly at the house would immediately dart away.

  But it was not a cat.

  Angela was sitting right there on the stone steps at the threshold.