My father did not answer either.
I stepped back and looked toward the upstairs windows.
All of them were dark.
The rain had soaked through my jacket by the time I started circling the house.
I tried the back door, then two windows near the kitchen.
Everything was locked.
At the side entrance, I pressed my face close to the glass and shined my phone light through the pane.
The narrow hallway beyond it was empty.
I called Lizzy’s name again.
Nothing.
My hands were shaking, but my thinking had become very clear.
A six-year-old had called me from inside that house and asked for help.
I was not going to stand outside waiting for permission.
I ran back to my car, grabbed a tool, and returned to the side entrance.
The glass cracked on the first strike and broke enough on the second for me to clear a space near the lock.
