Everyone Said My Best Friend’s Dad Was a Monster — Then I Found the Records That Proved the Real Monster Was His Mother.

The walk from my house to Brian’s apartment on the rough edge of town took forty-five minutes.

The wind blew sideways, soaking my jeans and numbing my fingers. Every time a car pulled onto the street, I ducked behind bushes or behind parked minivans, terrified it was my mother searching for me or Officer Vance on patrol.

By the time I reached the dilapidated brick apartment building on 12th Street, my teeth were clattering so hard I couldn't keep my mouth shut.

I ran up the rusty fire escape to Apartment 2B and knocked softly on the glass pane of the rear kitchen door.

A light flickered inside.

A moment later, the door swung open.

David Davidson stood there holding an old iron wrench, his eyes wide and fierce. He wore a grease-stained grey work shirt with the name DAVID embroidered on the chest.

When he saw it was me, he lowered the wrench instantly, his jaw dropping in shock.

"Leo?" he gasped, reaching out and grabbing my coat sleeve, pulling me quickly inside out of the rain. "What are you doing here?! It’s eleven o'clock at night!"

I collapsed onto a wooden kitchen chair, shivering violently. "My mom... she locked me in... I ran away."

"You ran away?!" David panicked, pulling a dry towel off the rack and wrapping it around my shoulders. "Kid, your parents are going to call the cops! They're going to think I kidnapped you!"

"They already think you're a monster, Mr. Davidson," I said, looking up at him through my wet hair. "It doesn't matter what they think anymore."

Brian walked out of the small hallway, wearing a dry sweater. "Leo? You actually came?"

"I have the drive," I said, pulling the flash drive out of my zip pocket and placing it on the kitchen table. "And I know where we have to go."

David sat down across from me, his large, calloused hands resting on the formica table. He looked exhausted, deep lines carved into his forehead, his hair streaked with silver.

"Leo," David said quietly, his voice deep and weary. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. God knows I do. You're the only person in this whole town who’s looked at my boy with kindness in three years. But you can't fight these people. Richard Vance has millions. Catherine has the backing of the whole town. I’m just a mechanic."

"You aren't just a mechanic," I said fiercely. "You're his dad. And you didn't burn him."

David’s eyes welled with sudden, silent tears. He turned his face away, rubbing his forehead with a rough hand.

"My uncle Mark works for the State Department of Human Services in Lansing," I continued, leaning forward. "That’s an hour and a half away. If we drive there tonight, we can hand him this drive before court opens tomorrow morning. If a State Investigator files an emergency stay of proceedings, Catherine’s local judges can't touch Brian."

David looked at the flash drive, then at Brian, and finally back at me.

"Lansing is eighty miles," David murmured. "My truck’s head gasket is leaking. If Officer Vance spots us on the highway, he’ll pull us over before we cross the county line."

"Then we don't take the highway," Brian spoke up, his voice stronger than I had ever heard it. "We take the old state route through the timber country. No state troopers patrol that road at night."

David sat in silence for a long, agonizing minute. The clock on the kitchen wall ticked loudly.