The apartment was dark. In the corner, someone seemed to be sitting in a chair.
"Doris?" Wyatt called out.
No answer.
His face darkened. "So this is your plan? You quit school, refuse to come home, and keep hiding?"
The neighbor cautiously peeked through the doorway.
"Uh... That's not a chair. That's a wheelchair. The girl in 302 is disabled."
Disabled?
Wyatt's breathing stopped.
He flipped on the lights. The bright ceiling light flooded the room.
The figure in the wheelchair was only a giant stuffed bear. Wyatt grabbed it and lifted it away.
The wheelchair's armrests were worn smooth from constant use. Its wheels were covered in scratches.
A dark brown stain had dried into the seat cushion.
His brows slowly knitted together.
Since when did Doris need a wheelchair?
The rotten
