Kathleen and Harry Gray sat in the heavy, stifling silence of their living room, the flickering blue light of the television casting long, distorted shadows across their weary faces.
They were grim, their eyes glued to the trending news cycle that had gripped Los Angeles—a brutal exposé on a gang of abductors who had been kidnapping and killing women with impunity for the past decade.
To the average citizen of LA, the news of the gang's dismantling was a beacon of justice, a long-awaited triumph of law over chaos. But for the Grays, the news was like a jagged bone stuck in their necks, sharp and impossible to swallow.
The irony was suffocating. While the city celebrated the end of a ten-year reign of terror, the Grays felt the walls closing in. The spotlight on abductions only served to remind them of the secrets they had buried in the floorboards of their lives.
