The Camera Renee Thought Was Dead

“Eat it.””

Renee’s voice sliced through the bright dining room before Malik could take another step backward.

The nine-year-old stared at the red bowl sitting in the center of the wooden table. Inside it were dry brown pellets meant for the family dog.

His fingers trembled against the hem of his gray T-shirt.

Across from him, Renee stood in a burgundy blouse, her perfectly manicured nails wrapped around his wrist. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, illuminating the tears gathering beneath Malik’s wide, frightened eyes.

“Please,” Malik whispered.

“I didn’t do anything.””

Renee leaned closer.

“Did I ask you what you did?””

Malik shook his head.

“Then stop talking and do what I said.””

He tried pulling his arm free, but Renee tightened her grip and dragged him toward the table.

The wooden chair scraped loudly across the polished floor.

From the kitchen came the faint hum of the refrigerator. Somewhere outside, a lawn mower buzzed through the quiet neighborhood.

Everything about the house looked peaceful.

Everything except the little boy fighting not to cry.

“Renee, please,” Malik said again.

“Daddy said I could have breakfast when he got home.””

Renee released his wrist so abruptly that he stumbled against the table.

“Your daddy isn't here to make rules for me.””

She pointed at the bowl.

“Eat it.””

Malik looked toward the kitchen doorway, hoping someone might appear. His grandmother, Loretta, had been helping prepare lunch earlier. He had heard her moving dishes only moments before.

But she wasn't there.

At least, Renee seemed to think she wasn't.

“I can't eat that,” Malik whispered.

Renee's expression changed.

It wasn't the angry expression of someone losing an argument. It was colder than that, almost pleased that he had finally given her a reason to escalate.

“What did you say?””

Malik swallowed hard.

“I said I can't.””

Renee grabbed his arm again and pulled him against the wall beside the dining table.

“Let me explain something to you, little boy. In this house, you don't get to decide what happens.””

Malik's back pressed against the wall. His eyes filled completely, and a small sob escaped before he could stop it.

“Please don't tell Daddy I was bad.””

Renee laughed once, without humor.

“Oh, now you want to talk about your father?””

She bent toward him until they were nearly eye to eye.

“You know what your problem is? You think everybody has to feel sorry for you.””

Malik shook his head frantically.

“No, ma'am.””

“Then prove it.””

She pointed to the bowl again.

“Eat.””

Malik pressed his lips together. His chest rose and fell too quickly, and he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

Renee followed his gaze toward the kitchen.

“Don't look over there. Look at me when I'm talking to you.””

He forced his eyes back to hers.

“I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“For what?””

“I don't know.””

“Exactly.””

Renee stepped away from him and straightened her blouse as if she had merely corrected a child's table manners.

Then her eyes landed on the wall-mounted security camera above the doorway connecting the dining room to the kitchen.

For a second, she said nothing.

The camera had been installed after Darnell, Malik's father, had complained about packages disappearing from the front porch. It covered most of the dining room and part of the kitchen entrance.

Renee had always hated it.

Darnell had told her it was there for everyone's safety.

Renee had smiled when he said that.

She wasn't smiling now.

She reached up and examined the cable running from the camera to the wall outlet.

Malik watched her, confused.

“What are you doing?”” he asked.

Renee turned toward him slowly.

“Something I should've done a long time ago.””

She yanked the plug from the outlet.

The camera's small indicator light went dark.

A faint click echoed through the room.