Video Call With My Granddaughter—I Heard “Is It Normal To Take Pictures Without Clothes?” Then…

“I will. I’m calling Patricia first, then the police, then I’m driving there.” Melissa stated.

“Oh God, Dad, if she’s hurt, if that woman has…” Her voice broke.

“Drive carefully. Call me.” I said.

The line went dead. I pushed the accelerator harder.

The truck’s speedometer climbed. The sleet became snow as I gained elevation through the mountain passes.

I didn’t care. I’d driven these roads in worse conditions hauling logging equipment back in my 30s.

The truck could handle it; I could handle it. My phone rang again 40 minutes later.

“Dad, I’m almost there. The police are already on their way. They said they’d meet me at Patricia’s house.” Melissa said.

“I tried calling her 16 times. No answer.” “Stay on the line with me. Okay?” I told her.

Her breathing was rapid and panicked. I heard the sound of her car and the rhythmic thump of windshield wipers.

“Dad, what if we’re wrong? What if this is all a misunderstanding?” Melissa asked.

“Then we apologize and deal with the embarrassment. But if we’re not wrong and we did nothing, could you live with that?” I countered.

“No. No, I couldn’t.” Her voice was firm now.

There were 15 minutes of tense silence, just the sound of our breathing and our respective vehicles cutting through the night. “I’m on her street. I see the police cars, two of them, lights on.” Melissa said.

“What else do you see?” I asked.

“The house is dark. Wait, there’s someone coming out. It’s an officer. He’s walking toward my car. I’m pulling over.” I heard her car door open and the distant sound of voices.

“Ma’am, are you the mother?” A male voice asked, professional but urgent.

“Yes, my daughter is inside! Is she okay? Is Sophie okay?” Melissa cried.

“Ma’am, I need you to stay calm. We’ve secured the residence. Your daughter is safe. She’s physically unharmed.” The officer said.

“Oh thank God. Thank God. Where is she?” “She’s with a female officer in one of the vehicles being kept warm.” He replied.

“Ma’am, I need to inform you that we found your daughter alone in the residence. We also found evidence of a crime scene in the basement.” The officer continued.

The world tilted, and I nearly swerved off the highway. “What do you mean alone? Where is Patricia?” Melissa’s voice rose.

“Ma’am, we found the body of Patricia Thornton in the basement. It appears to be suicide by firearm.” The officer stated.

“We also found extensive evidence of child exploitation materials and photographic equipment.” He added.

I heard Melissa’s phone hit the ground. I heard her retching and heard the officer calling for assistance.

“Ma’am! Ma’am, are you all right?” “My baby! My baby was in that house with… with…” Melissa sobbed.

“Your daughter is safe, ma’am. We need to take her to the hospital for an examination. Standard procedure.” The officer said.

“Do you have someone who can drive you? You’re in no state to.” “I’m her father!” I said loudly, hoping the phone would pick up my voice from where it lay on the ground.

“I’m on my way from Vancouver. I’ll be there in approximately 36 hours.” A pause followed.

The officer must have picked up the phone. “Sir, this is Constable Morrison with Toronto Police. Are you the child’s grandfather?”

“Yes, Richard Brennan. Sophie Brennan is my granddaughter. What happened?” “Sir, I can’t discuss details of an active investigation over the phone, but I can tell you that your granddaughter is safe and in protective custody.”

“The scene suggests that Miss Thornton discovered certain materials on her computer earlier this evening and took her own life.” The Constable explained.

“Your granddaughter heard the gunshot and called 911 herself. She did exactly what she’d been taught to do in an emergency.” “Smart girl. My brave, smart girl. Has anyone examined her? Has she been hurt?” I asked.

“She’s being transported to SickKids Hospital now for a full medical evaluation.” The officer replied.

“Sir, I need to be straight with you. Based on what we found here, there are indicators that this may have been going on for some time.”

“The equipment we’ve found, the materials… this wasn’t a one-time incident.” The highway blurred; I couldn’t tell if it was snow or tears.

“I’m on my way. Take care of my granddaughter.” I said.

“We will, sir. Drive safely.” The line went dead again.

I heard Melissa sobbing in the background before it cut off. I drove through the night, through British Columbia into Alberta, through Saskatchewan.

I stopped for gas twice, used the bathroom at the pumps, and bought coffee that tasted like motor oil. I didn’t care; I forced it down and kept driving.

My phone rang constantly, with Melissa updating me. I heard from the hospital, a social worker, a victim services advocate, and a detective.

The detective wanted to ask me questions about Sophie’s behavior over the past year, anything I’d noticed, or anything she’d said. I told them everything.

I told them how Sophie had become quieter on our video calls over the past six months. How she’d started wearing long sleeves even in summer.

How she’d asked me once if secrets were always good to keep or if some secrets were bad secrets. I should have known.

I should have pushed harder. I should have questioned why Patricia was suddenly so eager to babysit, so insistent on special alone time with Sophie.

Manitoba, Ontario. The landscape changed, but my mind was stuck in a loop of self-recrimination.

I reached Toronto on the evening of the second day. Forty hours of driving condensed into a blur of highway lines, gas stations, and mounting dread.

SickKids Hospital, fifth floor. A social worker met me at the elevator, a woman in her 40s with kind eyes and a name tag that read Dr. Sarah Chen.

“Mr. Brennan, I’m Dr. Chen. I’ve been working with Sophie since she arrived.” “How is she?” I asked.

“Physically, she’s unharmed. The examination showed no signs of acute trauma or abuse.” Dr. Chen said.

“However, the forensic team did find hundreds of photographs. Most were of Sophie in various states of undress, posed in her bedroom.” The doctor explained.

“The metadata on the files suggests this had been occurring for approximately 8 months.” Eight months, almost since Melissa had started working night shifts.

“Can I see her?” “Of course. I should prepare you, though. She’s been very quiet.” Dr. Chen replied.

“She’s answered questions when asked, but she hasn’t initiated conversation. She asked for you specifically several times.” Dr. Chen led me down a hallway painted with cheerful murals that felt obscene given the circumstances.

We stopped at a door with a small window. Through the glass, I saw my granddaughter sitting on a hospital bed, wearing pajamas that weren’t hers, holding a stuffed bear someone had given her.

Her eyes were fixed on the wall, not seeing anything. “She’s been like that for about 3 hours, just staring.” Dr. Chen said softly.

“We’ve had a child psychologist speak with her, but she’s not ready to process what happened yet. That’s normal for trauma.” I opened the door.