The parents were watching television, my precious Diana was playing softly in her room, and my Daniel . . . I scoured the house, seeking a whisper of his scent. He was not home.

The house felt pleasant, the air relaxed.

The neighborhood had lost its fear.

I could see my lovely Diana, goddess, angel, and I sent her favorite lullaby to her—the one I had played for her night after night, the melody of which she never grew tired, the one that had given her pleasure every night for months.

She heard it, and I had her.

I followed her progress as she silently emerged from her room, walked past her parents, through the kitchen. I saw her hesitate at the door to the cellar, but I urged her, bringing the music up, and then down, threatening to pull it away; just come, little darling, just come a little closer and I shall play for you a symphony, one to enfold you in pleasure and keep you suspended . . .

She opened the door. The darkness of the cellar rose to meet her.

I called to her with the music—don’t turn on the lights. This is a symphony of the night, and it is beautiful only in the dark. Do not be afraid, there is only the music, there is nothing to be afraid of, the music is beautiful, and loving, and so are you. Come to me, come to the music, just down one step.

She came down one step.

I trilled in pleasure and she came down another to please me, and another, baby hand gliding along the handrail, then another, and soon she lowered herself onto the next as fast as she could, giggling.

She reached the bottom. The darkness surrounded her and sucked the giggle from her throat. Her bottom lip trembled, and she almost turned around to go back up. Or, worse, call out.

“Diana,” I spoke, my voice muffled, soft. She knew this pet name, and she adored it. The threatening tear receded as the music once again calmed her. She took little steps to me, tentative, yet unafraid.

“Diana,” I said. “Can you get into the big box? Can you figure out how to open it?”

And I could see my prison through her eyes and the latches were simple. Three large hasps lined the box lid, and each had a small dowel pushed through for surety.

I watched with increasing anxiety as baby fingers fumbled at the adult metal locks.