Mrs. Davies’s voice trailed off. Then she offered quietly, “An hour later, Shana walked in through the back door. She was covered in blood, holding a knife. I gasped. I asked her if she was all right. She just walked over and handed me the blade. Then she turned and went upstairs. When Jeremiah went up, he found her sitting on the edge of the bed, still covered in blood, just sitting there.

“He knew. He told me, looking at her, the expressionless look on her face. He asked her if this had something to do with the Johnson boy. She didn’t answer; she reached into her pocket, drew out what looked to be a wad of tissue and handed it to him. Donnie Johnson’s ear. She handed my husband the boy’s ear. Jeremiah called the cops. What else could we do?

“George Johnson, Donnie’s father, arrived first. He’d heard the news over some other cop’s radio and ran straight down the street. I didn’t think we should let him in. I worried what he might do to the girl. But he held it together when Jeremiah led him upstairs. He asked Shana point-blank if she’d killed his son. But she still wouldn’t talk. Just kept staring at us with flat eyes. Finally, the other officers arrived all huffing and puffing. One officer took the ear, bagged it as evidence. Then they read Shana her rights and took her away.

“She never returned to our home. But it didn’t matter. The damage was already done. Neighbors didn’t want to talk to us after that. We’d taken in a monster, then unleashed it on our friends. Jeremiah never got over it; he seemed to break, losing all interest in the kids, our home, our life. Samuel moved out six months later; I think it was too hard for him to be in a house that had become so . . . shadowed. Pretty little AnaRose was returned to her birth mom, while the state moved Trevor to another home. Didn’t tell us why, but we knew. That hit the hardest, you know. Shana, we never stood a chance. But those two little ones we could’ve saved. I never had the heart to find out what happened to them. AnaRose, a beautiful little girl returned to the care of a crack addict. God only knows what happened to her next time her mom became desperate for a fix. And Trevor most likely ended up in one of those . . . other homes. You know, where the people take in kids just for the monthly stipend, then pile them in, four to a room, where the biggest three abuse the littlest fourth, and no one cares. I probably should’ve asked more questions, but I don’t think I could’ve handled the answers. Maybe, after all that happened, I broke a little, too.”