“Who’s here?” she wheezed out.“The bad men,” he whispered.Her gun was in her bedroom, but it was broad daylight. She shook her head. She was losing it. “Jake, sweetie, go back to bed.”He stood in place as if frozen. At the moment, his demeanor worried her more than who might be at the door.“Jake?”He continued to stare, his eyes glazed.The doorbell rang again, followed by pounding. “Ms. Thompson,” a male voice called out. “This is Child Protective Services. We know you’re in there. We need you to answer the door.”“Jake!” She shook his arms gently, scared that he was still unresponsive. In elementary school, Emma had a friend who had grand mal seizures, and she looked a lot like this. Maybe Jake was having a seizure. She wasn’t sure whether to be happy to have a possible explanation or be frightened. Right now she needed to worry about the people on her doorstep. If it really was the CPS, she didn’t want them seeing Jake like this.Scooping him in her arms, she carried him to his room and laid him down, covering him with the blanket.
