Chapter 5 - Reunion at Guest Relations
When I finally sprinted through the main entrance of the park and reached the Guest Relations building, my lungs were burning. I pushed open the heavy glass doors, looking wild-eyed and desperate. A security guard immediately stepped forward, but the woman behind the desk—the one who had called me—held up her hand.
"Are you Elliot's mother?" she asked softly.
"Yes. Please. Where is he?"
She led me down a short hallway into a quiet, carpeted room. Sitting on an oversized couch, holding a plush Mickey Mouse that he was squeezing for dear life, was Elliot. His face was blotchy, his eyes red and swollen, but the moment he saw me, he dropped the toy and practically flew across the room.
"Mommy!"
I caught him in my arms, falling to my knees right there on the commercial carpet. I buried my face in his neck, inhaling the scent of sunscreen and stale tears, sobbing into his shirt. "I've got you, baby. I'm right here. Mommy's here. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry."
"They left me," he kept repeating, his little hands gripping the fabric of my blouse like a lifeline. "I called for Grandma, but she didn't come back."
"I know, baby. But they are never, ever going to hurt you again. I promise you."
The staff members in the room gave us a moment. When I finally stood up, holding Elliot securely on my hip despite him being a bit too heavy for it, I turned to the manager on duty.
"Thank you. Thank you for keeping him safe," I said, my voice trembling with gratitude.
"It's our job, ma'am," the manager replied kindly, handing me a thick manila folder. "This is the printed copy of the incident report you requested, along with the contact information for our security director. I want you to know, strictly off the record... what they did was unconscionable. If you decide to pursue this with local authorities, our team is fully prepared to provide the timestamped security footage of your party leaving the gates without him."
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I took the folder. It felt heavy with power. The staff looked at me with a mixture of deep empathy and quiet disgust for the people who had done this. I bought Elliot a giant ice cream cone to calm his nerves, strapped him into his car seat, and locked the doors.
He fell asleep within five minutes of the drive. I looked at him in the rearview mirror, his chest rising and falling softly. Then I looked at the manila folder sitting on the passenger seat. I wasn't just going to the police. I was going to burn down the facade my family had spent decades building.
