He rested the end of the bat against his shoulder, his knuckles white.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here, Arthur,” Ryan said.

His voice was loud, carrying over the sound of the rain.

I stopped on the middle step, looking up at him.

“Where is Emily?” I asked.

My voice was quiet, but it was clear.

Ryan let out a short, harsh laugh.

“She’s inside, where she belongs,” he said.

He swung the bat down, tapping the thick end against the stone floor of the porch.

The sound was sharp and hollow.

“This is private property,” Ryan said, stepping closer to the edge of the stairs.

“You just destroyed our gate, and you’re trespassing.”

I took another step up, closing the distance between us.

“I am taking my daughter home,” I said.

Ryan raised the bat, holding it across his chest with both hands.

“This is a private family matter, old man,” he said.

“You don’t know anything about what goes on in this house.”

“And you’re not going inside.”

He took a deep breath, his chest expanding.