No one knew why Tyler Bruno hadn't spoken in six months, but I was determined to find out.

That evening, I arrived on time. The stone mansion sat on lush hills, surrounded by willow trees and gardens. A lake glistened in the backyard as swans’ silhouettes danced at the water’s edge.

A crow watched from the turret as I rang the bell. Then, a gray-haired woman answered, her eyes solemn as she invited me inside.

“Right this way. Mr. Bruno will be with you soon.”

Inside, the cherry hardwood floors sparkled, and the painted domed ceilings swept overhead. Moments later, Emerson Bruno appeared. He was tall with dark hair and wore a black business suit.

I shook his hand. “I’m Adam. Pleased to meet you.”

He motioned for me to sit. “I hear you have experience in this area.”

I nodded. "Nine years, sir."

He glanced down, reading snippets from my resume: "You studied under Dr. Chow—his work is impressive." He glanced back up.

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure you're up for the task?"

"Absolutely, sir. Given what you've told me about your son, I can't promise anything, but I will do what I can."

Mr. Bruno nodded, satisfied. "Tyler is a complicated boy." He twirled his fountain pen, thinking. "Hannah and I have done everything. We read to him, encourage him to play the piano—anything—to express himself."

I nodded, sympathetic. Still, I wondered, why would a seven-year-old just stop talking? It must be trauma-related, but what was the trauma?

Tyler's silence had baffled everyone, including his doctors, so the family turned to me for help. I'd worked with children with selective mutism before, but Tyler would be my first client with total mutism. Unlike my previous clients, Tyler wouldn't speak to anyone.

"Six months, but no progress," Mr. Bruno said, taking a deep breath. "So don't expect much." He swiveled toward his desk and scribbled on a legal pad. "But let's try this for a week and reconvene to discuss our next steps."

"Sounds like a plan, sir."

I turned to leave, but Mr. Bruno stopped me. "And make sure to lock Tyler's bedroom door at night—from the outside. Sometimes Gretta forgets."

My heart fluttered, but something told me not to ask questions.

***

The next morning, Gretta led me to Tyler's room. The boy sat on his bed but didn't acknowledge me when I entered. Instead, he gazed out the window past the lush hills at a swan circling the lake.

Gretta smiled, then left Tyler and me to get acquainted.

"Hey, Tyler." I kept my voice gentle. "I'm Dr. Pearson, but you can call me Adam.

Okay?"

Silence. Not even a nod.

But I expected silence. Building rapport was an important first step with all new clients, but that would be more challenging with Tyler. Still, my empathy and patience would help win his trust.

I made small talk and asked basic questions. The goal was to help Tyler feel comfortable with me, even if he didn't speak. As expected, Tyler stayed silent.

But just as I turned to leave, he looked up. It was the first eye contact he’d made since I’d arrived.

This is progress, I thought.

Tyler’s green eyes were filled with sadness and fear. But why?

Then, a crow appeared at the window, stealing Tyler’s attention. Tyler stared at it, his eyes glued to the creature; he never turned back around.

***

Later, I chatted with Gretta, my primary contact, while Mr. and Mrs. Bruno worked late.

"What changes did you notice in the days before Tyler stopped speaking?"

She glanced down, thinking. "I guess his personality and mood changed a few days before.”

"Anything specific?"

"He seemed more withdrawn and agitated. Not like himself.”

"Was the mutism gradual or sudden?"

"He just stopped talking one day. I brought breakfast to his room one morning, but he didn't look up. Instead, he just stared at a crow perched on his windowsill, like he was mesmerized by it. He had the strangest look in his eyes." She shuddered.

"What do you mean?"

"His eyes—I don't know—he wasn’t himself.”

I frowned, taking notes. “He did something similar earlier when a crow appeared. What’s the deal with the bird?"

"I don't know what it is, but whenever he sees a crow, he changes."

***

The next day when I met with Tyler, I had a new plan. I'd use art to help Tyler open up. His art could be his voice and help him work through his trauma.

Now I just need to figure out what his trauma is.

But this time, I didn't take notes; instead, I talked and listened with my eyes and ears.

"Your dad says you're quite an artist," I said, watching Tyler's body language. Even a change in his posture would be a positive sign.

Moments later, he shifted on his bed and turned his head.

This is something, I thought.

"You like to draw?"

After a moment, Tyler shifted again, then turned toward me, showing he was open to the topic.

"What do you like to draw?"

Silence. Then, he reached for his pencil and sketchpad. He sketched for a while, then showed me the image. I couldn’t believe the drawing came from a child his age. Perfect symmetry and shading and almost virtuosic attention to detail.

"Wow," I said, studying the sketch of his house. "Amazing. You're a talented kid, Tyler."

He gazed up and smiled. He was already exceeding my expectations.

At that moment, a bird squawked, and Tyler and I both turned to the window. An enormous crow—about the size of a possum—appeared and stared straight at us.

Tyler stared at the bird, unblinking. But when he turned back around and looked up, his eyes danced with an odd gleam. And his eyes were navy—almost black.

I jumped.

Then, a smile spread across his face, and he spoke. “Tyler isn’t here.”

***

I locked Tyler's door before I left that evening and chatted with Gretta.

"Why does Mr. Bruno want Tyler's room locked from the outside?"

She paused for a moment. "Mr. Bruno has been protective since the accident."

"What do you mean?"

She glanced down, nervous. "I'm surprised Mr. Bruno didn't tell you—"

"About what?"

"Eric."

"Tell me."

She nodded. “Tyler had a twin brother Eric, who used to sleepwalk. Sometimes he'd wander around the house or go outside. But one night, Eric fell down the living room stairs while he was sleepwalking. Broke his neck. Died before he got to the hospital."

“How tragic for you—for everyone. Why didn’t Mr. Bruno tell me?”

She fought back tears and shrugged.

“That explains a lot,” I said gently. “And it’s most likely the reason Tyler stopped speaking. Thank you for telling me.”

***

The next day, I gave Tyler the new sketchpad and pencil set I'd bought for him, and his face lit up. Art was therapeutic and seemed to help Tyler open up.

He spent most of the hour sketching. He drew trees, lakes, and gardens, and I was amazed by how lifelike they looked.

I pointed at the lake. "Your backyard?"

He nodded.

"Beautiful work."

He smiled, then flipped to a fresh page. But his next sketch surprised me. This time, a lifelike image of his living room—staircase and all—materialized. My eyes widened as I studied it.

A boy identical to Tyler stood at the top of the staircase. And behind him, in the shadows, stood another boy, his twin.

I pointed to the two boys. "Tyler, tell me more about this scene."

Tyler answered me through his art. He flipped to a fresh page and sketched another image, but this one was far more detailed.

This sketch captured one boy mid-fall as he flew down the staircase. His eyes bulged, his arms flailed, and his mouth twisted into a hideous scream. And his brother stood behind him, his arms extended in a pushing motion.

And he was laughing.

My stomach churned, and I took a deep breath to steady my voice. “Is there anything else you want to tell me, Tyler?”

At that moment, a crow landed on the windowsill and stared straight at us. And like before, Tyler stared, transfixed; he didn’t move or blink.

Then, moments later, he turned back toward me and looked up. But this time, his eyes were coal black; all traces of Tyler were gone.

Instinctively, I knew what to ask: “Who are you?”

A smile crept across his face as he whispered: “The one who pushed.”