Chapter 2 - Red and Blue Shadows
Marcus roared in pain, stumbling backward into the bedroom as he clutched his forearm. The closet door swung back, hanging askew on its single bent hinge, exposing us to the dim light of the master bedroom. I scrambled backward, dragging Lily’s limp body over the carpeted floor toward the far wall of the closet, shielding her with my back.
“You bitch!” Marcus snarled, his carefully cultivated public persona completely shattering. His face was flushed crimson with rage as he kicked the remnants of the closet door, ripping it entirely off its frame and tossing it aside like cardboard.
He towered over the threshold, his heavy chest heaving, his left arm hanging slightly limp from the impact. Behind him, standing near the bedroom dresser, Chloe was trembling so hard her heavy wedge heels clicked rhythmically against the floorboards. She was clutching her designer purse like a flotation device, staring at the floor where a few drops of Marcus’s blood had dripped from his bruised arm.
“Marcus, her mouth is blue,” Chloe gasped, pointing a shaking finger at Lily. “You said she would just fall asleep! You said she wouldn't suffer!”
“She won't suffer if you stop whining and hand me that towel!” he barked, stepping into the closet. He towered over me, reaching out with his uninjured right hand to grab my hair. “Give me your phone, Sarah. Right now.”
I looked up at him, my own vision beginning to blur around the edges as the poison fought to paralyze my optic nerves. The room was spinning, a dull, metallic ache pulsing behind my temples. But I smiled—a cold, bloody, defiant smile that made him freeze for a fraction of a second.
“It’s too late, Marcus,” I whispered, my voice thick and raspy. I slowly lifted my left hand, turning the glowing screen of my cell phone toward his face. The call timer read 14:22. The microphone icon was pulsing bright red.
His eyes locked onto the display, and the color drained from his face instantly. The arrogant litigator, the master strategist who had planned his family’s murder to the minute, realized in one crushing second that he had been broadcasting his confession to a county emergency dispatch center for a quarter of an hour.
“Who are you talking to?” he whispered, his voice suddenly hollow.
“To the police, Marcus,” the dispatcher’s voice rang out clearly from the phone’s speaker, amplified in the quiet closet. “This is Dispatcher Miller, County Emergency Services. The perimeter of your house is surrounded by law enforcement. Step away from your wife and daughter immediately, with your hands visible, or officers will breach the residence.”
Chloe let out a blood-curdling shriek, dropping her purse onto the floor. “Police?! Marcus, you said the phones were jammed! You said you disconnected the router!”
Before Marcus could even turn to silence her, a massive, explosive crash shook the entire foundation of the house. Downstairs, the heavy oak front door had been battered off its hinges. The sound of splintering wood was instantly overwhelmed by the thunderous, synchronized stamping of heavy tactical boots charging up the wooden staircase.
May you like
“Police! Search warrant! Hands where we can see them!”
The windows of the master bedroom suddenly flashed with violent, strobing bursts of red and blue light, cutting through the darkness and casting chaotic shadows across Marcus’s terrified face.
