In the distance, barely cutting through the sound of the rain, the distinct, high-pitched wail of police sirens began to rise.
David heard them. He stopped pacing. He looked down at me, and a sudden, cruel smile stretched across his face. He smoothed his tie and adjusted his cuffs.
“Fine,” David said, his voice dropping into a chilling, artificial calm. “Let the police come. You fell. You’re confused. You’ve been under a lot of psychiatric stress lately. Evelyn saw the whole thing.”
Margaret nodded quickly, catching onto the narrative. “Yes. Poor Sarah. Always so unstable. We tried to help you.”
Despite the excruciating, throbbing pain in my leg, despite the blood I could taste on my lip, I started to laugh.
It was a small, broken sound, rough with pain, but it made both of them freeze. They stared at me as if I had lost my mind.
David bent over me, his eyes narrowing. “What exactly is funny to you?”
“You,” I whispered, holding his gaze. “You still think I’m alone in this.”
His hand hovered in the air, his knuckles white, debating whether he had time to strike me one last time to secure my silence.
But before he could decide, the storm outside was overpowered by a flood of flashing blue and red lights.
The flashing lights didn’t just illuminate the driveway; they painted the entire kitchen in chaotic, strobing colors.
It wasn’t just one patrol car. It was five. An ambulance followed closely behind, its heavy tires crunching on the gravel. And pulling up directly onto the manicured front lawn, bypassing the driveway entirely, were two black, unmarked SUVs.
My father stepped out of the first SUV. He was wearing his heavy, charcoal wool coat, stepping into the pouring rain with a glacial, unbothered calm that terrified defense attorneys for three decades.
David hurried toward the grand entryway, throwing open the heavy oak door before the officers could even reach the porch. He immediately threw his hands up in a gesture of desperate, cooperative relief.
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