Chapter 5
"You killed him!" Linda screamed, her voice tearing through the bright, sunlit apartment. "You murderer! I'll see you rot in a military prison for this!"
Driven by a blinding, hysterical panic, Linda ignored all rational instinct. She turned her wild eyes toward the bed. Blaming Emily for the catastrophic violence that had just leveled her son, Linda lunged forward, her manicured hands hooked like claws, aiming directly for Emily's bruised arms.
"Don't touch her!" James roared.
Before Linda could even brush the fabric of the thick blanket, James intercepted her. He reached out with lightning speed and tore her hands away from his pregnant daughter. With a fluid, brutal motion, James delivered one thunderous, open-handed slap across Linda's face.
The sound cracked like a rifle shot. Linda’s head snapped violently to the side, her pearl necklace breaking and scattering across the hardwood. Before she could even process the shock, James pivoted, shifting his polished shoe, and drove a powerful, perfectly executed front kick directly into her torso.
Linda rocketed backward, lifted entirely off the ground. She flew across the room and crashed violently into the freestanding nursery-book display near the doorway.
The wooden shelves shattered upon impact. Dozens of brightly colored children’s books scattered chaotically through the air. Boxed baby gifts burst from their pristine packaging, ribbons and wrapping paper tearing apart. Folded pastel blankets spilled in a soft avalanche across the floor, burying Linda as she collapsed in a groaning, breathless heap among the ruined display.
As Linda hit the floor, a small, heavy object slipped from the pocket of her elegant trousers. It hit the hardwood with a distinct, metallic clink and skidded across the floor, stopping perfectly in a patch of bright, cinematic sunlight.
It was a small, ornate brass key.
There was no dialogue as the dust settled. The apartment, once a picture of wealthy perfection, was now a war zone.
Emily, shaking violently on the bed, immediately stared at the brass key. Her blue eyes widened, a new, profound terror washing over her fair, rosy face. She pulled the blanket tighter around her swollen belly, her breathing hitching.
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"Emily," James said, finally looking back at his daughter. "Are you hurt?"
"No," Emily whispered, her eyes still locked on the key resting in the sunlight. She raised a trembling finger, pointing past the wreckage of the grandfather clock. "Dad... the key."
