Chapter 8 - The Shadow Policy
Daniel’s chest heaved. The smell of cheap whiskey on his breath was overpowering.
For three terrifying seconds, I saw the madness flickering in his eyes—the calculating urge to gamble his life against my resolve. He looked at my fingers on the trigger. He looked into my eyes, searching for the terrified girl he had pushed into kitchen counters, searching for the broken wife who had cried in the shower so he wouldn't hear her.
He found nothing.
He found only the woman who had survived him.
“You… you wouldn't,” he stammered, though his voice had dropped an octave, his knees trembling slightly.
“Try me,” I whispered.
Outside, the faint wail of sirens pierced the night air.
Lorraine heard it first. Her eyes widened in sheer panic. “Daniel! The police! The neighbors heard the shot! Run! Daniel, run!”
Lorraine didn't wait for her son. The woman who had sworn she would die for her “baby” turned around and sprinted down the hallway, knocking over Eleanor’s antique console table in her haste to reach the back stairs.
Daniel looked back toward the door, then back at the gun pointed at his face.
The crowbar slipped from his fingers and crashed to the floor.
“Clara… please,” he whimpered, suddenly falling to his knees, his hands held up in surrender. The monster vanished, replaced by the pathetic, sniveling coward he had always been underneath his expensive suits. “Don’t let them take me. It was Mom’s idea! She’s the one who found the insurance underwriter! She told me we needed a safety net! She manipulated me, Clara! You know how she is!”
I stared down at him, feeling an overwhelming sense of profound disgust.
He was ready to feed his own mother to the wolves to save his own skin.
“Shut up, Daniel,” I said.
Heavy boots pounded up the stairs.
“POLICE! FREEZE!”
Detective Vance and three uniformed officers burst through the broken doorway, assault rifles raised.
“ON THE GROUND! DOWN ON YOUR STOMACH, NOW!”
Officers swarmed Daniel, tackling him flat against the floorboards. His face was crushed into the wood right next to the bullet hole I had made. The handcuffs clicked into place with final, violent authority.
Detective Vance lowered his weapon and walked over to me. He gently took the revolver from my hands, clicked the safety on, and placed it on the dresser.
“Are you hurt, Clara?” he asked, his voice full of genuine concern.
“I’m fine,” I said, looking down at Daniel, who was weeping into the floorboards as an officer read him his Miranda rights. “Where’s the guard?”
“He was tased from behind while checking the side gate,” Vance explained grimly. “He’s conscious, being treated by paramedics outside. But Lorraine didn't make it past the rose bushes.”
I looked toward the hallway.
Two officers were dragging Lorraine back up the stairs. She had tripped in Eleanor’s thorny antique rose garden, tearing her floral dress to shreds, covered in mud, bleeding from dozens of scratches on her face and arms.
When she saw Daniel in handcuffs, she began screaming at him.
“You idiot!” Lorraine shrieked, spitting blood and mud. “You couldn't even handle a scrawny little girl! You ruined everything! I spent my entire life building you up, and you’re nothing! You’re weak, just like your father!”
Daniel looked up from the floor, his face red with tears and rage. “Shut up, you old witch! You told me she wouldn't shoot! You told me she was terrified of me!”
“You’re both going to federal prison,” Detective Vance interrupted, his voice booming with absolute authority. “For attempted murder, home invasion, grand larceny, conspiracy, and insurance fraud. Get them out of my sight.”
The officers hauled Daniel to his feet. He couldn't even stand straight; his legs had turned to jelly. As they dragged him past me, he tried to catch my eye one last time.
“Clara… please… write to me…” he sobbed.
I didn't answer. I didn't even look at him.
I turned my back and looked out the window at the flashing red and blue lights illuminating the quiet, dignified trees of Elmwood Drive.
May you like
The poison was finally gone from my home.
***