Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the Marriage
Word Count Goal: ~3,500 words
My hands shook so violently I could barely swipe the screen open.
The live feed from my living room loaded in low-resolution night vision. The furniture I had picked out, the toys Noah had left scattered on the rug—everything was bathed in an eerie green light.
And standing in the center of my living room was a man.
He was wearing a heavy dark jacket, his tactical boots leaving wet mud tracks on my clean hardwood floors. He turned slowly toward the camera. Even through the grainy infrared lens, I recognized the sharp jawline, the cropped hair, and the distinct scar running through his left eyebrow.
Mark.
My husband. The man I had wept for every night for the past six months, believing he was thousands of miles away dodging mortar fire in a warzone.
On the live video, Mark looked directly up at the small black camera mounted near the ceiling. He raised his hand, held up a keycard—my hotel keycard from Denver that had been in my purse—and slowly cut the camera wire with a pair of pliers.
The screen flickered to static.
"Detective!" I screamed, turning to Vance. "He's at my house! Mark is at my house right now!"
Vance immediately unclipped his radio. "Dispatch, this is Unit 404. We have a confirmed location on target Mark Carter at 742 Elm Ridge Drive. Requesting immediate tactical backup."
"My son," I sobbed, clutching Vance's arm. "Is he safe here? Will he be safe?"
"We're putting two armed officers outside this ICU door immediately, Mrs. Carter," Vance promised, his face grim. "No one enters this floor without my personal authorization. But you need to stay here."
"No," I said, my voice hardening as an intense wave of adrenaline washed away my fatigue. "I'm going with you."
"Absolute not," Vance countered. "It's a active crime scene."
"He took my life's work! He brutalized my son! He manipulated my own family to torture my child!" I stepped closer to the detective, my chest heaving. "If you don't let me drive behind you, I'll drive alone. And I won't stop until I get answers."
Vance stared at me for three long seconds before letting out a sharp breath. "Keep your vehicle two hundred yards behind my cruiser. You stay in the car until my team clears the perimeter. Understand?"
"Understood."
I knelt down by Noah's bed. The sedation was taking hold of him again, his tiny eyelids drooping. I took his cold, small hand and pressed it against my cheek.
"Mommy's going to fix this, baby," I whispered. "I'm going to make sure no one ever hurts you again."
"Mommy..." Noah mumbled, his breath smelling of hospital antiseptic. "Don't go to the house... Daddy left a box under my bed... He said... he said it's for you."
I froze. "What box, Noah?"
"The black box..." Noah's eyes closed as he drifted into sleep. "He put... a clock inside..."
My blood ran cold.
May you like
A clock.
I didn't wait for Vance. I sprinted down the hospital hallway, past the nurses' station, and slammed through the emergency exit doors into the cold morning rain.
