Chapter 2 - THE LOCKDOWN"Get off of me, you lumbering idiot!" Megan shrieked, her voice losing its human cadence and turning into something feral. She bucked her hips, trying to throw Chris off her, but my brother locked his knees around her waist, pinning her down with grim determination.
"Shut up, Megan!" Chris panted, sweat pouring down his forehead. "You just tried to murder my brother! You stay right fucking there!"
I stepped forward, my boots crunching on the shattered German china. I reached down and snatched the heavy brass candlestick off the dining table, then kicked the remaining shards of the ceramic plate away from Megan’s reach.
"Tyler," I said, keeping my voice terrifyingly calm, though my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Take your phone out. Lock the front door. Nobody leaves this house. Not until the police get here."
"Dad—" Tyler stammered, his face pale, staring down at his aunt as if she were a monster who had just shed human skin.
"Do it now!" I snapped.
Tyler bolted for the entryway, his sneakers squeaking on the hardwood. A second later, we heard the heavy click of the deadbolt sliding home.
On the floor, Buddy gave one last, shallow sigh. His body went completely limp, his golden head resting heavily on Ethan’s small knees.
"Buddy?" Ethan whispered, shaking the dog gently. "Buddy, wake up. Please..."
Lauren dropped to her knees beside our son, pulling him away from the dog and wrapping her arms around him so tightly she nearly lifted him off the floor. She buried Ethan’s face into her shoulder so he wouldn't have to look at the horrifying reality of what had just happened. But she didn't look away from Megan. Her gaze was pure, unadulterated venom.
"You calculated this," Lauren said, her voice dropping into a dangerous whisper as she stood up and walked over to where Megan was pinned. "You picked Thanksgiving. You knew the house would be crowded, chaotic, full of distractions. You figured if Daniel died at the table, everyone would blame an allergic reaction, or food poisoning from the turkey. You thought you'd get away with it."
Megan stopped thrashing. A slow, ugly smile crept across her face, distorting her features. She didn't look like a suburban mother anymore; she looked like a cornered viper.
"You think the police are going to believe you?" Megan laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "A grieving widow and her unhinged husband? Who brought the meat into the house, Lauren? I didn't buy the beef. Patricia did. You stored it in the fridge. All I did was prep it."
My mother gasped, clutching her chest even tighter. "Megan... how could you say that? You offered! You begged to cook!"
"Shut up, old woman," Megan spat venomously at her mother-in-law, dropping any remaining pretense of respect. "You’ve treated me like a second-class citizen for ten years! Always comparing me to golden-boy Chris, always making comments about my clothes, my cooking, my life! You wanted a big family dinner? Well, you got one. You wanted a memory you'd never forget? Consider it delivered."
"You psycho," Chris snarled, pressing his forearm harder against her throat.
"Get off me!" Megan hissed. "If you don't let me up right now, Chris, I swear to God I will scream bloody murder, I'll tear my own clothes, and I'll tell the cops you assaulted me. You know how the law treats men in domestic calls. You'll be in a cell before you can even explain what happened."
Chris hesitated. For a split second, doubt flickered across his face. He knew how fragile his own life was—he was on probation for a stupid DUI from two years ago, and a domestic violence accusation, even a false one, would destroy him completely.
Megan saw the hesitation and smiled wider. "That's right, big brother. Think about your record. Think about your job."
She thought she had won. She thought the threat of legal complication would buy her enough time to wriggle out of the trap.
She forgot about me.
I didn't yell. I didn't threaten her. I simply walked over to the sideboard, picked up the landline phone that my mother still kept plugged into the wall, and dialed three digits.
"What are you doing?" Megan’s smile faltered slightly.
"I'm calling the Iowa State Patrol," I said calmly, staring down at her through the wreckage of the dining room. "Cedar Rapids PD is standard, but my college roommate is a senior investigator with the state bureau. I’m going to bypass the local precinct entirely. I'm going to tell him that a woman just poisoned my dog, attempted to murder me at a family dinner, and that we have a secured crime scene with biological evidence."
Megan’s face lost every trace of color. The smug defiance vanished, replaced by a sudden, frantic panic.
"No—Daniel, wait. Let's talk about this. We're family! Think of Tyler! Think of how this affects the family!"
"Family?" I stepped closer, the brass candlestick heavy in my hand. "You used my son’s plate. You let an eleven-year-old boy nearly eat a lethal dose of heavy-metal neurotoxin just to get to me. You don't get to use the word family ever again."
I brought the phone to my ear. The line connected.
"State Trooper Dispatch, badge number 4402," a crisp voice answered.
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"My name is Daniel Miller," I said, locking my eyes onto Megan’s terrified ones. "I am reporting an attempted homicide by poisoning at 442 Elmwood Drive, Cedar Rapids. Send the crime scene unit. And bring a hazmat team. We have a contaminated bio-sample on site."
Megan let out a high-pitched scream of pure terror and lunged forward again—right into Chris’s heavier, unforgiving grip.
