Uniformed officers were swarming the room, shouting aggressive, overlapping orders.
I turned my head slightly, wincing as a sharp bolt of pain shot down my neck. I saw my family.
The cruel, sadistic smiles had entirely vanished from their faces. The arrogant perfection was gone, replaced by a stark, pale, and utterly pathetic terror.
Chloe was pressed face-first against the floral wallpaper, sobbing hysterically as a female officer roughly twisted her arms behind her back, ratcheting a pair of heavy steel handcuffs tightly around her wrists. My mother was backed into a corner by the china cabinet, hyperventilating, her hands trembling violently as an officer shouted at her to get on the ground.
My father was already on the floor, his face bruised where Travis had apparently struck him, bleeding from a cut on his lip as a massive sergeant pinned him down.
I looked up.
Kneeling beside me, still pressing the blood-soaked napkin to my face, was Travis.
He was no longer the polished, wealthy, slightly aloof boyfriend trying to impress my sister. The tailored suit jacket was discarded on a chair. His sleeves were rolled up, his tie loosened. But it was his face that shocked me.
He was looking down at me, and his eyes… I knew his eyes. The cold, calculating stare from dinner was gone, replaced by a profound, agonizing sorrow and a fierce, terrifying protectiveness.
A heavy-set police detective in a beige trench coat stepped up behind Travis. “Paramedics are thirty seconds out. Is she stable?”
“She’s conscious,” Travis replied, never taking his eyes off me. He reached his free hand into the inside pocket of his discarded suit jacket draped over a chair. He pulled out a small, sleek black device with a blinking green light. He handed it up to the detective without looking back.
