Chapter 3 - The Intruders
It wasn't Marcus.
The front door crashed open, hitting the drywall behind it with a dull thud.
"Police! Anybody inside, identify yourselves!"
Clare hadn't just smashed the truck window to set off the alarm. She had used the horn to draw the patrol car that routinely sat near the elementary school two blocks away.
Arthur's head snapped toward the foyer below. "In the hall!" he shouted, his tone instantly shifting into a smooth, controlled panic. "Officer! Up here! My daughter-in-law is having a medical emergency!"
Two officers appeared at the foot of the stairs, their boots squeaking on the polished wood. One was a middle-aged sergeant with graying temples; the other was a younger woman, her hand resting light and ready on her duty belt.
They looked up the staircase.
They saw Arthur standing on the top landing. They saw me two feet behind him.
The female officer took three rapid steps up the flight, her eyes widening as she took in the scene: the wooden chair bound to my spine with heavy leather straps, my bent posture, the blood drying on my collarbone, and the infant pressed to my chest.
"Sir, step back," she ordered, drawing her baton. "Step back from her right now!"
"Listen to me," Arthur said, holding his hands up, smiling faintly. "She has a severe psychiatric condition related to her pregnancy. She became violent during the night. We had to restrain her for her own protection—"
"I said step back!" the officer barked, ascending the remaining stairs in a blur of blue dark wool. She placed her shoulder into Arthur's chest, forcing him back three feet into the hallway.
The second officer reached the landing, immediately dropping to one knee beside me. "Ma'am, don't move. I've got you. Can you breathe?"
"Cut... cut the belts," I choked out. My legs were shaking so violently the rocking chair was rattling against the floorboards.
The officer pulled a folding utility knife from his vest. With two quick, expert slices, he severed the leather straps.
The heavy oak chair dropped to the floor behind me with a thunderous crash, splintering one of its rear runners against the baseboard.
Without the support of the chair, my lumbar spine buckled instantly. Pain shot up my back like electricity, cold and sickening. I collapsed forward, but the officer caught me beneath my arms, taking my weight while keeping his hands away from the baby tucked against my neck.
"I have the child," the female officer said, stepping around Arthur and gently lifting the twin from my arms.
The baby didn't cry. It tucked its head into the officer's navy uniform, exhausted.
Downstairs, Marcus and Evelyn burst through the front door, screaming about lawyers, break-ins, and family rights. The sergeant on the landing didn't look at them. He unclipped his radio.
"Dispatch, unit 204. Requesting immediate EMS to 412 Elm Street. Possible felony domestic assault, unlawful imprisonment, and medical neglect. Send two rigs."
From the floor where I lay, my cheek pressed against the cool, dusty oak of the hallway floorboards, I looked up.
Evelyn was standing at the bottom of the stairs, held back by a third officer who had just entered through the shattered front door. She looked up at me, her face pale, her pearl-pink nails clenching into fists.
Beside her, my husband stood silent, staring at the severed leather belts lying in a heap on the rug.
He didn't look at me. He looked at the floor, his hands still deep inside the pockets of his hoodie.
"Marcus," I whispered.
May you like
He didn't turn his head.
"Cancel the third crib," I said.
