Chapter 1 - The Long Drive Out
I was staring blankly at a quarter-end projection sheet that made about as much sense as ancient hieroglyphics when the pink plastic strap on my wrist buzzed. It was a cheap little smartwatch I’d bought Ava for her fifth birthday—mostly so she could play silly matching games while sitting at her father’s kitchen table during his weekend visitation, but also because an invisible tether felt slightly better than the sheer, crushing terror of being apart from her.
When the caller ID flashed *AVA*, my chest did a panicked double-flip.
"Ava, my sweet girl? What's going on?" I answered, my voice pitching up in that frantic, involuntary octave mothers use when they sense danger.
For a second, there was only the hollow static of ragged breathing. Then, a muffled, wet sob that twisted straight through my sternum. "Mommy... Daddy's girlfriend hit me with a hockey stick."
My ergonomic chair rolled backward so violently it slammed straight into a steel filing cabinet, sending a pen holder clattering to the floor. Several coworkers looked up from their dual monitors, annoyed. I didn't care.
"What?" I breathed, my fingers clawing at the edge of the desk.
Ava sucked in a fragmented gasp, her voice compressed into a terrified, reedy whisper. "If I cry... she'll hurt me again."
Suddenly, a woman’s shrill, caustic voice detonated in the background, sharp enough to cut glass. "Ava! Who the hell are you talking to in there?"
I sprang to my feet, my knees knocking against the cheap laminate. "Baby, hide. Where are you?"
"The little bathroom," she whimpered, the sound breaking my heart into microscopic pieces.
Outside my office building, Interstate 94 was a parking lot of brake lights and furious honking—a twenty-seven-minute eternity away. My brain short-circuited. I couldn't wait. My thumb flew across my phone screen, hitting speed dial for my sister, Dana, while my other hand hammered the desk phone buttons for 911.
"911, what is your emergency?" a calm, robotic voice droned in my ear.
"My daughter! She's five! Her father's girlfriend just hit her with a hockey stick—she's trapped in a bathroom, I have to go—"
"Ma'am, I need your exact address—"
Before the dispatcher could finish, the line to Dana connected. Dana didn't say hello. She picked up on the first ring, her voice icy, razor-sharp, and devoid of all hesitation. "I'm closer. I'm eight minutes out. I'm going in now."
"Dana, wait for the cops, the traffic—"
Before Dana could answer, Marissa’s voice shrieked through Ava's open smartwatch line. "Give me that damn thing!"
Ava let out a blood-curdling, desperate scream, followed by a sickeningly heavy thud against tile, and a sharp, pained whimper that sounded entirely too small for this world. Then, the line went dead. The call dropped into absolute, terrifying static.
"Dana!" I screamed into my phone, my vision going black at the edges.
"I'm in the driveway," Dana’s voice came back through the Bluetooth speaker, low, flat, and predatory. "There’s screaming inside. I'm not waiting for the cops. The front door is deadbolted."
I could hear the crunch of gravel under Dana’s boots through the speaker, followed immediately by the dull, bone-rattling thud of a fist hammering heavy wood. "Marissa! Open this door right now!"
No response from inside. Only another muffled, pathetic wail that pierced my soul.
"Hold on," Dana growled, a sound like a cornered panther.
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A catastrophic splintering of wood and metal shattered the air—the unmistakable sound of a solid-core front door being kicked entirely off its industrial hinges by a trained, furious former professional MMA fighter. Dana was inside.
And then, the absolute, dead silence that followed on the phone line was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard in my life. I stood frozen in the middle of a bustling corporate office, gripping my phone so hard my knuckles turned translucent, waiting for a voice that wouldn't come.
