Chapter 2 - The Red Room
The line didn't go dead, but for three excruciating minutes, all I could hear was the heavy, rhythmic sound of Dana’s boots moving across hardwood floors, followed by the frantic creak of stairs.
“Marissa,” Dana’s voice echoed over the phone, sharp as a shattered blade. “Step away from my niece.”
A woman’s panicked, hysterical screech cut through the speaker. “Get the hell out of my house! You broke my door! I’m calling the police!”
“I am the police until the sirens get here,” Dana replied coldly.
Over the phone line, I heard the metallic clack of a wooden object hit the floorboards—the hockey stick. Then came Ava’s tiny, trembling voice. “Auntie Dana... my arm hurts...”
“Come here, sweet girl,” Dana said, her voice instantly softening into silk. “Get behind me. Put your face in my coat and don't look back.”
I ran a red light, my hazard lights flashing as I wove through three lanes of bumper-to-bumper highway traffic. “Dana! Is she bleeding? Is Ava bleeding?”
“She has deep bruising on her forearm and a cut above her eyebrow, Sarah,” Dana reported, her breathing steady despite the chaos. “She was shielding her head when the blow landed.”
“Where is Mark?” I screamed, referring to my ex-husband. “Where is her father?”
“Mark isn't here,” Marissa’s voice shrieked in the background. “He’s at the gym! Ava was being disobedient! She threw a glass cup at me!”
“She’s five years old!” Dana snarled, her voice dropping an octave into pure menace. “You hit a sixty-pound child with composite fiberglass because she made a mess?”
“She did it on purpose!” Marissa screamed. I heard the sound of footsteps rushing forward—Marissa foolishly advancing toward my sister. “Give me that kid! Mark gave me legal authority while he was out!”
“Touch me, and you won't walk out of this hallway,” Dana warned.
A sharp gasp filled the line, followed by a sudden scuffle—the sound of fabric ripping, a heavy thud, and Marissa letting out a breathless groan as she hit the drywall.
“I warned you,” Dana said flatly. “Sit on the floor and don't move your hands.”
Sirens began wailing in the distance, growing louder through both my open car window and Dana’s phone. The police were finally arriving at the townhouse.
I pulled onto Mark’s street ten seconds behind two marked patrol cars. My tires screeched against the curb as I threw my door open, running past the officers who were already drawing their sidearms as they approached the splintered front entrance.
“That’s my daughter!” I screamed, pushing past a patrol officer. “My daughter is inside!”
“Ma'am, stay back!” the officer shouted, grabbing my shoulder.
I shoved his hand off and bolted up the front steps, stepping over the shattered doorframe into the foyer.
At the top of the stairs stood Dana. She was holding Ava wrapped tightly in her leather jacket, shielding the little girl’s face from the chaos below. Sitting against the hallway wall was Marissa, clutching her shoulder, her eyes wide with shock and pure malice.
“Mommy!” Ava cried out, reaching her uninjured arm down toward me.
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I sprinted up the stairs, taking three at a time, and snatched my daughter into my arms. Her tiny body was trembling like a leaf in a hurricane, her skin pale, a dark purple bruise already blooming across her small, delicate forearm.
“I’ve got you, baby,” I sobbed, pressing my face into her soft hair. “Mommy’s here. Nobody is ever going to touch you again.”
