Chapter 4 - The Open Line
The phone sat horizontally in my wool pocket, its screen illuminated against the fabric, microphone pointed upward through the loose knit. I didn't dare look down. I knew how the emergency system worked: three quick pulses meant Brookfield Central Dispatch was on the line, the audio open, the GPS coordinates triangulating to our rural road.
"Keep your hands off her, Nora," I said, pitching my voice clear, loud, and steady. I didn't shout; I wanted the dispatcher to hear every single syllable without distortion. "You are bruising my eight-year-old daughter's arm. Look at the marks you're leaving."
"I don't give a damn about the marks!" Nora shrieked, holding Lucy pinned against the wall by the collar of her dragon suit. Lucy was sobbing, choking on her tears, her face smeared with blood from the scratches on her cheek. "This child needs discipline! Look at this trash she drew! She drew me as an ogre with knives for fingers! She drew Mother locked in a cage! This is evidence of parental alienation!"
"Let her go, Nora," I repeated, standing perfectly upright. Marlene was still blocking my path, her hand clutching my forearm like a talon. "Mom, tell Nora to take her hands off Lucy. Lucy is bleeding."
Marlene sneered, tightening her grip on my arm until my bone ached. "A scratch from her own clumsy flailing. Stop being melodramatic, Claire. If you don't discipline your child, we will. Nora is doing what you're too weak to do."
"You told me that if I made a sound, I would be next," I said, looking Marlene straight in the eyes. "Are you threatening to assault me too, Mother?"
Marlene laughed, a dry, rattling sound that went straight into my pocket. "Assault? Who would believe you? You are a broken, bankrupt woman with a history of emotional instability. If you take one more step toward that front door, I won't just hit you, Claire. I will have you baker-acted before midnight. I know the chief of police. Nora caters his daughter’s wedding in three weeks. Who do you think they’re going to believe? An honored businesswoman in Brookfield, or an unhinged woman trespassing on private property?"
"This isn't your property alone," I stated clearly. "Dad left the trust for Lucy. You are trying to force me to sign away my home under physical threat."
"Your father is dead and rotting in the ground!" Nora barked, throwing the torn halves of Lucy's sketchbook across the floor. She gave Lucy's arm another vicious twist, forcing the little girl down to her knees. "And unless you sign that quitclaim deed right now on that desk, you aren't leaving this hallway. The gate is locked. Your car is trapped. And if I have to hold this screaming brat down all night until you break, I will do it with pleasure."
"Mommy! Please!" Lucy cried out, her small voice breaking into high-pitched gasps. "Mommy, my arm hurts! It hurts so bad!"
"I'm right here, Lucy," I said, keeping my gaze locked on Nora. "Look at me, sweetheart. Don't look at them. Look at Mommy."
"Shut her up, Nora," Marlene snapped, not looking back. "Take her into the pantry and shut the door until Claire puts ink on that paper."
"Don't you dare touch her again," I said, taking half a step forward.
Marlene raised her other hand, open-palmed, striking me across the cheek. The slap sounded like a gunshot in the narrow hallway. My head snapped to the side, the sharp sting igniting across my skin.
"You will learn your place," Marlene hissed, leaning in so close I could feel the heat radiating from her face. "You have five minutes to sign that deed, or Nora locks that child in the dark."
Down in my pocket, three rapid, distinct vibrations hummed against my thigh.
May you like
It was the automated silent acknowledgment from dispatch. They had heard the assault. They had the location. The cavalry was moving.
***
