The neighborhood looked peaceful under the amber glow of the decorative streetlamps. Stone-veneer facades, manicured hedges, two-car garages tucked neatly behind sweeping paved driveways. It was the visual blueprint of everything my father had insisted I would never achieve.
The front lawn of Paige and Todd’s two-story colonial was ripped apart. Deep tire ruts carved through the sod where the BMW had jumped the curb, its front bumper hanging by a plastic clip, steam hissing from a cracked radiator onto the wet hydrangeas.
The front door stood wide open, the brass lock set splintered from the casing.
I slammed the Civic into park behind Caleb’s beat-up Tacoma, killed the engine, and sprinted up the brick walkway. Rain hammered down on the copper gutters, drowning out the sound of my footsteps.
Inside, the house was an echo chamber of screams.
"Give me the key, Paige! I don't have time for this!" Todd’s voice bellowed from the top of the stairs, raw, stripped of all elegance, vibrating with feral panic.
"No! Get away from me!" Paige was screaming from the master bedroom. "Who is Evelyn? Who are those other women, Todd? What did you do to my name?"
I cleared the bottom landing three steps at a time.
In the master suite, the scene was torn out of a home invasion. Clothes were pulled from the walk-in closet, hangers scattered across the plush cream carpet like pick-up sticks. Jewelry boxes lay overturned on the vanity, costume pearls and gold chains tangled in the litter.
Caleb was on the floor beside the king-sized bed, clutching his ribs, coughing in ragged gasps. Todd had blindsided him; a split lip was already swelling across my younger brother's chin, blood smearing the collar of his gray Virginia Tech hoodie.
"Caleb!" I shouted, dropping to one knee beside him.
"I'm good... I'm good," Caleb wheezed, grabbing my arm, his knuckles trembling with adrenaline. "He came in swinging... he’s got a gun in the closet safe, Anthony. He’s trying to get the combination."
Across the room, Paige was backed into the corner by the master bathroom door. She was still wearing the emerald silk blouse from dinner, her hair disheveled, tears cutting clean paths through her mascara. In her hands, she clutched a heavy brass lamp, its cord ripped from the wall, wielding it like a club.
Todd stood five feet from her, kneeling in front of the floor safe embedded beneath the shoe racks. His hands were shaking violently as he spun the digital dial. The keypad beeped three times in rapid succession, followed by a harsh, low-pitched buzz.
Error. Locked Out for 5 Minutes.
"Dammit!" Todd roared, punching the steel door of the safe with his bare fist. He recoiled, clutching his knuckles, then rounded on Paige like a rabid dog. "What did you change it to? You changed the master PIN!"
"I didn't change anything!" Paige wept, lifting the heavy lamp higher. "You used my name! I found the papers in your briefcase on the bed—there are five different credit cards in my name that I've never seen! A second mortgage on this house? Todd, you took out a second mortgage three months ago?"
"To keep us afloat!" Todd yelled, stepping toward her, his face purpling with rage. "You think this lifestyle pays for itself? You think your little part-time clinic job pays the six-thousand-dollar mortgage on this place? I did this for us! For Lily!"
"Don't you say her name!" Paige shrieked. "Don't you dare say her name!"
"Give me the override key," Todd demanded, his voice dropping into a terrifying, flat cadence. He took another step forward, reaching out a broad hand to snatch the lamp from her grip. "Give me the key, Paige, or I swear to God I'll take it off your neck."
He lunged.
I didn't think about my shoulder. I didn't think about the ten years of Sunday dinners where I had kept my head down, swallowing insults to keep the peace.
I crossed the room in two strides, grabbed Todd by the scruff of his rain-soaked collar, and hauled him backward with everything I had.
We crashed into the mahogany dresser. Perfume bottles shattered against the hardwood floor, filling the room with the suffocating scent of jasmine and alcohol. Todd twisted around like an eel, his elbow catching me in the jaw, sending another flash of fire through my skull. He scrambled to his feet, eyes wild, chest heaving, his fingers closing around the heavy crystal decanter from the dresser top.
"I told you to stay out of my way, Anthony!" he screamed, raising the heavy glass bottle over his head.
Before he could bring it down, a heavy, deafening crack echoed through the house.
It wasn't a gunshot. It was the sound of a hickory walking stick striking the back of Todd’s knees with the force of an axe blow.
Todd’s legs folded instantly. He hit the floor with a hollow grunt, the crystal decanter flying from his grip and shattering into a thousand diamond shards against the baseboard.
Standing in the bedroom doorway, his chest heaving, his face pale as chalk, was Keith Miller.
The story isn’t over yet. Select “Next Part” below to see what happens next.
