Chapter 6 - Shattered Glass
The sharp crash of breaking glass reverberated from the direction of the master hallway, cutting off the standoff in the garage instantly.
Detective Miller dropped his hand from his radio mic, his body instantly shifting into a tactical stance. He drew his service pistol in one fluid motion, the matte metal catching the dim morning light filtering through the open garage door.
"Stay right here," Miller ordered, his voice commanding and sharp. He motioned for the two uniformed officers to flank him as they moved swiftly toward the interior kitchen entrance leading into the house.
David clutched Lily tighter to his chest, pressing her face firmly into his shoulder so she wouldn't see the drawn weapon. His heart thundered against his ribs. The shattered glass could only mean one thing—someone was either breaking in, or someone inside the house had just made a desperate attempt to destroy whatever evidence was hidden behind that false panel in the closet.
Clara stood frozen by the side of her silver sedan. The momentary panic that had crossed her features when David mentioned the false panel had vanished, replaced by a cold, hardened resolve. She wasn't looking at the garage door anymore; her eyes were fixed entirely on the interior doorway, watching and waiting.
"Miller, wait!" David called out, stepping forward with Lily in his arms. "The back window of the master bath faces the alley. If someone’s in the closet—"
"Quiet, Mr. Evans," Miller snapped over his shoulder without breaking his stride. He pushed through the kitchen door and vanished into the hallway shadows, his officers right behind him.
Silence descended upon the garage, heavy and suffocating.
David exhaled slowly, his eyes locking onto Clara. She hadn't moved an inch. Her hands were once again tucked neatly into the deep front pockets of her jeans, and David knew with absolute, terrifying certainty what her fingers were resting on right now.
"You didn't throw it away," David said softly, his voice trembling with a mix of fury and exhaustion. "The blue inhaler. You still have it in your pocket, don't you?"
Clara slowly turned her head to look at him. A thin, humorless smile touched the corners of her lips.
"She doesn't need it, David," Clara whispered back, her tone chillingly casual, as if they were discussing the weather rather than their daughter’s survival. "Children throw tantrums. You're making a mountain out of a molehill. Just like you always do."
"She couldn't breathe, Clara! She was turning blue!" David yelled, unable to keep his voice down any longer.
"She was acting," Clara repeated stubbornly, her voice dropping into a hypnotic, steady rhythm. "Just like you're acting right now for the detective."
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Before David could lunge across the concrete to pry her pockets open himself, a loud shout echoed from deep inside the house, followed by the heavy thud of a body hitting the floorboards.
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