Chapter 8 - The Clinical Entry
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"Tell me what to do," Audrey said, her voice instantly hardening from grief into absolute rage.
"Call our family attorney, Mr. Harrison. Forward him this exact video file," I instructed her calmly as I started my truck engine. "Tell him to draft an emergency restraining order and an immediate trespass notice. Then, post the video to the private Vance Family network folder. Don't publish it publicly yet. Just wait for my signal."
"Understood," Audrey replied. "Be careful, Julian."
"I don't need to be careful," I said, shifting the truck into drive. "She does."
I drove the three blocks back to my house, pulling smoothly into the driveway. I didn't slam my car door. I didn't run up the front steps. I walked up the walkway with deliberate, measured strides, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside.
The house was eerily quiet except for the muffled sounds coming from the nursery down the hall.
I walked quietly down the polished hardwood corridor. As I reached the nursery doorway, the scene was exactly as it had appeared on my laptop screen seconds earlier.
Clara was still on her knees, her hands bloody, weeping softly as she tried to gather the jagged shards of glass into a small pile. Eleanor was sitting comfortably in the nursery rocking chair, holding my crying son in her lap, looking down at Clara with a look of supreme, unadulterated satisfaction.
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She was so absorbed in her sadistic power trip that she didn't even hear me enter the room.
"Mom," I said quietly.
