Chapter 3: The Call to 911
Chapter 3: The Call to 911
Marcus pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he dialed 911.
"Emergency services, I need an ambulance and police at 1422 Oakridge Lane," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a dangerously calm, authoritative tone. "An elderly woman has been severely assaulted. She is bleeding from the mouth and has multiple contusions."
As he spoke to the operator, his tactical training forced his eyes to scan the room, registering every detail with chilling precision.
There were dark, wiped-down smudges on the lower cabinets.
A mop bucket filled with strong-smelling bleach stood near the pantry.
Most damning of all, as he looked down at Evelyn’s fragile arms, he saw them: layers of old, yellowish-green bruises hiding beneath the fresh, angry purple welts.
This was not a one-time accident. This was a routine.
Behind him, Vanessa’s voice continued to stream out in a desperate, frantic torrent.
"Marcus, you don't understand! She’s been so unstable lately! She loses control, she imagines things, she's hated me since the day you left! It’s been so stressful, it’s just a big misunderstanding!"
Marcus stood up slowly. Standing at over six feet, his shadow completely swallowed Vanessa. The warmth she had known in her husband was entirely gone, replaced by the dead, icy stare of a commander on a battlefield.
"Misunderstandings don't knock a seventy-year-old woman's teeth out, Vanessa."
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The words cut through Vanessa’s frantic acting like a knife. She stopped crying instantly. Her tear-streaked face hardened into something cold, ugly, and defensive.
"You don't know how hard it's been!" she hissed, snapping at him. "You left me here all alone to deal with her!"
