Chapter 2 - Red and Blue in the Cul-de-sac
The second heavy blow against the bathroom door splintered the molding around the latch, but the deadbolt held. My shoulder throbbed in sympathetic agony, a hot pulse radiating down my spine.
“Mrs. Carter, officers are pulling up to the driveway now. They’ll be at your front door in ten seconds,” the dispatcher said. “Can you hear them?”
Faintly, through the small frosted window high up on the bathroom wall, a low thrumming vibration cut through the neighborhood silence. Seconds later, a sharp wash of crimson and cobalt light swept across the ceiling, painting the bathroom tiles in frantic, blinking streaks of red and blue.
Outside the door, the frantic pounding stopped instantly.
For a heartbeat, the hallway went dead silent. I heard Evelyn draw a sharp, alarmed breath.
“Caleb, what are they doing here so fast?” Evelyn hissed, her voice losing its haughty composure. “Did she call—?”
“Police! Open up! Peoria Police Department!” a deep, commanding voice boomed from the front entryway, followed by heavy, rhythmic boots stomping across the hardwood floor.
Caleb didn't waste a second. The smooth, practiced mask went back on instantly. His voice shifted from violent rage to injured, trembling innocence in a fraction of a second.
“Officer, thank God you’re here! In here! My wife—she’s having a severe postpartum mental break, she attacked me with a stool, and she’s locked herself in the bathroom with our three-day-old newborn baby! She won't let us near him!”
“She’s unstable!” Evelyn cried out, her voice pitching into a theatrical wail. “She threw things! She’s a danger to that infant!”
My stomach churned. They were laying the groundwork before the officers could even process the scene.
“Peoria Police! Step away from the door!” an officer yelled down the hall.
I waited another agonizing second, my thumb hovering over the deadbolt. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Slowly, I twisted the lock, pulled the door open an inch, and peered out into the lit hallway.
A towering police officer in a dark tactical vest stood just feet away, his hand resting near his holster, looking warily between Caleb—who was dramatically rubbing his shin and holding a fake tear-stained expression—and me.
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When the officer’s eyes landed on my face—the swollen cheek, the split lip, the dried sweat, and the hospital wristband contrasting against the dark bruises on my arm—his expression hardened instantly. He didn't look at Caleb anymore. He looked directly at me.
“Ma’am,” the officer said, his voice dropping into a tone of intense professional care. “Are you and the baby safe?”
