Chapter 2 - The Sound of the Front Door
The sudden silence from the hallway was more terrifying than the shouting.
Usually, when Derek and Evelyn wanted compliance, they doubled down—threats, gaslighting, emotional exhaustion until you gave in just to make the noise stop. But now, the stream’s audio picked up the faint, rhythmic clicking of a heavy brass deadbolt turning behind them.
“Who’s that?” Evelyn snapped, her voice dropping out of performance mode for a split second as the phone camera swung away from the bathroom door to face the foyer.
“You didn't invite anyone else over, did you?” Derek demanded, stepping away from the wood.
Through the crack at the base of the door, I saw the shadow of a tall, broad-shouldered figure fill the narrow hallway. A low, authoritative knock echoed through the house—not the frantic pounding of a panicked viewer, but the heavy, deliberate rap of someone accustomed to being answered immediately.
“Police department. Open up,” a deep voice commanded.
Evelyn’s shrill laugh cut through the living room. “Oh, come on! This is harassment! We’re live-streaming a charity event for a cancer-stricken mother! Turn that off, Derek—no, leave it rolling so people see the police state trying to shut down our fundraiser!”
“Ma’am, step away from the phone and put your hands where we can see them,” the officer replied, his tone chillingly flat. “We received a multi-party report of ongoing domestic abuse, physical assault, and online fraud via a live broadcast.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. Someone—maybe the nurse, maybe dozens of viewers who watched Derek shove the clippers into my scalp while I wept—had called 911.
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Derek panicked. I heard the frantic rustle of fabric as he tried to pocket or power down the device. “There’s no assault here! My wife is just having a mental health crisis—!”
“Mr. Moreland, step back!” the officer’s voice boomed, followed by the metallic click of a badge case opening.
