“Tell them you slipped,” Damon ordered, pointing a threatening finger right into my face. “Tell them you came here high and attacked me with a kitchen knife.”
My mother nodded eagerly at his ridiculous suggestion, fully willing to back a lie that protected her prized son-in-law over her bleeding son. It was a staggering level of betrayal that froze my veins almost as effectively as the blood loss.
The front door burst open with a resounding crash as federal tactical units and local patrol officers swarmed the hallway. Heavy boots thudded against the hardwood floors, shouting commands and demanding that everyone immediately show their hands.
Damon immediately dropped to his knees, raising his arms in mock surrender while beginning his pre-rehearsed performance of absolute innocence. “He broke in! He was out of his mind!” Damon yelled out to the armed officers rushing into the kitchen. 🌲
My mother stood frozen beside him, playing the role of the terrified, helpless matriarch caught in the middle of a violent family tragedy. But the federal officers didn’t look at Damon or my mother when they entered the cramped cooking space.
Instead, the lead investigator stepped past them immediately, kneeling directly beside my broken body on the cold white tile. He tapped his comm-link and confirmed the live audio feed was still recording every single spoken word in the room.
“We have the complete transmission from the initial distress trigger,” the senior agent announced clearly, his voice echoing off the kitchen walls. “Every word spoken since two-eleven is safely logged on the federal server.”
