Chapter 7 - The Hostage in the House
By 3:00 AM, the hospital room was quiet.
Lucy was asleep in the bed, her bandaged feet elevated on soft pillows. Her small face was pale, stained with dried tears, but her breathing was deep and steady.
I sat in the plastic armchair beside her, holding her limp, warm hand.
Jenna walked in carrying two paper cups of terrible black tea. She handed me one and sat on the edge of the windowsill.
“Detective Miller called,” Jenna said softly. “Arthur posted bail. An hour after being processed. A hundred thousand dollars in cash, paid through a bondsman in the city.”
My heart plummeted. “How is that even legal?”
“He has judges, Claire. He has money. He’s confined to his home under house arrest with an ankle monitor, but that doesn't stop his lawyers. They’ve already filed an emergency petition claiming the chemical in his garage was wood stripper and that Lucy’s injury was an accidental cross-contamination.”
“And Mark?”
Jenna swallowed hard. “Mark’s car was seen pulling into Dad’s driveway twenty minutes ago.”
Tears of pure exhaustion and rage burned behind my eyelids. “He went back to him. After everything Arthur did to his daughter, he went right back to the master.”
“Mark doesn't have a backbone, Claire. He never did. When we were kids, Dad used to lock me in the attic for hours if I got a B on my report card. Mark would sit at the bottom of the stairs eating ice cream, pretending he couldn't hear me scream. Dad trained him to obey.”
Suddenly, the monitor beside Lucy’s bed gave a brief electronic beep. Lucy stirred, her eyes fluttering open.
“Mom?” she whispered, her voice raspy.
“I’m right here, baby,” I said, smoothing her tangled hair. “I’m right here.”
Lucy looked at her wrapped feet, then up at me with terrifyingly adult eyes. “Grandpa did it on purpose, didn't he?”
I didn't want to lie to her. She was eleven, but this night had stolen whatever childhood she had left. “We think so, honey. But you’re safe now. I promise.”
Lucy’s lip trembled. “Before he told me to put them on... while you were in the kitchen pouring the juice... he leaned down to my ear.”
My breath caught. “What did he say, Lucy?”
“He said, ‘Pain is how we learn who truly loves us.’ And then he told me that if I cried, it meant you didn't take good care of me.”
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The sheer monstrousness of it took the air out of the room. I buried my face in her hospital blanket, shaking with a fury so profound it felt like poison in my own blood.
***
