Chapter 6 - The Man in My Kitchen

My father had been in my house.

That fact tore through the fog in my head faster than any medication.

Detective Reed showed me a photo recovered from a neighbor’s security camera. Grainy. Dark. Time stamped 11:42 p.m.

A man in a hooded jacket was crossing my driveway.

He moved like Dad.

Same slight limp in the right leg from an old construction injury. Same habit of keeping his left hand in his pocket.

“Is that him?” Reed asked.

One blink.

Mom began to cry again.

“What happened after he came in?”

I forced my memory open.

Brooke had my wrist pinned against the kitchen island.

Evan stood by the garage door.

Then Dad appeared behind him.

“Get away from her.”

Brooke went still.

“Dad?”

His face was thinner. Beard overgrown. Eyes furious.

Evan reached inside his jacket.

Dad moved first.

There was a crash, a grunt, the sharp smell of blood.

I remembered screaming.

Then Brooke slammed something heavy into the side of my face.

Darkness.

When I came back for a second, I was on the floor.

Dad was bleeding near the pantry.

Evan was dragging him toward the garage.

Brooke knelt beside me.

“You should’ve stayed out of this,” she whispered.

That was the last thing I remembered before the hospital.

Reed listened without interrupting as Nurse Carter helped me speak in short pieces.

Then he asked, “Did you see what Evan used on your father?”

I shook my head.

The door opened again.

Officer Hale entered fast.

“We have Evan’s vehicle.”

“Where?”

“Airport parking garage.”

“Evan?”

“Gone.”

Brooke’s fiancé had abandoned his SUV twenty minutes before the police arrived at the hospital.

Inside the SUV, they found two passports.

One for Evan.

One for Brooke.

Two one-way tickets to Belize.

Departure time: 6:10 that evening.

Brooke had been planning to leave while standing next to my hospital bed pretending to comfort me.

Reed’s radio crackled.

A voice said, “Detective, you need to see what we found under the cargo liner.”

He answered, “What is it?”

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The voice came back.

“A syringe. Zip ties. And a photograph of Claire asleep in her bedroom.”