Chapter 2 - The Mask Slips Away
Four emergency responders swarmed the shed within seconds, their heavy boots splashing through the puddle at the entrance. The lead paramedic, a burly woman with a determined expression, pushed Richard aside with an elbow.
""Out of the way, sir, move back,"" she ordered, dropping her medical kit onto the concrete and shining a penlight directly into Emily's unresponsive eyes. ""Pupils unequal. Possible subdural hematoma. Multiple severe contusions across the ribs and face. Let’s get a c-collar on her right now! Backboard ready on three!""
""Wait just a minute!"" Margaret’s shrill voice cut through the rain. She stormed into the shed entrance, gesturing wildly at the paramedics. ""This is a domestic disagreement! My son was merely defending himself against an unhinged woman! You have no right to barge in here without our permission. We demand that you leave her here; we have a private family physician who can take care of any minor bumps.""
Two state troopers, their yellow rain jackets slick and shining under the floodlights, blocked Margaret’s path.
""Ma'am, step back immediately,"" the taller officer commanded, his hand resting firmly on his utility belt. ""Step outside the structure now.""
Richard stepped forward, putting on the polished, charismatic smile he used in television interviews for his boutique financial firm. ""Officers, good evening. I'm Richard Whitmore. My mother is just distressed. My wife had a psychotic episode tonight, threw kitchenware, and locked herself out here in the storm. She must have fallen over some garden equipment. I tried to help her, but she was entirely hysterical. If you give us five minutes, we can handle this privately. There’s no need to make a scene in this neighborhood.""
The officer looked down at Emily, who was now being carefully lifted onto a spinal board, her face pale as parchment, a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of her lips. Then the officer looked at Richard’s split, bloodied knuckles.
""You fell over some garden equipment too, Mr. Whitmore?"" the officer asked, his tone ice-cold.
""I tried to catch her,"" Richard said smoothly, not batting an eye. ""She was thrashing around.""
I stepped out into the rain, my wet shirt clinging to my chest, and pointed directly at Richard. ""My daughter called me forty minutes ago screaming that he was beating her to death. I heard him laughing over the phone. When I arrived, this woman barred the front door, and Richard told me he was 'teaching her some respect.' Check the security cameras on the porch. Check the front door.""
Richard’s face tightened. A flicker of real panic flashed behind his eyes before he quickly smothered it. ""Don't listen to him! The old man is senile! He’s been threatening me for months because he wants money from my firm!""
""Step over to the cruiser, Mr. Whitmore,"" the officer said, unsnapping the leather strap over his cuffs. ""Both of your hands behind your back. Now.""
""Do you know who I am?"" Richard bellowed, his polished veneer shattering entirely. ""Take your hands off me! Margaret, call Arthur Vance right now! Call the governor's office! You touch me and I’ll have your badge by breakfast, you backwoods idiot!""
The troopers didn't hesitate. With practiced efficiency, they shoved Richard face-first against the wet brick wall of the garage. The sickening crunch of his designer suit against rough brick echoed over the siren wails. Steel clicked shut around his wrists with ruthless precision.
""Richard Whitmore, you are under arrest for aggravated assault, felony domestic battery, and false imprisonment,"" the officer recited calmly into Richard’s ear.
Margaret screamed, lunging at the officer. ""Get your filthy hands off my son! You can't arrest a Whitmore! We own this town! Harold, you filthy peasant, tell them to stop! Tell them right now or I swear to God I will ruin every last thing you have!""
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I watched them drag Richard toward the squad car, his expensive loafers sliding through mud, cursing and spitting like a rabid animal. I didn't say a single word to Margaret. I climbed into the back of the ambulance alongside the stretcher, taking Emily's freezing, bruised hand into both of mine.
""Hold on, Emily,"" I whispered as the doors slammed shut and the sirens wailed into the night. ""Dad is taking the wheel now.""
