Chapter 4 - THE TABLES TURNED IN ROOM 304
Before Derek could process the layout of the room, two Briarwood police officers who had been waiting just outside the doorway swarmed him from behind.
“Briarwood PD! Don't move! Hands behind your back!”
Thud.
Derek was slammed face-first against the opposite wall, the wind knocked out of him in a violent gasp as steel handcuffs snapped onto his wrists with a sharp, metallic bite.
“What are you doing? Are you insane? Get your hands off me! I’m a taxpayer! I’m her husband!” Derek shrieked, thrashing wildly against the officers, his arrogant facade instantly fracturing into pathetic whining. “Clara! Tell them to let me go! Tell them you fell down the stairs like we agreed!”
I didn't flinch. I sat up straighter against the pillows, looking at the man who had terrorized me for years, and for the first time, I felt no fear. I only felt an overwhelming, freezing clarity.
“There was no agreement, Derek,” I said, my voice cutting through his hysterics with unnatural calm. “And I didn't fall down the stairs. You broke my foot with a hammer while your mother watched.”
Derek froze mid-struggle, his face pressed against the drywall. He turned his head sideways, glaring at me with eyes full of venom and absolute disbelief. “You bitch. You absolute ungrateful—when I get out of here—!”
“You aren't getting out anytime soon, Mr. Holloway,” Detective Miller interrupted, pulling an official document from his breast pocket and reading it aloud as he stepped forward. “Derek Holloway, you are being placed under arrest for domestic aggravated assault, felony domestic violence, criminal restraint, child endangerment, and distribution of non-consensual graphic material depicting abuse. You have the right to remain silent...”
As the Miranda rights were read over his protests, Derek’s eyes darted frantically around the room, finally locking onto the security cameras mounted in the corner of the ceiling. The color drained entirely from his face. The reality of what he had done—and the permanence of the digital evidence Chloe had secured—finally crashed down on him.
The officers hauled him upright, dragging him backward out of the room. As they pulled him past the doorway, his mother, Martha, suddenly rounded the corner of the hallway, out of breath and brandishing her purse like a weapon.
“What are they doing to my son? Leave him alone!” Martha screeched, lunging toward the officers.
Another officer stepped smoothly into her path, blocking her entry. “Ma'am, step back, or you’ll be joining him in the back of the cruiser for accessory and witness tampering.”
Martha stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. She looked past the officer into my room, her eyes meeting mine with a desperate plea for her usual manipulation to work.
“Clara, sweetie,” Martha whined, her tone instantly shifting to oily false sweetness. “You know how Derek gets when he’s stressed about work. We were just playing around, it was a joke gone wrong, family stays together—you can't let them ruin his career over a silly little accident—”
“Take her statement too, Detective,” I said quietly, never breaking eye contact with my mother-in-law. “She held the flashlight and told him to hit harder.”
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Martha’s face turned the color of ash. Before she could launch into another screaming fit, Detective Miller nodded to the hallway officers, and Martha was gently but firmly escorted away from the ward.
The heavy hospital door swung shut once more, locking into place with a definitive, secure click.
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