Chapter 2 - THE BRUISE BENEATH THE SLEEVE
"María," Daniel murmured quietly out of the side of his mouth, keeping his hands low and clear of his belt, his posture relaxed to avoid alarming the child. "Take the girl. I’ll clear the lower floor."
María immediately dropped to one knee on the hardwood foyer floor, setting her heavy flashlight aside so its beam bounced softly off the wall, illuminating Emily without blinding her. "Hey there, sweetheart," María said, her tone instantly shifting to a soft, gentle cadence, warm and unthreatening. "My name is María. We’re police officers. You’re safe."
As María reached out a gloved hand toward the stairs, a heavy footstep sounded from the dark hallway leading to the kitchen.
Thomas Miller stepped out into the light of the foyer. At thirty-six, Emily’s father had thick dark hair, sharp features, and wore a plain, fitted dark T-shirt and jeans. He didn't look like a monster; he looked like a tired suburban father up late. He held an open bottle of water in one hand, his face wearing an expression of mild, polite confusion.
"Officers?" Thomas said, stepping into the space between the hallway and the stairs. His tone was surprisingly smooth, almost light. "Is there a problem? Did the neighbors call? The TV was a little loud, I know, I was just cleaning up in the kitchen..."
"Sir, stay right where you are," Daniel instructed smoothly, taking two steps to position himself directly between Thomas and the little girl on the stairs. "We received a call regarding a disturbance."
"A disturbance?" Thomas let out a soft, self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head. "No disturbance here. Emily had a nightmare, that’s all. She gets confused when she wakes up in the middle of the night."
On the stairs, Emily flinched hard at her father’s voice, pulling her stuffed rabbit so tightly against her chest that the seam near the torn ear strained further.
María, still kneeling by the stairs, reached up gently toward Emily’s arm. "Come down here with me, Emily," she coaxed softly.
Emily hesitated, then reached down toward María’s hand. As she extended her left arm, the oversized sleeve of her pink teddy-bear pajama top slipped back three inches down her forearm.
May you like
In the clean natural light of the foyer, María’s eyes caught it instantly.
Around Emily’s small wrist was a distinct, fresh ring of deep purple and dark red discoloration—four distinct oval-shaped press marks on top, a larger thumb-shaped impression on the bottom. It was fresh, non-graphic, but unmistakable: the clear, blunt outline of an adult hand squeezing down with immense, crushing force.
