Chapter 2 - Code Red and the Double Click
"Mark! The baby! Oh God, Mark, something tore!"
Emily’s scream pierced right through my skull. She curled into a tighter knot, her knuckles digging into the floorboards until her fingernails cracked. The puddle spreading beneath her wasn't just amniotic fluid; it was stained with a sick, dark crimson.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Stay still, honey, look at me. Look right at me, Em. Don't look down." I fell to my knees beside her, stripping off my denim jacket and bunching it beneath her hips to elevate her, praying to whatever God was listening that our son’s heartbeat wasn't stopping.
Behind me, my mother wasn't offering help or showing a shred of human decency. She was scrambling around the glass table, furiously gathering the scattered pages of the trust agreement.
"Arthur, get up! Get the car keys!" Eleanor hissed, her voice sharp and trembling with frantic greed. "If the police get here before we leave, they'll confiscate the deed! We have her initial on page three—we can forge the final signature with our notary!"
My father was blinking against the wall, a trickle of blood running from his hairline where the drywall had fractured. He rubbed his temples, his gaze locking onto the papers in Eleanor’s hands. "Give me those. We go out through the back patio, through the neighbor’s treeline. They can’t prove we were here if we ditch the car."
Chloe was on her hands and knees, spitting bloody teeth onto the hardwood. Her lower jaw was visibly misaligned, swelling into a grotesque purple mound. "M-Mark..." she slurred, pure venom dripping from her ruined mouth. "You... you broke my face... I'll sue you for everything... I'll take your house... I'll take that bastard kid's entire trust!"
I stood up so fast the room seemed to tilt.
I didn't grab the belt. I walked straight past them toward the master bedroom closet. When I returned five seconds later, the unmistakable, heavy double-click of a 12-gauge Remington 870 pump-action shotgun racking a shell into the chamber cut through the chaotic room like an icy blade.
Eleanor froze mid-reach for her designer handbag. Arthur’s face drained of every drop of color.
"Nobody moves," I said, my voice dead, low, and completely stripped of mercy. "You take one step toward that back door, Dad, and I will blow both your kneecaps into the next county. Try me. See if a jury in this state convicts a man protecting his bleeding wife from home invaders."
"Mark, you're crazy!" Arthur choked out, raising both trembling hands in surrender. "We're your parents! That's your little sister! Put the damn gun down!"
"You stopped being my family the second you brought a leather strap to my wife's stomach," I spat. "Sit on the floor. Hands flat on your heads. Right now!"
Eleanor dropped the papers like they were burning coals, sinking slowly to her knees beside the couch. Arthur followed, his legs shaking violently.
Outside, the faint wails turned into deafening, screeching sirens. Red and blue strobe lights slashed through our living room blinds, painting the walls in flashes of emergency light. Tires squealed against our asphalt driveway, followed by the heavy slam of car doors and the shouting of approaching officers.
"County Sheriff! Open the door!" a booming voice bellowed through the foyer.
"Living room! We have weapons down, my wife needs immediate medical attention!" I shouted back, setting the shotgun on the mantle out of reach and dropping back down to hold Emily’s cold, sweat-slicked hand.
The front door burst open. Four deputies stormed in with handguns drawn, instantly assessing the scene: Chloe writhing in blood, Arthur and Eleanor on their knees with hands on their heads, and me kneeling beside a heavily pregnant woman surrounded by blood.
"Holster up, holster up! Get the paramedics in here now!" the lead sergeant shouted into his shoulder radio.
Two EMTs rushed past the deputies, carrying a trauma bag and a collapsible stretcher. The female medic dropped beside Emily, ripping open vitals monitoring gear. "Ma'am, can you hear me? What's your name? How far along are you?"
"Emily... thirty-two weeks... please... my baby isn't moving... he was kicking before, but he stopped..." Emily’s voice trailed into a shallow, ragged whisper. Her eyelids fluttered, turning pale as a ghost.
The medic slapped a fetal Doppler monitor against Emily’s bare belly, pressing the wand down with cold ultrasound gel. The room went suffocatingly silent. The deputies held their breath.
Static hissed from the small speaker. Scratchy, hollow static.
One second. Two seconds. Five seconds.
The medic adjusted the angle, pressing deeper into the right lower quadrant, her brows knitting into a deep, anxious line. Her partner looked over her shoulder, his jaw tightening.
"I'm not picking up fetal heart tones," the medic whispered grimly. "We have signs of acute placental abruption. We need to roll right now! Code Red to County General!"
As they hoisted Emily onto the gurney, Chloe let out a sickening, choked laugh from the floor. "Serves... serves you right... you arrogant bitch..."
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The sergeant spun around, his face dark with disgust. "Cuff all three of them. Aggravated assault with a deadly weapon, domestic violence, and attempted murder. Drag them out."
Before the steel cuffs clicked around my mother’s wrists, she locked eyes with me, hissing with pure bile: "You think you won, Mark? That trust document has your signature on the authorization rider from six months ago. The money is already tied up in escrow. You'll go bankrupt paying for her funeral!"
