Chapter 5 - The Frame-Up
I stared at the phone in my hand, completely paralyzed by the detective's words.
"That's impossible," I stammered, my voice barely a whisper. "I just got home. I found her like that."
"The footage is timestamped, Mrs. Davis," Reynolds replied, her tone unyielding. "It shows you entering the house, standing over her, and then placing the pillow over her face."
"It's a fake!" I screamed, the realization hitting me with physical force.
Luke hadn't just tried to kill Addie; he had meticulously planned to frame me for it.
He must have hacked the home security system, manipulated the video, or perhaps even hired someone who looked like me.
"We have an APB out for your arrest," Reynolds continued. "Turn yourself in, and we can discuss a plea deal."
I ended the call, my mind racing faster than I could process the thoughts.
"What happened?" Sarah asked, seeing the sheer terror etched on my face.
"He framed me," I gasped. "He made it look like I hurt Addie."
Sarah's eyes widened in horror. "We have to go to the police. We have the recorder!"
"They won't believe us," I said, the bitter truth sinking in. "They have video evidence against me. The recorder is circumstantial, easily dismissed as fake or irrelevant to Addie's case."
If I went to the police now, I would be arrested, locked in a cell while Luke remained free to finish whatever sick game he was playing.
I needed to find the original, unedited footage. I needed to prove my innocence before they took my daughter away from me forever.
"I have to go back to the house," I decided, my voice hardening with resolve.
"Are you insane?" Sarah cried. "He'll kill you!"
"I don't have a choice," I replied, pulling my keys from my pocket. "I need to access the main server in the basement."
I left Sarah hidden near the main road, promising to return once I had the evidence.
I drove back to my own home like a fugitive, parking two blocks away and creeping through the shadows of the familiar neighborhood.
The house was dark, the front door sealed with yellow police tape.
I slipped through the backyard, prying open a loose window screen and dropping silently into the laundry room.
The silence inside was oppressive, heavy with the memory of Addie's desperate gasps for air.
I crept down the stairs to the basement, my flashlight beam cutting through the darkness.
The server rack sat in the corner, a humming monolith of blinking lights and tangled wires.
I connected my laptop, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I initiated a deep-level recovery scan.
Minutes ticked by like hours, every creak of the floorboards above sending a jolt of panic through my veins.
Finally, the progress bar hit one hundred percent.
I opened the recovered files, my breath catching in my throat as I scanned the timestamps.
There it was. The raw, unedited footage from 6:30 p.m.
I clicked play, bracing myself for the horrifying truth.
The video showed the living room, empty and silent.
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Then, the front door opened, but it wasn't Luke who walked in.
It was Detective Reynolds.
