Chapter 3 - The Distraction
My heart hammered violently against my ribs as I scanned the casual pool party.
The man holding a beer near the diving board was not watching the swimming children at all.
His cold, unblinking eyes were fixed entirely on me and the towel-wrapped child in my arms.
My sister-in-law's new boyfriend was casually leaning against the back fence, but his right hand was resting suspiciously inside his jacket.
Adam was telling the absolute truth.
We were completely trapped inside a suburban prison disguised as a family barbecue.
Brooke marched out onto the patio, her perfect smile tightly plastered back onto her flawless face.
"Helen is just overreacting to a little stomach bug, everyone," Brooke announced loudly to the staring guests.
"Adam, please bring Maisie inside so she can lay down in her room."
Brooke's words were phrased as a polite request, but the underlying tone was a lethal command.
I knew if I surrendered Maisie back into that house, I would never see my granddaughter alive again.
I needed a massive distraction, and I needed it immediately.
I slowly backed away from the wooden gate, pretending to submit to Brooke's terrifying authority.
As I passed the smoking barbecue grill, my hip intentionally collided with the metal side table.
A large plastic bottle of highly flammable lighter fluid toppled over, spilling directly onto the roaring charcoal grate.
A massive pillar of roaring orange fire erupted ten feet into the air.
The sudden explosion of intense heat and terrifying noise sent the pool guests screaming and diving for cover.
Thick, blinding black smoke instantly flooded the small backyard.
"Fire," Adam screamed, completely abandoning his post at the gate to grab the garden hose.
The handlers were temporarily blinded by the thick smoke and entirely distracted by the screaming children.
I did not hesitate for a single microsecond.
I clutched Maisie tightly to my chest, kicked the wooden side gate violently open, and sprinted down the concrete driveway.
My car keys were already clutched in my sweating palm, the metal teeth biting painfully into my skin.
I reached my silver sedan, yanked the passenger door open, and threw Maisie into the back seat.
I dove into the driver's seat, slammed the door locked, and aggressively twisted the key in the ignition.
The engine roared to life just as the first handler burst through the gate, drawing a black pistol from his jacket.
I slammed the transmission into reverse and floored the heavy gas pedal.
The sedan tore out of the driveway, completely running over Brooke's pristine mailbox in a shower of splintered wood.
I spun the steering wheel, shifted into drive, and sped recklessly down the quiet suburban street.
I looked into the rearview mirror, letting out a massive, exhausted breath of temporary relief.
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But my relief was instantly shattered into a million terrified pieces.
A dark figure slowly sat up from the floorboards of the back seat, completely towering over a screaming Maisie.
