Chapter 3 - The Fake Badges
Tyler immediately reached for the handle, desperate for the safety of the uniformed officers outside.
I slammed my body aggressively against the wooden frame, forcefully blocking my son from opening the door.
"Do not let them inside this house," I hissed quietly, staring at the dark silhouettes through the frosted glass.
Tyler looked at me like I had completely lost my mind, his grip tightening on the heavy butcher knife.
"Mom, they are the police, they are here to help us," he pleaded, trying to gently push me out of the way.
I pointed a shaking finger at the muddy footprints staining the concrete porch beneath their heavy boots.
Real police officers do not trudge through the muddy flowerbeds on the side of the house before knocking on the front door.
"Ma'am, if you do not open this door, we will be forced to breach the property," the stern voice outside warned loudly.
I leaned closer to the glass, trying to make out any identifying details on their dark uniforms.
I noticed that neither of the men was wearing a standard police radio on their shoulder, and their badges were lacking the silver state seal.
"They are working with him," I whispered to Tyler, the horrific realization washing over me like a bucket of ice water.
Tyler stumbled backward, his face turning an unhealthy shade of pale green as the truth finally clicked in his mind.
Julian had not just come to my house for a casual Sunday dinner with my innocent college-aged son.
He had orchestrated a highly coordinated, terrifying ambush, and his accomplices were already surrounding my home.
A loud, violent crash suddenly echoed from the back of the house, shattering the fragile silence of the kitchen.
One of the men had just thrown a heavy brick straight through the sliding glass door leading to the patio.
"Run upstairs and lock yourself in the bathroom!" I screamed at Tyler, shoving him forcefully toward the staircase.
Tyler refused to leave my side, raising the kitchen knife as the heavy footsteps crunched over the broken glass in the kitchen.
Two massive men dressed in fake tactical gear stepped into the hallway, raising dark, heavy firearms directly at us.
"Drop the knife right now, kid, or I will put a bullet in your mother's chest," the taller man growled dangerously.
Tyler hesitated for a split second, a tear rolling down his cheek before he let the knife clatter harmlessly to the floor.
The shorter man quickly stepped forward and roughly secured Tyler's hands behind his back with thick plastic zip ties.
The tall man walked slowly toward me, a cruel, mocking smirk twisting his scarred face.
He reached into his tactical vest and pulled out a heavy, rusted brass key.
It was the exact same spare key I kept hidden beneath the fake rock in the backyard garden.
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"You really should find better hiding spots for your spare keys, Diane Walker," he mocked me softly.
My entire world stopped spinning as he casually used my maiden name, a name I had legally changed over twenty years ago.
