Chapter 7 - The Takedown
Marcus tried to stand, but his shattered knee gave out completely. He collapsed against the bedroom wall, whimpering in pain and terror.
"You set me up!" he yelled at me, his eyes wide.
"I told you," I rasped, rubbing my bruised throat. "Deputy Miller was dropping by."
CRASH.
The sound of my front door being kicked off its hinges echoed through the house. Heavy, rapid footsteps thundered down the hallway.
"Show me your hands!" Deputy Miller shouted, bursting into the master bedroom with his service weapon drawn, followed closely by a second deputy.
Marcus threw his hands into the air, completely giving up. "Don't shoot! I'm unarmed! My leg is broken!"
"Get on your stomach! Now!" the deputies commanded.
I sat on the edge of my bed, exhausted, watching as they rolled Marcus over, slapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists. The tough, arrogant burglar was now sobbing like a child as the deputies hauled him to his feet.
Deputy Miller, a man I had known for ten years from the local diner, holstered his weapon and rushed over to me.
"Arthur, are you alright?" he asked, his face etched with genuine concern. "Your daughter called dispatch. She was terrified."
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"I'm okay, Jim," I wheezed, managing a small, tired smile. "Just a little winded."
I looked down at the floor. Among the chaos, Eleanor's scattered jewelry laid on the rug. I knelt down, ignoring the pain in my joints, and carefully picked up her silver locket, clutching it tightly in my palm.
