Chapter 7 - The Crooked Badge
My father's lifeless hand slipped from my hospital gown and fell heavily to the blood-soaked carpet.
I stared blindly at his pale face, unable to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the violence surrounding me.
If Julian hadn't murdered my ruthless father, then a completely unknown monster was now hunting all of us.
The terrifying wail of police sirens suddenly erupted from the city streets far below the shattered office window.
The flashing red and blue lights reflected wildly against the towering glass walls of the penthouse suite.
I desperately needed to escape before the officers found me kneeling in my father's fresh blood.
Before I could even stand up, the heavy mahogany doors swung completely open.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a rumpled gray suit stepped casually into the ruined office, his gun already drawn.
He didn't look like a standard patrol officer responding to a frantic emergency call.
He wore a battered gold detective's shield clipped aggressively to his leather belt.
I immediately recognized his deeply scarred face from the worst day of my entire life.
It was Detective Miller.
He was the exact same corrupt police investigator who had officially declared Julian dead in a tragic car accident six months ago.
“Well, well, well,” the detective sneered, stepping carefully over a broken vase.
“Look what the cat dragged into a fresh murder scene.”
“You know I didn't do this,” I shouted, backing away slowly with Elliot clutched tightly to my chest.
“It doesn't matter what I know, Clara,” he laughed cruelly, aiming his heavy pistol directly at my face.
“It only matters what the official police report says, and my report is going to say the hysterical daughter snapped.”
He pulled a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his back pocket and tossed them onto the floor between us.
“Put the bastard child on the couch and cuff yourself, or I will gladly shoot you right here.”
I slowly lowered myself toward the floor, pretending to reach for the cold metal cuffs.
My fingers brushed against the heavy brass fire extinguisher sitting quietly in the corner of the room.
I yanked the metal safety pin out with my teeth and squeezed the handle with everything I had.
A massive, blinding cloud of thick white chemical foam exploded directly into the detective's face.
He screamed in sudden agony, dropping his weapon to claw desperately at his burning eyes.
I didn't wait for the thick smoke to clear.
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I bolted out of the office and threw myself into the dark emergency stairwell, leaving my father's body behind.
I was now officially a wanted murder suspect, and the real police were swarming the lobby below.
