The ambulance left the Miller mansion in a downpour, its red flashing lights turning the property’s white walls into flashes of blood. Richard held Ethan’s small, good hand on the stretcher, unable to tear his eyes away from the red marks around his wrist.
The strap marks.
His own marks.
Every time he looked at that purplish circle on his son’s skin, it felt like he’d been stabbed in the chest.
Ethan was breathing heavily, feverish. The paramedics had already started the antibiotics as the vehicle sped toward Dallas Children’s Medical Center.
Maybe an image of a child
The smell of antiseptic and infected flesh filled the ambulance.
Then Ethan whispered weakly,
“Are they gone?”
Richard immediately leaned toward him.
“Yes, son. They’re gone.”
The boy closed his eyes for a few seconds.
Then he asked:
“Vanessa too?”
Silence fell instantly in the ambulance.
Even the young paramedic near the IV drips looked away.
Because no ten-year-old should ever have to ask if a dangerous adult has finally disappeared.
Richard felt his throat tighten completely.
