“Don’t let her be mad,” Ava pleaded in that heartbreaking whisper.
“At you? Never, baby.”
“No…”
Suddenly, Marissa’s voice detonated through the tiny microphone of the watch. “Give me that damn thing!”
Ava loosed a blood-curdling scream. The line muffled into a chaotic scuffle. I heard a heavy thud against a wooden door, followed by a sharp, pained whimper from my daughter. Then, the line went dead.
I was pulling onto the chaotic highway when Dana’s voice broke through the silence on the second line. “I’m in the driveway.”
“Can you hear her, Dana? Can you hear my baby?”
Two seconds of agonizing silence ticked by. I thought my heart would stop.
Then, Dana spoke. Her voice was unrecognizable—a flat, predatory focus. “Yes. There is screaming inside. No sirens yet. I’m not waiting for the cops, Lena.”
Before I could object, the connection flooded with the sound of rapid footsteps. I heard Dana’s fist hammer against heavy wood. “Marissa! Open this door!”
No response. Only another muffled wail from deep inside the house.
“Hold on, Lena,” Dana growled.
I heard a sudden, violent intake of breath, followed by a catastrophic splintering of wood and metal. The front door had given way. Dana was inside. But the ensuing silence on the phone was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard
