Chapter 4 - The Pressure Cooker“Emma, go to the bathroom!” I screamed, shoving her behind me. “Lock the door! Do not come out no matter what you hear!”
Emma didn't freeze this time. She ran down the dark hallway, her small socks sliding on the hardwood, and slammed the bathroom door. A second later, the heavy click of the privacy lock echoed down the hall.
Outside on the porch, Daniel didn't knock.
He pulled a small black electronic device from his pocket—a universal frequency cloner—and pressed it against the smart lock interface on the doorframe.
A high-pitched chirp sounded. The electronic lock gave a mechanical whir, and the deadbolt slid back with a smooth, sickening CLACK.
The front door swung open.
A gust of cold, rain-slicked night air swept into the dark hallway, bringing with it the scent of wet asphalt and Daniel’s familiar, expensive cologne.
He stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him. He didn't turn on a flashlight. He didn't need to; he knew the layout of my house almost as well as I did.
“You always were terrible at updating your default router passwords, Rebecca,” Daniel said softly.
His voice was terrifyingly measured. He sounded like a man arriving for a quiet Sunday dinner, not a fugitive who had just broken into his ex-wife’s home in violation of a federal protective order.
I backed up into the kitchen, my hand reaching behind me on the counter until my fingers wrapped around the heavy steel handle of a ten-inch chef’s knife. I pulled it free from the wooden block, holding it out in front of me with both hands.
“Get out of my house, Daniel,” I breathed, my voice shaking despite my desperate attempt to sound strong. “The police are already on their way. Mark called them.”
Daniel laughed—a quiet, soft huff of air through his nose as he unbuttoned his coat.
“Mark didn't call anyone,” Daniel said smoothly, taking two slow steps into the living room. “I installed a signal jammer in the utility box outside three minutes ago. Your cell phone has no service. Your smart hub is running on my local access point. No calls are going out, Rebecca.”
He reached inside his coat pocket.
My heart seized. I raised the knife higher. “Don't move!”
Daniel slowly pulled out his hand. He wasn't holding a gun. He was holding a small, white plastic bottle with a pharmacy label, along with a folded sheet of paper.
He set them neatly on the dining table.
“Do you know what this is?” he asked, pointing to the bottle. “It’s a prescription for severe anti-psychotic medication, filled in your name at a pharmacy in Chicago six months ago. And that paper is a printout of your recent medical history, detailing a history of paranoid schizophrenia and severe auditory hallucinations.”
I stared at him in horror. “I’ve never been to Chicago in my life. I don't take that medication.”
“You do now,” Daniel said calmly. “Or rather, you will have, according to the toxicology report that the coroner’s office will process by tomorrow morning.”
The room seemed to tilt beneath my feet.
“You’re insane,” I whispered.
“I was a respected man, Rebecca!” Daniel’s voice suddenly shattered its calm facade, dropping an octave into a low, terrifying snarl. He took a violent step forward, his knuckles white as he pointed at the floor. “I worked for fifteen years to build a reputation! I was next in line for Senior Managing Partner! And you allowed a ten-year-old child to destroy it all with a fifty-dollar school tablet!”
“She didn't destroy it!” I screamed, my voice echoing off the dark walls. “You did! You locked her in a garage! You tortured your own daughter!”
“I was teaching her discipline!” Daniel roared, his face contorting into a terrifying mask of rage. “She was turning into you! Soft! Weak! Questioning everything I said! I was fixing her!”
He stepped around the dining table, his tall, broad frame blocking the only exit leading to the front door.
“Where is she?” Daniel asked, his voice instantly dropping back into that sickening, calm tone.
“You will never touch her again,” I said, raising the knife edge toward his chest. “If you take one more step, I will kill you, Daniel. I swear to God I will kill you.”
Daniel looked at the knife in my hand. A faint, terrible smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“You won't,” he said softly. “You don't have it in you, Rebecca. That’s why you lost the house. That’s why you lost the first three custody hearings. You’re a builder of paper fortresses. You rely on judges, lawyers, and rules.”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a heavy, dark leather glove, slipping it over his right hand.
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“Rules don't exist in the dark,” Daniel whispered.
He lunged forward.
