Someone screaming.
“Oh my God!” Susan shouted from the front desk.
“Shut up!” a man’s voice barked back.
Cynthia and I exchanged a quick, panicked glance.
Then pounding. Heavy footsteps stomping down the hall.
Chairs scraped back as both of us rose, tense and alert.
The office door burst open with such force that it slammed into the wall. A young man stood in the doorway. He was a mess. Eyes bloodshot. Face twisted with rage. His grip was locked around a handgun. His fingers were trembling, his knuckles bleached white. The way he held the gun made it clear he was moments from losing control.
“You bitch called CPS on me!” he yelled. The gun in his hand rose toward Cynthia.
Terror hit like a physical blow. My stomach dropped. My limbs went cold.
“Malcolm,” Cynthia said, her voice steady but tense. She raised her hands slowly. Her eyes flicked to mine. Don’t move, they said.
“You promised everything in here was private!” he shouted.
“It is,” she said. “But I’m required to report when a child is in danger. That’s the law, Malcolm. We can talk this through.”
“No, we can’t! They took them!” he yelled, shaking. “Amanda left too! Said she’d only get the kids back if she left me!”
“We’ll talk to Amanda. But you need to put the gun do—”
A shot tore through the air. The sound exploded like a bomb in a small room.
My body recoiled. For a moment, I heard only ringing. No voices. No breathing. Just a shrill, piercing tone in my ears. Then Cynthia’s body hit the floor with a sickening, heavy thud.
I remained still, rooted to the spot. My feet refused to move. My mind struggled to process what I was seeing.
Then it hit me all at once. I opened my mouth and screamed her name. “Cynthia!”
The chair clattered behind me as I dropped to my knees. Blood was already pooling beneath her. I could feel the warmth of it through my jeans as I grabbed her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, unblinking, locked on something that wasn’t there. Her mouth hung open, her lips parted in shock.
“No, no, no, no, Cynthia. Please,” I begged.
I pulled her into my arms anyway, clinging to her like I could anchor her to life if I just held on tight enough.
A hot wave of nausea hit my stomach and surged up my throat. I nearly vomited and had to swallow hard to keep it down.
From somewhere behind me, heavy footsteps pounded back out the door.
Malcolm.
He didn’t even look back. He tore through the open doorway, his shoulder slamming into the frame as he fled. The gun was still in his hand. His jacket flapped behind him. He didn’t slow down. Didn’t say a word.
Time moved faster, then slower. It was like a nightmare I couldn’t wake from. I had no sense of how long I’d been holding her.
Then hands grabbed me—big, rough, urgent hands.
“Step back!” a man barked in my ear.
I fought him at first, not understanding.
“Ma’am, get out of the way. Now!”
