Chapter 4

He let out a sharp cry.

"Ow! Michael, you shoved me!"

He grabbed his waist, doubled over on the floor, shaking from the pain.

Tears spilled instantly, dramatic and effortless.

But he was at least two steps away from me.

I didn't touch him at all.

Hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.

Sophia rushed out from the study, and when she saw Charles sprawled on the floor, her face changed in an instant.

She crouched down and pulled Charles into her arms.

"What happened?" she asked.

Charles clung to her sleeve, his voice shaky.

"Sophia, Michael wouldn't let me touch his jar I just wanted to see it, and he pushed me"

Sophia shot me a cold glare as she got to her feet.

"Put it down," she snapped.

I took a step back.

"No way," I said.

"Didn't you hear me?" Sophia snapped.

"Yes, I heard you."

I clutched the urn tighter.

"But you can't have this," I said.

Sophia fixed her gaze on me for a few seconds.

Then she glanced at the bodyguards standing by the door.

"Take it from him," she said.

All four bodyguards rushed me at once.

The first one came at me, trying to yank my arm, but I knocked him aside with my shoulder.

The second bodyguard put me in a chokehold from behind, but I hunched over, cradling the urn to my chest. No way I was letting go.

The third bodyguard kicked me hard in the calf, sending me crashing down on one knee. My forehead smashed right into the sharp corner of the coffee table, pain exploding behind my eyes.

Blood gushed from above my brow, running hot and sticky down my face until it blurred out my right eye completely.

The fourth bodyguard started forcing my fingers off the urn, one by one.

He pried each finger open, slow and merciless.

First the little finger, then the ring finger, and then the middle finger.

I clenched my jaw so hard. My mouth tasted like blood.

"Let go!" Sophia's voice boomed from above.

I didn't let go.

It wasn't until the fourth bodyguard forced my index finger open that my grip was finally broken.

Charles reached out and snatched the urn from my arms.

He weighed it in his hand.

"It's pretty heavy," Charles commented.

He lifted it and gave it a shake. The lid slipped loose, and some grayish ashes spilled onto his pajama sleeve.

He brushed it off.

"What the hell is this junk?" he muttered.

He let go.

Bang!

The ceramic shattered, shards scattering everywhere, and some even hit my knees.

A small pile of grayish ashes spread across the floor.

I knelt in front of the ashes, frozen in place.

Not a single muscle moved.

Charles crouched down, cocking his head and eyeing the ashes with a curious smirk.

Then he looked up at Sophia, a mocking grin spreading across his face.

"Sophia, since he cares so much about this useless ash, why not just mix it into Duke's dog food? At least it'll finally be good for something," he sneered.

Sophia furrowed her brow as she stared at the ashes scattered all over the floor.

Charles pulled at her sleeve, feigning innocence to get attention.

She reached out and ruffled his hair.

Then she turned her head and ordered coldly.

"Pour it."

"No!" I shouted.

I screamed at the top of my lungs.

"Sophia, are you crazy? That's Victoria's ashes. That's your daughter!" I yelled.

Everyone turned to look at me.

Sophia's hand froze in midair.

But only for a second.

Charles was faster. He kicked me right in the jaw.

My head snapped back, blood spraying from my mouth and splattering across the floor.

Before I could get another word out, one of the bodyguards grabbed a rag from the table and stuffed it into my mouth, pinning it in place.

The taste of mud and grime flooded my throat.

All my cries were smothered by the rag.

'Mmph mmph' I could only let out muffled whimpers, helpless to make myself heard.

Charles stood up and dusted off his hands.

He walked over to the cabinet, grabbed a bag of fancy dog food, and dumped it right onto the pile of grayish ashes.

Duke smelled it and came running, tail wagging like crazy.

His tongue lolled out, bright red and eager.

One bite.

Two bites.

Three bites.

With every bite, he snatched up another shard of bone.

Three bodyguards pinned me to the floor. My eyes felt like they were about to pop out of my skull.

But I was powerless, forced to watch.

The last thing left of Victoria was fed to the dog, because her own mother ordered it.

Sophia looked away, waving her hand with obvious impatience.

"He's driving me crazy with all that noise. Drag him down to the underground freezer and lock him up. Maybe that'll knock some sense into him," she ordered coldly.

The bodyguards yanked me by the hair, dragging me from the living room, through the hallway, down the stairs, and straight into the underground freezer.

The thick iron door slammed shut with a bang, trapping my screams inside.

Cold swallowed everything, and every inch of my skin prickled as the cold sank deep.

The wound on my forehead split open in the freezing cold, the clotted blood wedging itself into the crevices of my skin. The pain was so sharp, I curled up into a ball.

I sprawled on the ice-cold floor, my nails digging deep into the cracks between the tiles. Blood from my torn wound dripped down, each drop vanishing into the bottomless darkness.

The hospital's automatic doors slid open with a quiet chime. Sophia walked in with Charles, bringing Duke in for his follow-up exam.

The hospital director stepped out of his office, stopping in his tracks when he saw Sophia.

He was holding a clear plastic bag.

Inside the bag was a little girl's dress.

A pink princess dress, covered in blood.

"Ms. Lane," the director called out.

He walked over, clearly nervous.

"These are the things that belonged to the little girl who didn't make it the night before last. Mr. Brown rushed out and left them behind," he said, his words stumbling.

He handed the bag over.

"Should I pass them to him, or do you want to?" he asked.

Sophia shot him an impatient glance.

"What little girl? What does that have to do with me?"

But her words died in her throat.

Her eyes locked onto the bottom right corner of the dress.

There was a single word stitched there.

Victoria.

The name was stitched in pink thread, a little crooked.

Sophia had stitched it herself.

On Victoria's third birthday, Sophia got the idea to embroider her daughter's name on the dress.

She spent the whole night at it, poking her finger with the needle four times, just to finish that awkward, crooked name.

The plastic bag slipped from her hand.

It hit the floor with a soft thud.

She didn't even try to catch it.

Sophia grabbed her phone, her fingers trembling so badly it took her three tries to dial the number.

"What's the number for Victoria's summer camp?" she asked, her voice tight with worry.

Her secretary, Chandler, gave her the number.

She dialed it.

"Hello, this is Sophia Lane. Victoria, my daughter, Victoria Lane, is she still there? Is she at the camp?" Sophia's voice was tight with worry.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"Ms. Lane, Victoria was picked up by Mr. Brown three days ago," the camp staff replied.

"He said she missed her dad and wanted to go home for a few days," the staff added.

Her phone slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a sharp crack, the screen shattering into pieces.