Chapter 6
Rain hammered against the Henderson house like bullets.
In the dimly lit living room, Jake sprawled across the black leather sofa, gripping his second glass of whiskey, glazed eyes fixed on the TV screen.
Emily stood in the kitchen doorway, quietly observing.
Perfect. Everything was going according to plan.
"Damn weather... damn shift..." Jake slurred his curses, "Those bastards made me handle a domestic violence call... fucking ironic."
Emily approached him, wearing a perfect mask of submission: "Honey, rough night at work?"
"Of course it was rough!" Jake gulped his whiskey, "Some woman crying about her husband hitting her. Maybe she should reflect on what she did wrong."
Emily's fingers trembled slightly at her sides, but her voice remained gentle: "You're absolutely right, darling."
Internally, she sneered: ”He's drunk, emotionally unstable, and the safe is jammed from today's storm. Perfect timing, perfect conditions. Everything's falling into place.“
"Emily! Get me some ice!" Jake waved his hand, whiskey sloshing onto the coffee table.
"Of course, honey." Emily headed toward the kitchen, brushing her fingers against the flour canister as she passed. Inside lay Jake's backup gun, waiting for the crucial moment.
Thunder crashed again, like war drums announcing the coming judgment.
The doorbell rang.
Emily took a deep breath. Sarah had arrived.
Jake immediately tensed, anger cutting through his drunken haze: "Who the hell is that this late?"
Emily feigned surprise as she walked to the door: "I'll see who it is."
Outside, Sarah stood under a black umbrella on the porch, rainwater dripping from its edges. She held a small recording device, her eyes hard as steel.
"Sarah? What are you..." Emily performed her surprise perfectly.
"Emily, we need to talk." Sarah spoke loudly, ensuring the surveillance would pick up every word. "I can't watch him hurt you anymore!"
Jake shot up from the sofa, swaying as he approached: "Damn it! I warned you to stay away!"
Sarah didn't back down, raising her voice: "Emily, I'm going to the State Police! I have evidence!"
"You goddamn bitch!" Jake roared. "You want to destroy my life!"
Emily pretended to mediate, her voice trembling: "Sarah, please... Jake's just under stress from work..."
"No! Emily, look at the bruises on your neck! This isn't an accident!" Sarah pointed at the purple marks on Emily's throat. "Look at your wrists! Look at your eyes! He did all of this!"
Lightning illuminated the entire living room, the three-way confrontation frozen like a scene from judgment day.
Emily knew the moment had come.
She slowly turned to Jake, her voice eerily calm: "Jake, are you scared?"
Jake stared at her: "What?"
She continued, "Scared that she'll see through you like your mother did? See that you're no hero at all?"
Jake's face shifted from flushed red to ashen gray, his glass trembling: "You... you dare mention my mother?"
The whiskey glass crashed to the floor, shards scattering, liquid splashing everywhere.
"Shut up! Don't you dare mention her!" Jake's sanity completely shattered.
Emily continued her lethal psychological assault, each word a blade: "She said you'd never succeed, and it looks like she was right. Real men don't hit women."
"I'm going to kill you both!" Jake lost all control, his roar drowning out the thunder. "I'm going to kill you both, you fucking bitches!"
Sarah played her part perfectly, showing fear: "Emily, call the police! He's insane!"
Jake spun around and charged toward the study, searching for his weapon.
In the study, Jake frantically twisted the safe's handle.
"Open! Goddamn it, open!" His voice carried desperate fury.
The safe was completely jammed from storm moisture, its mechanical mechanism seized. Jake yanked and pried at it, breaking his fingernails, blood staining the metal surface.
Emily called from the living room: "Jake, calm down! Don't do this!"
Sarah continued her performance: "He's looking for a weapon! Emily, call 911!"
"You can't escape!" Jake bellowed from the study. "I'll make you both pay!"
Realizing he couldn't access his gun, Jake's rage intensified. He burst from the study and headed straight for the kitchen.
In the kitchen, Jake pulled an 8-inch butcher knife from the drawer, its blade gleaming cold in the dim light.
"I'll kill this meddling bitch first, then take my time with you!" Jake threatened, waving the knife.
Emily and Sarah were backed against the wall, the flour canister within arm's reach.
Even in her terror, Sarah remained defiant: "Emily, don't be afraid of him! He's just a coward who beats women!"
Jake raised the knife. "You've pushed me to the breaking point!"
At that moment, Emily "frantically" reached behind her toward the flour canister.
"Jake, please... we can work this out..."
Her hand plunged into the flour, cold metal meeting her fingertips.
White flour exploded into the air like snow, obscuring the entire kitchen.
A gunshot cracked through the thunder.
The knife clattered from Jake's hand as he collapsed, clutching his right arm, blood seeping between his fingers.
Emily's shot was surgically precise—hitting just above his knife-wielding wrist, disabling him without immediate fatality.
Flour dust filled the air, obscuring fingerprints and bullet trajectory, perfectly matching a "panicked response" scenario.
"Oh my God... I killed him... I actually killed him..." Emily stared at the smoking gun in shock.
"Emily, call the police now!" Sarah sprang into action. "This is self-defense!"
Jake lay in a pool of blood, consciousness fading but still cursing: "You won't... get away with this... my brothers... will make you pay..."
Emily set down the gun with trembling hands, staring at Jake's bleeding form. The thunder was subsiding, rain softening, as if nature itself was settling after this act of justice.
Then she walked to the window, watching distant police lights flickering as they approached. She knew the real battle was just beginning—now she'd face the entire system.