Chapter 9: The Lineup
Chapter 9: The Lineup
The sterile glare of the interview room was unforgiving. A female detective gently slid a manila folder across the cold metal table, opening it to reveal six glossy photographs.
Six faces.
"Take your time, Chloe," the detective whispered softly.
Chloe’s breathing instantly hitched, fracturing into shallow, panicked gasps. Her small hands gripped the edges of her yellow blanket so tightly her knuckles turned translucent. She squeezed her eyes shut, violently shaking her head from side to side. The memory wasn't just a nightmare; it was a physical weight crushing her chest.
Sarah knelt beside the chair, stroking Chloe's hair, her own face chalk-white with repressed nausea.
Standing in the corner, David felt a cold sweat break across the back of his neck. His jaw was locked so tight his teeth ground together with a faint click. He wanted to flip the metal table. He wanted to burn the photographs. He wanted to stand in front of her and absorb the darkness so she would never have to look at it again. But he couldn't. He was utterly powerless.
Slowly, agonizingly, Chloe opened her tear-filled eyes. A heavy, suffocating silence fell over the room.
Her tiny, bruised index finger uncurled from the blanket. It trembled violently in the air, hovering over the glossy paper like a fragile leaf caught in a storm.
Then, she tapped the third photograph.
May you like
She didn't speak. She just stared at the face of the hulking man from the alley, a silent sob wracking her fragile frame as she buried her face into Sarah’s shoulder.
David’s gaze shifted to the photograph. He stared at the lifeless, apathetic eyes of the monster who had broken his little girl. The cold, calcified rage in David's chest didn't just burn—it detonated into an uncontrollable, blinding fire.
