Instead of staying in the driver’s seat, the retired General quietly opened his door. He stepped out into the evening shadows. He didn’t slam the door shut; he clicked it closed with a soft, practiced motion.
Silent as a ghost, he followed his daughter to the front door, slipping into the darkness of the porch just out of sight.
3. The Unforgivable Slaps
I pushed the heavy oak front door open. It wasn’t locked.
The immediate wave of sensory input made my stomach churn. The house smelled strongly of stale beer, cheap takeout pizza, and the faint, lingering scent of the lemon pine cleaner from hours ago. The television in the living room was blasting the chaotic sounds of a first-person shooter video game.
I stepped into the foyer, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support.
Leo was sprawled on the couch I had bled on. He was wearing his expensive golf polo, holding an Xbox controller, aggressively mashing the buttons. Across from him, Helen was sitting in the armchair, scrolling through her iPad, a half-eaten slice of pizza resting on a napkin beside her.
Neither of them looked up when the door opened.