Chapter 2 - The Ghost of the Law
For years,
I had played the part of the obedient daughter-in-law.
I had tolerated their snide remarks about my upbringing.
I had looked away when they mocked my career.
I had even stayed quiet when they told Sophie her seizures were just for attention.
But Max was the line they should never have crossed.
Max was provided by a federal grant for children with severe epilepsy.
He was government property in the eyes of the law,
protected by statutes that carried heavy prison sentences.
Margaret and Arthur saw him as a nuisance,
a shedding animal that ruined their expensive rugs.
They didn't see the sensor on his collar that alerted the hospital.
They didn't see the thousands of dollars of training.
They only saw an opportunity to exert control.
Arthur took a bite of the meat,
chewing slowly,
watching me for a reaction.
"A bit gamey,"
he remarked,
wiping his mouth with a linen napkin.
"But satisfying."
Sophie's breath hitched,
a ragged,
choking sound.
I felt her small fingers digging into my palm.
"Don't look at it,
Sophie,"
I said,
my voice flat and cold.
"Look at me."
Margaret leaned forward,
her eyes glinting with a feral light.
"You're being very dramatic,
Elena."
"It's just a dog."
"We'll get her a new one,"
"A smaller one,"
"One that doesn't bark at the delivery man."
"You won't be getting her anything,"
I replied.
The conviction in my voice made Margaret pause.
She narrowed her eyes,
the smile faltering for a fraction of a second.
"Excuse me?"
"You've committed a felony,"
I said,
leaning back in my chair.
"Actually,"
"Several felonies."
Arthur barked a laugh,
splattering wine on the tablecloth.
"In this house,"
"I am the law."
"I own this land,"
"I own the air you breathe while you're under my roof."
I looked at the clock.
It had been exactly ten minutes since I sent the text.
Silas would be halfway here by now.
He didn't believe in delays.
He didn't believe in mercy for those who hurt children.
"You own property,
Arthur,"
I said.
"But you don't own the Department of Justice."
"Max was a Tier 1 service animal."
"Interfering with his duties is a federal offense."
"Killing him is a hate crime against a disabled person."
Margaret's face turned a mottled red.
"How dare you use those words in this house!"
"We are family!"
"Family doesn't cook the heart of their grandchild's safety,"
I countered.
The room grew cold,
a deep,
penetrating chill that had nothing to do with the weather.
The meat on the table began to cool,
the fat congealing into white,
ugly streaks.
It looked exactly like what it was:
The remains of a murder.
Sophie began to shake harder,
and I knew a seizure was coming.
Without Max to warn us,
she was defenseless.
I stood up,
pulling her out of the chair.
"Sit down!"
Arthur roared,
slamming his fist on the table.
The plates rattled,
and a wine glass tipped over,
the red liquid spreading like a pool of blood.
"I said sit down!"
"No,"
I said,
staring him down.
May you like
"The dinner is over."
"And so is your life as you know it."
