The Glowing Screen

Chapter One: A Call After Midnight

At one o’clock in the morning, the doorbell rang crazily, and the sound was like someone shooting bullets into the wall. Not a polite tap. Instead, it was six manic combos that were almost desperate.

Then there was a pause. Then a heavy body slammed against the wooden planks of the porch. I was a homicide detective in Maricopa County for twenty-three years. I have long developed the instinct to wake up completely before my feet even touch the ground. As I walked through the dim corridor, my hand habitually rested on the loaded revolver on my hip.

The rain was raging wildly on the roof. A dull rumble of thunder rolled across the Arizona suburbs. I yanked the door open. My daughter stumbled in.

Emma is twenty-seven years old. Her feet are bare, her body is soaked, and blood is oozing from the corner of her mouth. The torn sweatshirt she was wearing hung limply on one shoulder. One eye has been swollen into a horrible dark purple. Her knees were muddy and she was shaking so hard that her teeth were chattering.

I quickly caught her under her arms before her head hit the porch floor.

“Emma.”

Her fingers gripped my shirt tightly.

“Please,” she whispered through tears. “Don’t let me go back.”

Every crime scene I had experienced in my mind vanished in an instant. Every victim I’ve ever held hands with. Every family member I ever asked to identify the body.

Every closing report that attempts to glorify the horror as a “domestic dispute.”

I kept Emma behind me and looked warily at the dark streets.

“Where’s Tyler?”

When she heard the name, her whole body trembled. That’s enough. then, dazzling white high-beam lights cut through the night sky. A black SUV rushed directly onto the curb, swerved awkwardly on the wet lawn, and finally stopped beside my trail.

The cab door was pushed open suddenly. Tyler Vale stepped out into the rain in a charcoal gray suit. His tie was missing and his hair was wet, but other than that, he still looked meticulous.

He didn’t look like a husband who was worried about his injured wife. More like an executive eager to correct a failed deal.

“Emma,” he snapped, “get in the car. Now.”

She let out a terrified whimper behind me. I pulled her deeper into the porch. Tyler stalked closer.

“She’s having a psychotic episode,” he said. “She needs treatment.”

I couldn’t see any concern in his eyes. Just naked possessiveness. My hands are behind my back. The revolver slid smoothly from the holster. When the porch light illuminated the cold gun body, Tyler finally stopped.

First there was surprise. What followed was rapid calculation.

“You were pointing a gun at an unarmed man.”

“I’m pointing at a bastard who chased my bleeding daughter and refused to let go despite her begging.”

“She attacked me.”

Emma murmured weakly: “No...”

Tyler simply ignored her.

“She stole confidential property from my home. I’m taking her to a doctor so she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“You can’t take her anywhere.”

His eyes turned to Emma with a sinister look.

“Tell him what just happened.”

My daughter was pressed against the door frame. Tyler’s voice softened. This kind of tenderness makes my hair stand on end even more than the shouting just now.

“Emma, go home. We can still keep this private.”

I stared at his face. The fear in her eyes was cultivated over many years. Tyler had used this soft tone before. Usually after an apology. After the threat. After the violence.

“I told you to get lost,” I told him.

His jaw tightened.

“Half the judges in this county are my people.”

“Then you can go explain to the remaining half of the judges.”

There was a stalemate for several seconds. Tyler then began to back up toward the SUV.

“You cannot begin to know what she took.”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but you just told me with your actions that that thing is important to you.”

He got into the cab. He rolled down the window before pressing the accelerator.

“I’ll come back and take my wife home.”

I stared into his eyes.

“She is not your property.”

The black SUV roared into the rainy night. I didn’t slowly put down the pistol until the taillight completely disappeared from sight. Then, I turned sharply, put my arm around Emma’s shoulders and led her into the house.

The anti-theft latch clicked firmly. Even the fixed lock on the ground was locked by me. Emma slid weakly along the wall of the entrance hall and sat on the ground. I knelt down on one knee in front of her, and my professional instinct immediately took over my brain.

Her airway was clear, but her breathing was shallow and her heart rate dangerously high. Blood marked the corner of her mouth, swelling darkened one temple, and bruises ringed her neck. The paramedic suspected rib injuries as well.

May be accompanied by concussion.

“Did he choke you?”

Her eyes dropped.

“Emma.”

“...Hmm.”

This word almost made me lose my mind on the spot. A chokehold is more than just another ordinary assault. This was a deliberate rehearsal. A violent man puts his hands tightly around his victim’s neck because he wants her to understand that it’s up to him to decide whether she can breathe or not.

I reached for my phone. Emma grabbed my wrist firmly.

“Wait.”

Her fingers dug into the torn lining of her sweatshirt.

“I didn’t just escape.”

She pulled out a tiny matte black object and held it tightly in her fist.

“What’s that?”

“I took it from his safe.”

Before she could open her hand, the lights above her head suddenly flickered. For a moment. Two times. Then, there was a mechanical sound from the side of the house. The surroundings suddenly fell into darkness.

Emma gasped.

“He didn’t leave at all.”

I ducked to protect her on the inside of the corridor and loaded the revolver again. Through the dim streetlight that filtered through the window, I saw my daughter clutching the black object tightly—the thing that Tyler wanted to take back even if she had to cut off the power to the entire house.

I finally realized that the night didn’t end outside my front door. It just changes the battlefield.