Chapter 5 - The Mask Slips
The sun was just rising over the McDowell Mountains, casting long, bloody-red shadows across our front lawn as I pulled my truck back into the driveway.
Inside, the smell of sizzling bacon and dark coffee filled the kitchen.
Patricia was standing at the stove, wearing a soft floral robe, her hair neatly brushed back into a domestic ponytail. To any neighbor glancing through the window, she was the picture of suburban devotion.
"Javier! You’re finally back," she exclaimed, turning around with a warm, solicitous smile that chilled me to the marrow. "How is Daniela? I barely slept a wink all night worrying about her! The doctor wouldn't give me any updates over the phone because of their ridiculous privacy rules."
I set my keys on the counter, watching her eyes flick toward my hands, scanning for anger, suspicion, or weakness.
"She has a severe concussion, Patricia," I said evenly. "They're keeping her for observation throughout the day."
Patricia sighed, pressing a hand to her chest. "Thank God. You know how clumsy she gets when she's stressed with school. I told her a hundred times to stop rushing down those stairs in socks."
*Clumsy.* She was already planting the seed. Rewriting reality with effortless sociopathy.
"Yeah," I said quietly, pouring myself a mug of coffee to keep my hands occupied. "A terrible accident."
"Listen, Javier," she said, leaning against the kitchen island, her voice dropping into a gentle, conspiratorial purr. "While you were at the hospital, I was thinking... Daniela is twenty now. She’s becoming so erratic, so entitled. She screamed at me yesterday because I suggested she start paying for her own auto insurance. Maybe... maybe it’s time we sell that sedan of hers. Put the money into a safe, long-term certificate of deposit for her. She clearly isn't responsible enough to handle driving right now."
I looked directly into the eyes of the woman I had kissed at the altar twenty-two years ago. I searched for any flicker of remorse, any lingering trace of the sweet girl who used to hold my hand in college. There was nothing. Just an empty, voracious parasite looking for its next meal.
"Where are the keys, Patricia?" I asked smoothly.
"Oh! Well, they were on the floor by her coat, so I put them in my purse for safekeeping," she said without missing a single beat. "I can take the car down to CarMax this morning, get an appraisal, and save you the headache. You look completely exhausted, honey. Why don't you go upstairs and take a long nap?"
"That sounds like a sensible plan," I lied, staring her down. "You always take care of the details."
A flash of triumphant relief crossed her face—subtle, but unmistakable. She genuinely believed she had pulled it off. She believed that my quiet demeanor was proof of my absolute stupidity.
"I’ll head out around nine," she said, turning back to the stove to flip the bacon. "Get some sleep, Javier. Everything is going to be fine."
I walked upstairs, went into our bedroom, and locked the door behind me. From the window, I watched the driveway. At exactly 8:45 AM, Patricia emerged from the front door dressed in dark sunglasses and a trench coat, holding Daniela’s keys.
She backed Daniela’s silver sedan out of the driveway and sped toward the highway.
I pulled out my phone and tapped Marcus’s number. "She just left. She's heading toward 35th Avenue."
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"We're on her," Marcus replied. "Detective Miller's unmarked units are already trailing her bumper. Get to the station on 7th Street, Javier. The curtain is going up."
***
