Chapter 8 - Monochrome Truth
The screen flickered, shifting from a multi-camera grid into a single, blown-up video feed.
There were no vibrant greens or delicate creams on the display now.
Just a stark, harsh, high-contrast monochrome feed.
The frame rate was low and choppy, freezing the motion into agonizing, deliberate beats.
The timestamp burned in bright white numbers across the bottom left corner: 1:15:22 PM.
On the screen, a tall figure wearing a light-colored dress was dragging a tiny, flailing shape backwards across the lawn.
Arthur’s thumb froze over the tempered glass.
He stopped breathing entirely.
The woman on the screen grabbed the toddler by her small upper arm, lifting her completely off the ground.
She walked over to the wooden doghouse in the corner of the fence.
With a brutal, effortless kick, the woman forced the small wooden door wide open.
She shoved the small child headfirst into the pitch-black interior of the doghouse.
On the grainy black-and-white feed, Arthur could see his daughter’s tiny white sandals kicking frantically against the wooden doorframe, trying to stop herself from being shoved into the dark.
The woman stepped back and slammed the heavy wooden door shut.
She slid the iron latch into place, locking the child inside the airless box under the burning sun.
Then, the woman adjusted her hair, smoothed the front of her dress, and casually strolled back toward the patio to take a sip of water.
Arthur stared down at the screen.
His own face was reflected in the glass, his eyes superimposed directly over the image of his child trapped inside a cage.
He didn't scream. He didn't shed a tear.
The grief and shock inside him collapsed inward, transforming into an iron resolve.
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He pressed the side button on his phone, shutting the screen off into pure blackness.
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