Chapter 6 - THE SHATTERED FRAME
The brass lock sheared completely off the wood.
The heavy metal piece shot across the entryway, clattering violently against the marble tiles.
The double doors slammed outward, the hinges groaning and bending under the immense force.
A tall man in his mid-fifties filled the shattered doorway.
He wore a dark blue dress shirt, the sleeves rolled up to expose thick, muscular forearms.
His grey trousers were impeccably tailored, but his posture was that of a brawler stepping into a ring.
His silver hair caught the hallway light, creating a stark halo around a face carved from granite.
He did not walk into the room.
He marched.
His leather shoes struck the hardwood floor like hammer blows.
His eyes locked instantly onto the man in the black shirt.
The older man’s jaw was clamped so tightly the muscles jumped beneath his weathered skin.
He didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
The sheer physical presence of his anger sucked all the remaining oxygen out of the living room.
The younger man took a step back, his arms dropping uselessly to his sides.
The shadow of the older man fell over the carpet, entirely eclipsing the abuser.
On the floor, the mother finally let out a broken, shuddering breath.
She pulled Claire into her chest, burying her face into the child's white t-shirt.
The cream silk of her robe, stained and wrinkled, draped over them like a fragile, torn tent.
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The table lamp flickered slightly, casting long, dark shadows against the wall.
The monster in the black shirt was suddenly very small.
