Chapter 3

I couldn't take it anymore. The isolation, the fear, the not knowing.

One evening, after a particularly vicious tirade from Mike about how I was "useless" and "a burden," I confronted him directly in the living room. Susan was at the bakery, working late.

"Dad," I used the word deliberately, though it felt like ash in my mouth. "You have to tell me. What is in that tool shed? What do you tell people?"

He was watching TV, a rerun of some old western. He didn't even glance at me.

"I told you. We talk."

"No! It's more than that! You're destroying my life! I deserve to know why!"

His eyes flicked towards me, cold and hard. "You deserve nothing. You're lucky you have a roof over your head."

"I'm going in that shed, Mike. Right now. I'm going to see for myself."

I stood up, my legs shaking.

He was on his feet in an instant, his face contorted with rage. "You will not!"

"Try and stop me!"

He moved faster than I thought possible for a man his age. He grabbed my arm, his fingers digging in like talons.

"I warned you, girl!"

He started dragging me towards the kitchen. I struggled, terrified.

"Let go of me!"

He shoved me against the counter, then reached for the knife block. He pulled out a large chef's knife.

His eyes were wild. "I told you not to push me!"

He raised the knife.

I screamed, ducking away, and scrambled towards my bedroom, slamming the door and locking it. My heart hammered against my ribs.

He was pounding on the door, roaring. "Open this door, Ashley! You ungrateful brat!"

I fumbled for my phone, my hands slick with sweat, and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"My...my father...he's trying to kill me! He has a knife!" I sobbed, giving them the address.

The dispatcher's calm voice was a lifeline. She kept me on the phone until I heard the sirens wailing in the distance.

Mike was still raging outside my door when the police arrived.

"Mr. Miller! This is the police! Open the door!"

The pounding stopped. I heard muffled voices, then a sharp command.

A few minutes later, a female officer, Hanson, knocked gently on my bedroom door. "Ashley? It's Officer Hanson. You can come out now. You're safe."

I slowly unlocked the door. Officer Hanson was young, with a kind face. Another officer was handcuffing Mike in the living room. The chef's knife lay on the coffee table.

Mike looked at them with utter contempt, no fear in his eyes at all.

"He tried to kill me," I whispered, showing Officer Hanson the red marks on my arm where he'd grabbed me.

"Sir, you're under arrest for aggravated assault and attempted murder," Officer Hanson's partner said, reading Mike his rights.

As they led Mike out, he looked back at me, a chillingly calm expression on his face. "This isn't over, Ashley."

Officer Hanson took my statement. She was sympathetic, assuring me they'd take this very seriously.

"We need to secure the premises, look for any other weapons," she said. "And we'll need to check out that tool shed you mentioned in your call. He was heading there when you locked yourself in your room?"

"No, he got the knife from the kitchen. But the shed...that's where it all starts. That's his...his place."

"Okay, we'll take a look."

I watched from the porch as Officer Hanson and her partner approached the tool shed. My breath hitched. What if it affected them too?

Mike, sitting in the back of the patrol car, watched them as well. A small, knowing smile played on his lips.

Officer Hanson's partner tried the door. It was unlocked. He went in first, then Hanson followed.

They were inside for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only ten minutes.

When they came out, Officer Hanson's face was...different. Not hostile, not like the others, but...puzzled. Confused.

She walked over to the patrol car, spoke to Mike through the open window. I couldn't hear what they were saying. Mike nodded, said something back.

Then Officer Hanson came back to me. Her partner was already uncuffing Mike.

"Ashley," she said, her professional demeanor slightly frayed. "There's been a...a misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding? He had a knife!"

"Mr. Miller explained. He was...he was trying to show you something in the shed. A surprise. He said you've been very stressed lately, and he picked up the knife to, uh, cut some twine for a package. He says you panicked."

My jaw dropped. "That's...that's a lie! He threatened me! He was going to hurt me!"

Officer Hanson sighed. "Ashley, there's no evidence of that. The shed is just...a shed. Tools, some old boxes. Mr. Miller is very concerned about you. He thinks you might need some help. Maybe see a doctor?"

Mike was walking back towards the house, free. He gave me a look that sent shivers down my spine.

"This is a family dispute, Ashley," Officer Hanson said, her voice now firm. "We can't get involved unless there's clear evidence of a crime. Please, don't waste police resources like this again."

They got in their car and drove away, leaving me alone with Mike, the taste of ashes and despair in my mouth. The system, my last hope, had crumbled before the power of that damn tool shed.