“Scream for him!” Marlene’s voice crackled through the phone’s tiny speaker, distorted by the wind and her own malice. “Scream for your daddy, you little brat! Let’s see if his medals can fly him home to save you!”
My blood turned to ice. I gripped the edges of the table so hard the wood groaned.
Where is Claire? My mind screamed. Where is my wife?
The camera angle shifted slightly as the motion-tracking feature kicked in. There she was. Claire, my wife of ten years, the woman who had kissed me goodbye at the airfield just two days ago. She was standing barely five feet away, casually leaning against the hood of my SUV. She was holding her own smartphone up, recording the entire nightmare.
She wasn’t trying to stop it. She was smiling. It was a cold, empty, terrifying smile.
Around them, stepping out from the shadows of the porch, were Claire’s three sisters: Tessa, Brooke, and Natalie. They moved like a pack of coyotes circling wounded prey, laughing as Lily cried out in pain.
Then, the true horror escalated. Brooke stepped forward, holding a heavy, industrial-grade plastic jug. It wasn’t water. Even through the screen, I could see the thick, viscous way the liquid sloshed inside. Brooke unscrewed the cap and tipped it forward.
A harsh, noxious fluid splashed over Lily’s pajamas.
Lily’s screams immediately shifted from fear to absolute agony. “It burns! Mommy, it burns!” she shrieked, clutching her arms as the harsh chemical solvent soaked into her skin, causing instant, furious irritation. It was a highly concentrated industrial cleaner, a corrosive substance that felt like liquid fire on a child’s sensitive skin.
