The Neglected Wife's Bloody Revenge Pact

Manny slid back into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut. He threw the SUV into drive and pressed the gas pedal. The patrol car glided smoothly down the dark, tree-lined avenue. Jenna lay curled in a tight ball on the floorboards behind his seat. The heavy gray wool blanket smelled like stale coffee and dust. She breathed through her mouth, trying to keep perfectly silent. The only sound in the cabin was the low hum of the tires on the asphalt. The tension in the air was so thick it felt hard to breathe. Suddenly, the two-way radio mounted on the dashboard erupted with a burst of harsh static. The sharp, aggressive voice of Kurt Novak, the head of community security, blasted through the speakers. "All units, listen up," Kurt barked. "We have a Code Red at the Knight Estate. Mrs. Knight has suffered a severe mental episode and fled the premises. Lock down the main gates immediately. Nobody gets in or out without a visual inspection of the vehicle. Begin a grid search." Hearing the words "Mrs. Knight," Manny's hands jerked on the steering wheel. The heavy SUV swerved slightly, the tires whining against the road. Manny stared into the rearview mirror. His face was completely drained of color. He looked at the lump under the gray blanket in the back seat. He realized he wasn't helping a random abused woman; he was harboring the billionaire's runaway wife. He was going to lose his job, or worse. Jenna felt the car swerve. She reached out from under the blanket and grabbed the fabric of Manny's seat. She dug her fingers into the upholstery. She didn't speak a word. She just squeezed the seat, transmitting a silent, desperate plea. Manny swallowed hard. His eyes darted frantically in the mirror. He clenched his jaw, tightened his grip on the wheel, and pressed his foot harder on the gas. The SUV rounded the final corner. The massive, iron front gates of the community loomed ahead, illuminated by harsh halogen floodlights. A barricade had been set up. Four security guards in tactical vests were stopping every car. Standing right in the center of the lanes was Kurt Novak, holding a heavy Maglite. Manny eased the brakes, bringing the SUV to a slow stop right in front of the barricade. He rolled down his window. A bead of cold sweat rolled down his temple. Kurt walked over. He didn't smile. He shined the bright beam of his flashlight directly into Manny's face, then swept it across the front passenger seat. "Correa," Kurt said gruffly. "You were patrolling Sector C. Did you see any sign of a woman on foot?" Manny forced himself to look Kurt in the eye. He gripped the steering wheel to stop his hands from shaking. "Nothing, boss. It's dead quiet out there. Haven't seen a soul." Kurt's eyes narrowed. He shifted his weight and leaned closer to the window. He shined the flashlight into the back of the SUV. The beam hit the crumpled gray blanket on the floorboards. Kurt's brow furrowed. He stepped back and reached his gloved hand out, wrapping his fingers around the handle of the rear passenger door. Under the blanket, Jenna stopped breathing. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a jackhammer. She slid her right hand into her pocket and wrapped her bleeding fingers around the cold metal of the eyebrow scissors. Just as Kurt squeezed the door handle, Manny reached down with his left hand, blindly pressing the emergency static burst button on his secondary, off-network radio clipped to his belt. A sharp, ear-piercing squawk of static instantly erupted from the dashboard. At the exact same time, Manny let out a loud, exaggerated cough. "Man, I wouldn't open that if I were you, boss," Manny said, pinching his nose with his free hand. Kurt paused. He looked at Manny. "What's under the blanket?" "My gym bag and my laundry from the last three shifts," Manny lied smoothly, making a face of pure disgust. "I spilled a protein shake in there two days ago and it baked in the sun. It smells like actual death. I was just heading to the laundromat off-site to burn it." Kurt stared at him. He sniffed the air. The power of suggestion worked; he curled his lip in disgust, stepping away from the door handle. He instinctively reached up to check his own shoulder mic, distracted by the sudden frequency interference. Right at that moment, the official radio on Kurt's shoulder chirped. "Captain," a voice crackled. "We found torn bedsheets hanging from the second-floor balcony on the east side of the Knight house. She went into the woods." Kurt's attention snapped away from the SUV. He unclipped his radio. "Copy that. All units converge on the east woods." He looked back at Manny and waved his hand dismissively. "Get out of here, Correa. Go wash your damn clothes." "Yes, sir," Manny said. He didn't wait a second longer. He slammed his foot on the accelerator. The SUV shot forward, passing through the iron gates and speeding out onto the open, dark highway.