Chapter 13: The Blinking Light Refused To Become An Answer
I kept one arm around Sophie and watched the red light above the ballroom archway blink, disappear, and return. Its rhythm was ordinary enough to make the room feel unreal. The light did not hurry. It did not accuse anyone. It simply marked the camera’s attention while Sophie’s blood darkened the napkin in my hand.
Preston watched it too.
He stood several paces away in his black tuxedo, one hand hanging beside the red rose at his lapel, the other curled tightly enough to whiten his knuckles. The heavy oak menu board lay on the marble between us. Gold calligraphy caught the chandelier light along its edge. A faint red smear showed where the board had met Sophie’s forehead.
His face had lost the satisfaction it carried before the blow. He looked from Sophie to the board, then back toward the camera. Each glance seemed to leave him less certain where to put his eyes. He did not come closer, but he did not retreat either.
Sophie’s fingers twisted into the fabric at my waist. The white ribbon around her neck had shifted beneath her hair. I could feel the small, uneven movement of her breathing against me. Blood remained on her cheek, a bright line beside one blue eye, and the white flower-girl dress made every mark impossible to ignore.
“Don’t be afraid. I’m here now.”
My voice sounded steadier than my hands felt. Sophie pressed her face against me. I kept the napkin to her forehead and looked again at the camera. The red point blinked above the archway, holding the same view that had held us: the entrance, the board, Preston’s position, my knees striking the marble, and Sophie falling into my arms.
Nothing came from the hallway. No footsteps crossed the threshold. No one entered the space between us. The silence became another physical object, as heavy as the board.
Preston shifted his weight.
The sole of his shoe scraped lightly against the floor. His eyes moved to the board, and his shoulder tightened as if he might bend to pick it up. I lowered my body over Sophie and drew her closer, keeping my knees between him and the weapon. He stopped before taking the next step.
I reached into the small bag hanging against my hip without looking away from him. My phone was beneath a compact and a folded program. I pulled it free and held it low, near Sophie’s back. The screen’s light reflected in the polished marble.
First, I opened the camera. I framed the blinking red light, the archway, and the board below it. Then I lowered the phone and captured the board by itself, including the gold lettering and the dark mark near its edge. I took another image of Sophie’s sleeve, the blood-stained napkin, and the marble beneath us. The photographs were small rectangles on the screen, too clean and flat to contain what had happened.
Preston noticed the phone.
His expression changed before he moved. The uncertainty hardened into anger, but the anger had nowhere safe to go. He looked at my hand, then at the camera, as if measuring which record might reach the other first.
I opened a blank message and entered the room’s name from the printed program. Beneath it, I typed the words I could manage without lifting my arm from Sophie: preserve CCTV recording, assault involving child, ballroom camera. I attached the photographs of the camera and board. My thumb paused over the send symbol.
Sophie tightened her grip.
I sent it.
The screen showed the message leaving, then stopped on a spinning mark. It did not confirm delivery. It did not tell me who would receive it or whether anyone would act. The recording remained somewhere beyond the blinking light, vulnerable to time, power, and whoever controlled the system.
I held the phone against Sophie’s back and kept watching Preston.
May you like
He took one step toward us.
The red light blinked again.
