Chapter 4 - Chaos and Violence
Time seemed to dilate, stretching into slow motion as the heavy iron head of the hammer cleaved through the air toward my face.
Someone in the front row screamed—a high, piercing shriek that cut through the ringing feedback of the audio system. My legs instinctively tried to backward-step, but my heel caught on the edge of a heavy speaker cable running across the stage floor.
I lost my balance, stumbling backward just as the arc of the swing completed.
Thud.
The heavy iron struck the side of my head above my right temple. A blinding flash of white light exploded behind my eyes, accompanied by a sickening crunch that resonated straight into my jaw. The impact threw me violently sideways. I crashed down onto the hard wooden stage, my shoulder taking the brunt of the fall before my head bounced against the floorboards.
Darkness rushed at the edges of my vision, pulling me under into a sickening, spinning vortex.
The room erupted into absolute pandemonium. Shouting voices overlapped in a chaotic wall of sound. Guests surged forward from their tables, chairs scraping violently against the floor as men and women rushed toward the stage to stop him.
But Richard was already moving. He dropped the heavy hammer with a hollow metallic clatter, turned on his heel, and bolted toward the emergency exit doors at the side of the ballroom, shoving a panicked waiter out of his path.
"Stop him! Call 911!" Megan screamed hysterically, her wedding dress dragging on the floor as she sprinted toward the stage, ignoring the pristine white fabric trailing behind her.
I lay flat on my back, the world spinning wildly on its axis. Warm, thick liquid began to pool around my ear and trickle down my cheek, soaking into my hair and staining the collar of my blouse. My breathing came in ragged, shallow gasps. I could barely focus my eyes; the crystal chandeliers overhead fractured into a kaleidoscope of blinding lights.
Through the dull, rhythmic ringing in my ears, I heard footsteps thudding toward me. Then, cutting through the cacophony of screaming guests and frantic calls for an ambulance, I heard Mom’s voice.
It wasn't the voice of a broken, frightened woman. It was calm, chillingly steady, and carried an authority that made every single person in the vicinity freeze in their tracks.
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"Call the police," she said clearly.
She pulled a sleek black smartphone from her designer clutch, looked directly toward the heavy exit door where Richard had just vanished, and added, "And tell them exactly where my husband is going."
