Chapter 4 - The Panic of Ryan Carter
Back at the suburban house outside Denver, Ryan was unraveling.
He stood in the middle of the dark nursery, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. The shattered pieces of his thirty-thousand-dollar watch glittered uselessly on the floor beside his loafers.
"Think, Ryan, think!" he screamed at himself, slapping his own forehead with the palm of his hand.
His mind was racing through terrifying scenarios. If Emma was dead, where was her body? Had someone found her? Had the neighbors called the police? If the police showed up, they would see the blood. They would check the time of death. They would see his social media posts showing him drinking in Aspen while his wife bled out.
He would be arrested. His corporate career as a senior financial analyst would be destroyed. He would spend the rest of his life in a state prison.
"No, no, no, this can't happen to me!" he panicked, pacing back and forth, carefully avoiding the dark carpet stain.
He pulled out his phone again and dialed his mother, Eleanor.
Eleanor Carter answered on the second ring, her voice sweet and coddling. "Hello, my birthday boy! Did you have a wonderful time in the mountains?"
"Mom," Ryan sobbed, collapsing against the nursery wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. "Mom, something terrible happened. You need to come over right now. Bring cleaning supplies."
"What?" Eleanor’s voice instantly sharpened. "Ryan, what are you talking about? What cleaning supplies?"
"It’s Emma!" Ryan cried out, his voice high-pitched and hysterical. "She... she had some kind of medical emergency while I was gone! There’s blood everywhere in the nursery! She’s gone, Mom! She and the baby are gone!"
"What do you mean gone?!" Eleanor gasped. "Did she go to the hospital? Did you call her?"
"Her phone is disconnected!" Ryan yelled. "Mom, if she died in a hospital, the authorities are going to investigate me! They're going to see I left her alone! You know how dramatic she was being before I left! She did this on purpose to ruin my life!"
Even in the middle of absolute terror, Ryan’s mind automatically re-framed his cruelty into a plot executed by his victim.
Eleanor went quiet for two seconds. Her protective, enabling instincts kicked into overdrive. "Listen to me, Ryan. Do NOT call the police. Do you hear me? Do not dial 911."
"Why?!"
"Because if there’s a body, or if she filed a report, calling the police now makes you look guilty," Eleanor said coldly. "Stay right there. I am coming over with bleach, plastic sheeting, and my extra set of keys. We are going to scrub that room clean before anyone sees it."
"What about Ethan?" Ryan whimpered.
"We will figure out the baby later," Eleanor commanded. "Right now, we protect your future."
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Ryan hung up the phone, wiping cold sweat from his face. He looked at the empty bassinet one last time, a sick sense of relief washing over his panic. His mother was right. If he cleaned the room, erased the evidence, and claimed Emma had simply walked out on him with the child, no one could prove a crime had been committed.
He stood up, walked to the kitchen, and poured himself a large glass of straight vodka, completely unaware that a hidden security camera—installed high in the air vent by Clara’s private security team three hours prior—was recording every single second of his breakdown.
