WEDNESDAY || AUGUST 4th || 2021
[Present time, 3 days after incident]
Lizzie Olsen's POV ~
Flashing sirens.
Broken glass.
Nosy neighbors.
Uniformed paramedics.
Half the residents on Marigold Avenue had come out of their houses to see what was happening. Some lingered at a cautious distance. Others had drifted onto the Baxter's front lawn, peppering the officers with questions and comparing stories about the screams they'd heard.
The crowd parted reluctantly as Maya Romero and an officer led the way, leaving Lizzie to follow in their wake. Curious eyes tracked her every step, their murmured conversations fading only once the front door closed behind them.
Even standing inside the wrecked foyer, Lizzie struggled to comprehend the devastation left behind. Her mind was still back at the hospital, trapped beside a little girl and the weight of her horrible secret.
Elsie had blacked out only seconds after Lizzie pieced it all together.
Lizzie wasn't entirely sure she hadn't done the same.
The conversations around her bled into one another. Her ears were ringing so loudly she could only catch fragments, enough to trace the outline of what had happened but never enough for it to settle into anything coherent.
Then again, maybe there wasn't a version of this that would ever make sense to her... how a father could do this...
Luckily, Maya was moving through the chaos with the clarity Lizzie couldn't find, asking questions, gathering details, making decisions. And for some reason, she still hadn't stopped to remove the actress who had inserted herself into the middle of this mess... again.
Glass crunched beneath Lizzie's shoes as she drifted deeper into the house, following instinct more than thought.
She had no real destination. She just kept moving, threading between officers and paramedics, searching for the two reasons she'd followed Maya here in the first place.
At the head of the dining table, a tall blonde man sat slumped forward, one arm in a sling, the other bracing his head. With his disheveled clothes and the bruises already blooming beneath the skin, he looked even more wrecked than Lizzie felt.
A rush of blonde curls swooped past them both.
It took Lizzie a moment to register the warm, earthy trace of sandalwood that lingered in Heidi Baxter's wake.
Last night, she'd associated that scent with grounded reassurance and stubborn optimism. But now, watching fury and panic radiate from Heidi as she stormed into the kitchen, Lizzie knew this tragedy had shattered more in the Baxter household than just the picture frames and pot plants.
Lizzie followed after her as Heidi yanked the freezer drawer open, the force making it rattle against its rails. A cloud of cold air spilled around them as she tore through bags and containers, searching with frantic, almost desperate movements.
"Where are the girls?" Lizzie asked quietly. The police had told her that they weren't hurt, but she needed to be sure.
Heidi didn't answer. She continued searching, hands moving faster than could possibly be useful, only stopping to angrily wipe at her wet cheeks and shove a mess of frizzy blonde curls from her eyes before diving back in.
"For Heaven's sake!" she burst out.
She slammed the drawer shut so hard that a collection of magnets and children's drawings scattered from the refrigerator door.
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