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“Aahh! Aahh! Aahh!” Following his wife’s pointing finger, Church House’s eyes came to a stop at what looked to be a baby doll, floating in the water. The wind blowing in contrast to the moving current caused the dolls hair to flow in another direction. Recognition sliced through Church House’s heart. His body went numb, as his soul pleaded for mercy. It was his own little doll floating in the water.
Church House bolted from the kitchen. Unconsciously, his index finger convulsed on the Beretta’s trigger. Two hollow pointed slugs eliminated the need of opening the sliding glass door separating the den from the backyard.
Crunching across fragments of broken glass, his wife’s screams willed his legs to move faster. The Beretta flew from his hands. Church House’s legs churned, propelling him towards the back gate. Without breaking stride, he went airborne. Another six strides, his feet pounded against the wooden planks of the dock. Three seconds later, Church House was airborne again. This time, he was jackknifing into the frigid waters of the Santa Rosa Sound.