Big Sister
The novel begins with the protagonist as a young child making the call to 911 that no child should ever even have to know how to make. A fight between mommy and daddy has become physical and violent and is quickly spiraling out of control on its way to tragedy. The imagery would be heartbreaking, however, even if the sound of their young daughter begging for the police to come had been enough to make them act like parents:
"Her sister turned her head. Erin wasn't crying, but her eyes were real big, and she'd wet her pajamas. When her sister turned around and walked toward her, the air whooshed from Bree's chest, and stars dance in front of her eyes. She pulled Erin down the hall and into the kitchen with her."
Tragedy, Part II
As if a murder/suicide involving her parents wasn't enough tragedy for one life, Bree's life is turned upside down again decades after that terrible night Erin peed her pajamas. In an eerie coincidence, little sister will also become the victim of a gun death with all signs pointing to her estranged husband as the person who pulled the trigger. Fortunately, it is not Bree who discovers the body:
"Erin was on her side, her body curled around itself. From the size of the wound, Matt suspected she'd been shot. Blood covered her hands, which were near the wound in her chest. She hadn't died immediately. She'd known she was bleeding out. She'd clutched the wound, maybe even tried to stem the bleeding."
Parallax
A major shift in perspective suddenly intrudes into the story in Chapter Four. Up to then, it has been clear through whose eyes we are seeing the story. But this short chapter alters everything that has come before by introducing us to the killer without identifying him. The imagery is more visceral, violent, and cold:
"Blood had poured out of her, forming a puddle. It had expanded rapidly under her body, spreading across the pale carpet in a thick pool, like he'd spilled a full gallon of red paint. And the smell—metallic, like coins, blended with the scent of gunpowder, resulting in an odor that was pungent and nauseating."
The Artist
A third child was in the house that night Bree made the call to 911. The two sisters were old enough that nobody questioned whether they would be able to remember the night. The brother was a baby and it was hoped that at least he might escape the lifelong effects of traumatic recall. Maybe so, but maybe not so much if one studied the paintings of the adult artist he would become:
"Bold blues and angry reds swirled violently in the background. But the top layer had gone gray. It was fury and sadness, layered in pain. Without asking, she knew the gray had taken over during the night, after he'd learned of Erin's death. Not that the underlying layers were anything approaching happy. His paintings never were."
