In spite of the security system and the watchdog and his professional expertise, they still found a way into his home, his haven of retreat, the dome of protection he meant to provide his family. He woke to a fist in his face, a twist of his arms, soon clasped tightly in zipcuffs, the floor rising up to meet his body, the pressure of two knees pressing the air from his lungs, the screams of his wife nearly driving him insane as his grown son was flung to the floor beside him, unconscious, blood trickling down his temple, drawn inexorably down by gravity and blood pressure.
Pulled upright, he gasped in a breath to fill his lungs, wishing to calm his wife but seeing nought of her but her pillow and a discarded mauve dressing gown. His son continued to lie motionless at his feet.
"Ruth!" he hollered and then the world went black.