Chapter 2 - The Sound of Sirens
The deadbolt clicked open, and the brass knob began to slowly turn.
Instinct took over. I didn't scream, and I didn't waste my breath begging. I stepped backward until my spine hit the cold tiled wall, pulling Liam tighter against my chest and shielding his tiny body with my arms. I kept my eyes locked on the doorknob as it rotated all the way, and the heavy wood panel began to swing inward.
Brandon’s face appeared in the opening, flushed with anger, his eyes wide and wild. Behind him, Patricia peered over his shoulder with a sharp, triumphant smirk, ready to watch me submit.
"End of the line," Brandon muttered, reaching a large hand forward to grab my wrist.
Before his fingers could even graze my skin, a sharp, piercing sound cut through the tense silence of the hallway. It started faint, a low wail in the distance, but grew rapidly louder and more ferocious with every passing second.
Wee-ooo, wee-ooo, wee-ooo.
Red and blue flashing lights sliced through the living room windows, painting the walls in frantic, pulsing strokes. Police cruisers had just turned onto our street, their sirens wailing with an urgency that shook the windowpanes.
Brandon froze mid-motion. His hand hung suspended in the air, his fingers twitching in confusion. The triumphant smirk vanished from Patricia’s face instantly, replaced by a sudden, chalky pallor.
"What... what is that?" Patricia stammered, grabbing Brandon’s arm. "Did you call someone, Brandon?"
"No! I didn't call anyone!" Brandon yelled back, his voice cracking with sudden panic as he looked from his mother to me. His eyes landed on the bathroom sink, where my phone was lying face-up, its screen softly illuminated with the active emergency call timer.
Realization hit him like a physical blow. "You called the cops?" he roared, turning his full fury back onto me. He lunged forward into the bathroom, stepping past the threshold with his hands raised to grab me. "Give me that phone right now, you treacherous bitch!"
"Stay back!" I screamed, using my foot to kick a heavy plastic step stool straight into his path.
Brandon stumbled over it, crashing hard against the edge of the porcelain sink. A sharp curse escaped his lips as he caught himself, but before he could recover his balance, heavy footsteps thundered through the front door of the house.
"Police! Open up! Drop to your knees! Hands where we can see them!"
The authoritative bellows echoed from the hallway, followed by the heavy thud of boots marching into the living room. Patricia let out a terrified shriek, stumbling backward out of sight as two uniformed police officers rounded the corner into the hallway, their heavy duty belts clinking and flashlights cutting blinding beams through the dim interior.
Brandon spun around, his hands instinctively going up in the air as his arrogant demeanor completely disintegrated into pathetic cowardice. "Wait, officers, there's been a misunderstanding—my wife is hysterical, she's exaggerating—"
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"Shut your mouth and get on the floor! Face down, hands behind your back!" an officer barked, rushing forward and slamming Brandon face-first against the hallway wall, snapping steel handcuffs onto his wrists with a sharp, definitive click.
I stood in the doorway of the bathroom, trembling from head to toe, holding my sleeping newborn while the red and blue lights danced across the walls. The nightmare was finally breaking apart.
