Chapter 4 - The Red and Blue Lights
“Down!” I hissed, pulling Noah down into the damp tall grass beside the garden bed.
We pressed our bodies flat against the dirt, shielding our heads with our arms. I held my breath, squeezing my eyes shut as the glare of the headlights swept across the back fence, illuminating the white siding of our house in stark, ghostly relief.
A car door slammed shut out front.
Then another.
Then came the sound I had been praying for since the moment I opened my eyes on the kitchen floor: the sharp, authoritative crack of a car door closing, followed instantly by the low, pulsing flash of red and blue emergency lights bouncing off the living room windows.
Police.
“Mom! Look!” Noah whispered, pointing toward the front driveway.
Two uniformed police officers were walking briskly up our front walkway, one of them speaking rapidly into a shoulder-mounted radio while the other shined a heavy-duty flashlight across the porch.
I scrambled to my feet, pulling Noah up beside me. “Come on! Let’s go around the side!”
We stumbled across the wet grass, weaving around the corner of the house just as heavy fists hammered loudly against our front door.
“Police! Open the door!” a stern voice rang out into the night.
We hurried around the side of the house, entering the illumination of the flashing cruiser lights parked at the curb. The two officers turned sharply at the sound of our footsteps splashing through the gravel pathway.
“Freeze! Put your hands where we can see them!” the older officer barked, instantly unsnapping the retention strap on his holster and bringing his flashlight up to blind us with a searing wall of white light.
“Wait! Don't shoot! We called you!” I cried out, raising my hands instinctively while keeping a firm grip on Noah’s shoulder with my other arm.
The officer squinted past the flashlight beam, his eyes widening as he took in our disheveled appearance—the socks covered in mud, the pale, sweating faces, the sheer terror in our eyes.
“Ma’am? Are you Clara Reynolds?” the officer asked, dropping his hand from his holster slightly as he jogged toward us.
May you like
“Yes. I’m Clara. This is my son, Noah,” I panted, my voice cracking. “My husband... Daniel tried to poison us. He left the house ten minutes ago. You have to put out an APB on his car before he gets away.”
---
