Chapter 5 - Cornered in the Dark
“Hide!” Matt hissed, grabbing my arm and yanking me behind the heavy canvas drop cloths hanging near the workbench.
We barely dove behind the partition when the basement door flew open with a violent crash that rattled the walls. Heavy footsteps stomped onto the concrete floor, stopping dead just a few feet from where we crouched in the suffocating shadows.
“I told you we should have burned those files before we went to the station,” my mother’s voice rang out, shrill and shaking with cold fury. “If the police get a warrant for this basement, we’re finished. Mark, check the filing cabinet! Where is the ledger?”
“It’s gone!” Mark’s voice yelled back, panicked and frantic as the sound of metal drawers being ripped open echoed through the room. “Dad, the lock’s broken! Somebody’s been down here!”
Through a small tear in the canvas drop cloth, I could see my father standing near the center of the room. His face was dark with a murderous rage I had only ever seen directed at me when I dared to question his authority as a teenager. He wasn't holding a briefcase or a legal file; he was holding a heavy iron wrench he must have grabbed from the garage workbench upstairs.
“Find them,” my father snarled, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying growl. “If they’re still in this house... God help me, I’ll finish what we started last night.”
Beside me, Matt’s hand slid quietly into his pocket, his fingers wrapping around his phone as he prepared to dial 911. But as he pulled the device out, the screen flashed bright white, illuminating our hiding spot in the dim basement light.
A sharp gasp escaped my mother’s lips from across the room.
“Over there!” she screamed, pointing a trembling finger straight at our partition.
Mark lunged forward, ripping the canvas drop cloth away with a savage yank, exposing Matt and me standing frozen in the dark. But before my father could swing the iron wrench, the basement window shattered inward in an explosion of glass, and a beam of tactical flashlight cut through the dust, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a police shotgun sliding into battery.
“St. Jude’s Police! Nobody move an inch!”
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My father froze, the wrench hovering in mid-air, while my mother let out a shrill shriek that cut through the silence like a siren. But as the officers swarmed through the broken window and down the stairs, I looked past them—and my blood ran completely cold.
Standing on the top basement landing, hidden just out of the officers' immediate line of sight, was Emily. Except she wasn't crying anymore. The bruised side of her face was hidden in shadow, and a chilling, completely unfamiliar smile played across her lips as she watched the police tackle our father to the floor.
