Chapter 13 - The Second Shot
The gunshot shattered the rainy morning quiet, sending a flock of startled birds exploding out of the oak trees lining the street.
Marcus stumbled mid-stride, dropping the piece of jagged iron with a heavy clatter as he collapsed onto the wet grass, clutching his shoulder where a fresh bloom of dark crimson was rapidly soaking through his black tactical shirt.
Detective Miller dropped into a tactical crouch, sweeping his flashlight upward toward the second-story master bedroom window. "Shots fired! Shots fired from the second-floor rear window! Suspect is armed!" Miller barked into his shoulder radio, his voice taut with adrenaline.
David threw his arms completely around Lily, shielding her small body with his own as he backed away toward the cover of a parked police cruiser. His heart hammered like a trapped bird against his ribs. The second-story window was pitch black, but the silhouette of a figure holding a long rifle was clearly visible against the faint ambient glow of the stormy sky behind it.
"Clara!" David screamed toward the window, rage finally overriding his terror. "Leave her alone! If you want someone, take me!"
A cold, amplified voice drifted down from the master bedroom window through a portable megaphone.
"The game is over, David," Clara’s voice echoed, distorted and metallic, bouncing off the surrounding houses in the dead silence of the blackout. "You never understood the rules. You thought you could invite the police into our lives and wash your hands of what happened to Chloe. But some debts can't be paid off with a divorce settlement."
Miller lowered his stance, aiming his service pistol directly at the window silhouette. "Clara Evans! Drop the weapon immediately and step away from the window! You are completely surrounded!"
"Am I?" Clara’s voice replied with an eerie, chilling laugh.
Suddenly, the front door of the house clicked open.
David whirled around, expecting to see uniformed officers coming to their rescue. Instead, the heavy oak door swung slowly inward, revealing the dark, empty entryway. Resting on the polished hardwood floor right inside the threshold was a small, glowing laptop screen, connected to the home’s master security network.
On the screen, a live video feed showed the interior of the nursery—the room where Chloe had supposedly died four years ago.
And sitting right in the middle of the crib was a timer counting down rapidly from sixty seconds.
"What is that?" David gasped, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the glowing numbers ticking downward: 00:45... 00:44...
Miller saw the screen from across the driveway and cursed loudly. "It's a localized gas line bypass valve! She's flooded the old nursery with natural gas! If that timer hits zero—"
Before Miller could finish the sentence, David looked down at Lily. The toddler was shivering violently, her lips turning pale, whispering words that shattered David’s soul entirely.
"Daddy... I smell the bad gas again. Just like when Chloe went to sleep."
David didn't hesitate. He broke away from the cover of the police cruiser and sprinted straight across the wet lawn toward the open front door, ignoring Miller’s shouts to stay back.
He lunged across the threshold, scooped the glowing laptop off the floor, and stared at the blinking red override code required to stop the countdown.
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The timer hit 00:10.
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