Chapter 6 - Sirens on the Street
The wailing sirens cut sharply through the heavy suburban air, growing louder with every passing second as a police cruiser rounded the corner at the end of the block. Elena whipped her head toward the street, panic flaring anew in her chest.
"Did you call them?" Elena demanded, turning frantically to Clara. "Did you call the cops before you started smashing the windows?"
Clara shook her head, her dark reddish-brown hair swaying across her shoulders. She looked just as surprised by the flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the neighbor's second-story windows. "I didn't call anyone. I was too busy going through Mom's files."
David stood swaying on the grass next to the air conditioning unit, his gaunt frame trembling under the weight of the sunlight. He looked toward the street, a flicker of raw paranoia flashing in his sunken eyes. He didn't look like a monstrous threat anymore; he looked like a terrified animal that had just broken out of a cage only to find itself trapped in an even larger one.
"They're not here for you, Clara," David rasped, clutching his tattered camp shirt tightly across his chest. "They're part of it. They've always been part of it."
"Shut up, David," Elena snapped, her nerves frayed to the absolute breaking point as she stepped between her emaciated brother and the front yard. "The police are here to help us. We can finally get you to a hospital, get you some real food, figure out what the hell Dad was doing down there."
"A hospital?" David let out a harsh, broken laugh that sounded more like a dry cough. "They don't take patients from the facility, Elena. They take assets."
Before Elena could argue further, a sleek black police SUV pulled aggressively into their gravel driveway, tires crunching loudly against the stones. The engine cut off instantly, and the heavy driver's side door swung open. A tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp police uniform stepped out, resting his hand casually on the holster of his service weapon. It was Sheriff Miller, a man they had known since childhood, who had always visited their parents for Sunday dinners.
Sheriff Miller surveyed the scene with cold, practiced efficiency: the shattered living room window, the scattered debris, Elena standing by the fence in her light blue t-shirt, Clara in her dark green cardigan clutching the black trash bag, and finally, standing right beside the open root cellar, the flesh-and-blood ghost of David.
May you like
"Well, well," Sheriff Miller said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he slowly walked down the driveway. "Looks like you girls finally found the basement."
---
