Chapter 11 - Darkness in the House
The sudden pitch blackness was absolute. The only illumination left in the living room came from the flickering amber glow of the Christmas tree lights and the dying embers of the fireplace, casting long, monstrous shadows across the walls.
Elena screamed, stumbling backward against the sofa. "The power! Why did the power go out?"
"It’s not just the power," Sarah said, her voice cutting sharply through the dark as she racked the slide of her handgun, checking the chamber. "Someone just cut the main breaker outside."
David gripped the brass fireplace poker tightly, stepping toward the shattered front window to scan the snowy lawn. "Sarah, you said you came in through the basement crawl space. Is there anyone else with you?"
"I work alone," Sarah snapped back, her eyes darting nervously toward the dark hallway. "Marcus was my father. I didn't need accomplices to track you down, David."
"Then who cut the power?" the elderly father asked, his voice trembling as he groped along the back of the couch for support. "If Sarah didn't do it, and we didn't do it..."
Before he could finish his sentence, a heavy thud echoed from the dark kitchen at the back of the house, followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering ceramic plates hitting the floor.
Clara sat frozen on the rug, gently rocking the lifeless baby in her arms as if the chaos swirling around her didn't exist. Her face was illuminated by the pulsing blue and red lights of a sudden emergency vehicle siren flashing through the shattered front window from the street outside.
"Police!" a megaphone blared from the front lawn, cutting through the snowy night air. "Surround the house! Nobody moves!"
Elena rushed toward the shattered window, waving her arms frantically in the amber glow of the tree lights. "We're in here! Please, we need help! There’s an armed intruder and a dead baby!"
"Get away from that window!" Sarah hissed, grabbing Elena by the shoulder and jerking her violently backward just as a volley of shattering glass erupted inward from a second front-room window.
A tear gas canister rolled across the Persian rug, hissing loudly and spewing thick, white, eye-watering smoke into the confined space of the living room.
"Down! Get down on the floor!" David yelled, dropping the fireplace poker and throwing himself over Clara and the baby as the choking smoke began to fill the air.
Coughing violently, Elena dragged her elderly parents behind the heavy wooden dining table in the adjoining alcove as the front door was forcefully battered off its hinges with a deafening crash. Heavy boots stomped into the foyer, shouting commands through gas masks.
"Federal agents! Don't move! Hands where we can see them!"
Through the thickening white fog of the tear gas, heavy tactical flashlights pierced the darkness, blinding everyone in the room. As the smoke cleared slightly, a tall figure in a heavy black flak jacket stepped into the living room, lowering a submachine gun and staring directly down at David and Clara on the floor.
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"Well, well, well," the tactical commander said, his voice cold and familiar as he pulled off his gas mask. "It looks like the whole family finally got together for the holidays."
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