Chapter 2
The strobing red light washed over the peeling wallpaper, casting long, erratic shadows that danced across the framed family photographs lining the hallway. David stood paralyzed, his eyes locked on his father’s weathered face. The wail of the approaching siren grew deafening, cutting through the quiet suburban night and vibrating through the floorboards beneath their feet.
"An ambulance?" David repeated, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "I didn't call an ambulance. I just got here five minutes ago, Dad. You have to believe me."
Arthur didn't lower his hand; instead, he stepped closer, the stern lines of his face tightening into an expression of profound disappointment. "Mrs. Gable from across the street saw you park your car in the driveway and run inside through the back door like you were fleeing a crime scene. She said she heard shouting ten minutes before that. Sarah hasn't answered her phone all afternoon, and now she's unresponsive in that room while you stand here sweating through your shirt."
"We were arguing, okay?" David confessed, his voice cracking slightly as the defensive facade finally crumbled. He reached into his pocket, his trembling fingers wrapping around Sarah’s phone and pulling it out as if it were a venomous creature. He held it out on his palm, offering it to his father like an offering to a harsh judge. "We were fighting about her rent. She’s been missing payments for months. When I walked in, she was crying, hyperventilating. I took her phone because she was threatening to do something reckless. I was trying to stop her from making a terrible mistake."
Arthur stared at the glowing screen resting on his son’s palm. The notification light blinked a steady, mocking blue. The older man’s gaze softened just a fraction, the initial fury giving way to a sickening wave of paternal dread. He reached out and snatched the device, his thumb pressing the home button to check the call logs.
Before Arthur could inspect the screen, heavy footsteps echoed on the front porch, followed by a sharp, authoritative knock on the door. "Emergency services! Open up!" a muffled voice called out from the darkness beyond the glass.
David looked from the closed front door back to his father, the reality of the situation crashing down around them. If the paramedics walked in and found Sarah unresponsive with suspicious bruising on her wrists—bruises from when he had tried to physically restrain her from taking the bottle of pills from the nightstand—the police would inevitably be called. In the eyes of the law, and certainly in the eyes of his unforgiving father, David would transition instantly from a concerned brother to the primary suspect in a domestic tragedy.
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"We need to let them in," Arthur said quietly, his voice devoid of anger now, replaced by a grim, utilitarian focus. He tucked Sarah's phone securely into the deep pocket of his dark jacket. "Whatever happened in that room, we face it together. But you keep your mouth shut until I figure out how to explain this mess."
***
