Chapter 4 - Footprints in the Hall
The silence in the hallway suddenly felt heavy, suffocating. Megan looked down at the muddy boot prints—heavy rubber lug soles, distinct from the smooth soles of Marcus’s pristine sneakers or the standard-issue duty boots worn by the police.
"Someone was in here," Megan murmured, her defensive posture evaporating as the reality of the situation set in.
Marcus stepped closer, ignoring the police presence entirely as he stared at the trail of dirt leading directly toward the basement door at the end of the hall. The basement door, which Marcus swore he had locked before leaving for his trash run, stood ajar by roughly two inches. A thin line of darkness spilled out from the gap.
"Get back," Megan said instinctively, raising her weapon once more, though this time her voice lacked its earlier hostility. It was pure tactical necessity.
"That’s my house," Marcus growled, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and rising panic. "That’s where I keep my father’s archive. Decades of family history."
David held up a hand, motioning for Marcus to stay put while he drew his own firearm. "Marcus, stay behind us. Megan, cover the back exit through the kitchen. I’ll clear the stairs."
"I’m not staying anywhere," Marcus whispered fiercely, his eyes fixed on the slightly ajar basement door. "You two spent ten minutes harassing me on my own driveway while whoever was actually breaking into my home walked right past you."
Megan didn't argue with him. She couldn't. The stinging truth of his words hit her harder than any physical blow. If she hadn't stopped him, if she had just minded her own patrol instead of profiling a homeowner taking out his trash, they might have caught the intruder in the act.
David took the lead, his boots moving silently across the hardwood until he reached the basement door. He pushed it open fully with the barrel of his gun, the hinges groaning quietly. A damp, earthy draft wafted up from the concrete steps below, carrying the faint, unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke.
"Clear," David called back softly, taking the first step down into the gloom.
Megan moved to cover the threshold, her eyes darting across the living room to ensure no one had circled around behind them. "Marcus, please, stay by the front door."
Marcus ignored her warning. He slipped past her shoulder before she could stop him, descending the first two steps into the dark basement just as David switched on his tactical flashlight.
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The beam cut through the dusty air, illuminating rows of cardboard storage boxes—and the shattered glass of a basement casement window. But it was what lay on the workbench beneath the window that made David gasp.
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