Chapter 10 - The House on Oakridge Lane
The trail widened after a quarter mile of dense timberland, opening up into a forgotten neighborhood of dilapidated, snow-covered worker cabins. Paint peeled from the wooden walls, and windows were boarded up with weathered plywood. At the very end of the dead-end street stood number 412—a slightly larger two-story house with a sagging porch and a rusted metal chimney from which a thin, ghostly wisp of gray smoke drifted into the gray sky.
"Smoke," the second deputy muttered, resting his hand firmly on his holstered firearm. "Someone’s inside."
Detective Miller raised a hand, signaling the team to halt behind a row of overgrown pine bushes. He crouched low, signaling the deputies to flank the front and side entrances.
Elena crouched beside a snow-covered porch railing, her heart pounding against her ribs like a sledgehammer. She peered through the cracked wooden slats of the front door. The interior was dimly lit by a flickering fireplace, casting long, dancing shadows across the peeling wallpaper.
A tall figure moved past the living room window. It was Julian.
He was holding a heavy red gasoline can, splashing its contents across the wooden floorboards with frantic, erratic movements.
"He's burning the evidence," Elena whispered to Detective Miller, who was kneeling right beside her. "He’s going to destroy everything—every record, every piece of proof linking him to Claire and my mother."
The detective nodded grimly. He drew his service pistol, gesturing to the deputies. "On my count of three, we breach the side door. If he resists, subdue him immediately."
Elena watched with bated breath as the detective counted silently on his fingers. One... Two...
Before the detective could mouth three, a loud, cracking crash echoed from the back of the house, followed by the shattering of glass and a sudden, violent shout.
It wasn't the police who had broken in.
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Through the rear window, Elena caught a fleeting glimpse of an older figure tackling Julian to the floor as the red gasoline canister flew from his hands, spilling fuel dangerously close to the open hearth.
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