Chapter 4 - Visitors in the Night
The front doorbell rang—a loud, cheerful chime that felt obscenely out of place in our poisoned house.
Across the kitchen, Andrew swore under his breath. I heard him drop whatever he was holding in the hallway, followed by the sound of him rapidly adjusting his clothing and trying to steady his breathing before answering the door.
I managed to drag myself the last two feet until I reached Ethan’s side. I pulled his limp body slightly behind the sturdy wooden frame of the pantry door, shielding him as best as I could with my own weight.
“Just act natural,” I muttered to myself, though my voice was still too weak to carry.
In the foyer, the front door clicked open.
“Can I help you?” Andrew’s voice sounded remarkably composed, carrying a tone of polite surprise that made my skin crawl. “Officer? Is something wrong?”
“Mr. Mercer?” a gruff, unfamiliar voice replied. “Sorry to disturb you at this hour, sir. We received an automated SOS signal originating from a mobile device registered to this address—specifically flagged as an emergency dispatch alert.”
My heart soared. The silent signal had gone through!
“An emergency alert?” Andrew laughed lightly, a smooth, practiced sound. “Oh, goodness. That must have been my wife. She was cooking dinner earlier, and her phone must have slipped out of her apron pocket and rattled around on the counter. Everything is completely fine here.”
“I’m going to need to step inside and verify that, sir,” the officer said firmly. “Protocol requires us to make visual contact with the registered user whenever an SOS pulse is triggered.”
“Of course, of course,” Andrew said smoothly, though I heard the subtle rustle of fabric as he likely blocked the hallway threshold. “My wife and son are actually fast asleep upstairs. We had a long day, and—look, there’s really no need to wake them up over a technical glitch—”
“Sir, move aside,” the officer interrupted, his tone hardening. “I smell accelerant. Is that lighter fluid?”
Silence stretched across the hallway for a agonizing heartbeat.
Then came the sharp sound of a struggle—a heavy thud against the drywall, followed by a muffled curse.
“Help!” I screamed, throwing all the remaining strength I possessed into my voice. “Help us! He poisoned us! He’s trying to kill us!”
“Caroline!” Andrew roared from the hallway.
Heavy boots pounded across the hardwood floor toward the kitchen.
The kitchen swinging door flew open, and a uniformed police officer stumbled into the room, gasping as the heavy fumes of lighter fluid hit him. Behind him, Andrew lunged forward, holding a heavy cast-iron skillet he must have grabbed from the entryway table.
The officer spun around just in time, blocking the blow with his forearm, but the force sent him crashing down onto the tile near the stove.
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Andrew raised the skillet again, his face twisted in desperate, murderous rage, aiming directly for the officer's head.
Without thinking, I pushed myself up onto my knees, raised my right hand, and lunged forward, driving the jagged crystal shard deep into the back of Andrew’s calf.
