Chapter 6: The Siren's Wail
The high-pitched, screeching wail of the alarm vibrated through the floorboards and rattled the glass panes of the study windows. Red strobe lights mounted on the exterior eaves began flashing, casting violent, frantic pulses of light against the velvet drapes.
Marcus stumbled back, dropping the crowbar onto the hardwood floor with a loud, metallic clatter. He slapped his hands over his ears, his face contorted in sheer terror.
"The security company!" Marcus screamed over the deafening noise. "The alarm is tied directly to the Westport Police Department! They’ll be here in three minutes!"
"Turn it off!" Gwen yelled, her voice barely audible over the siren. She rushed toward the desk, grabbing the brass button box and ripping the wires out of the wall with surprising, vicious strength.
The siren died instantly, leaving behind a ringing, suffocating silence.
"You stupid old fool," Gwen hissed, stepping over the crowbar, her face twisted with pure rage. "You think the police are going to save you? Chief Miller is my personal friend. He’s been on my payroll since 1990!"
"Miller retired five years ago, Gwen," I rasped, coughing up a drop of blood onto my flannel shirt. My vision was fading fast now; a heavy, dark curtain was drawing shut across my eyes. "The new chief... is a woman named Detective Miller. His daughter. The one who reopened the cold case file on Clara’s car last summer."
Gwen’s face drained of every ounce of color.
Outside, in the distance, the faint, rising wail of real police sirens cut through the crisp afternoon air, growing louder with every passing second.
"Marcus, grab the canvas package!" Gwen ordered frantically, grabbing her leather purse from the desk. "We’re leaving through the garage! Move!"
Marcus didn't move. He stood frozen near the doorway, staring at the front window where blue and red lights were already reflecting against the oak trees up the driveway.
"Marcus!" Gwen screamed, slapping him hard across the face. "Get the package!"
Marcus snapped out of his trance, but instead of reaching for me, he backed toward the hallway. "No way, Gwen! I'm not going to prison for murder! You said he'd just die of a heart attack! You didn't say anything about police tapes!"
"You coward!" she shrieked.
I lay on the floor, my chest completely frozen, unable to draw in another breath. My fingers tightened one last time around the cassette recorder and the canvas package.
Clara... I thought, as the dark tide finally rushed over my mind. I held on... I held on as long as I could...
The study door was kicked open. Heavy tactical boots slammed onto the floorboards.
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"Westport Police! Nobody move! Hands where I can see them!"
The last thing I heard before the world went black was the cold, crisp click of handcuffs, followed by Gwen’s hysterical, screaming protest as she was forced down onto the carpet beside me.
