Chapter 1 - THE TAPE ON THE MONITORThe kitchen door burst outward, slamming into the drywall as the second paramedic hauled the gurney through the frame. The siren outside wasn't just a distant wail anymore; it was a rhythmic pulse rattling the kitchen window, vibrating through the cold linoleum under my back.
"Pulse is 180 and thready," the female paramedic—her nametag read VALDEZ—shouted over the commotion. "Oxygen saturation is at 74%. We are losing her airway. Prepare for an emergency intubation if her stats drop another point."
My mother finally dropped to her knees, but her hand hovered two inches above my shoulder, hesitating as if touching me would make the reality contagious. "Is it an asthma attack? She had mild asthma when she was ten, but she outgrew it—"
"This isn't asthma, ma'am," Valdez snapped, her gloves snapping smartly against her wrists as she ripped open an oxygen mask. She pressed the hard silicone cup over my nose and mouth. The rush of pure, cold oxygen felt like ice pouring down a dry pipe, but my chest refused to expand. The band around my ribs was tightening, biting deep into my lung tissue.
Uncle Ray didn't put his beer down until the second paramedic accidentally shoved him aside while unfolding the stretcher's locking mechanism. The glass bottle clinked against the counter, right beside the sink where the dishwater was still draining with a slow, gurgling sound.
"She was fine ten minutes ago," Ray muttered, his voice defensive, loud enough to cut through the paramedic's radio chatter. "She was literally standing there washing the gravy off the plates. You don't just collapse like that unless you're trying to prove a point."
"Shut up, Ray!" Daniel roared. My stepfather’s face had gone from pale to a dangerous, mottled red. He grabbed Ray by the collar of his flannel shirt and yanked him two feet back, away from the path of the gurney. "Just shut your mouth for once in your life!"
"Don't touch me, Daniel!" Ray sneered, though his eyes darted toward the front door where two patrol officers had just stepped inside, lured by the emergency dispatch call. "I'm just saying what everyone thinks. She's been acting strange all week!"
"Laryngoscope!" Valdez ordered her partner, ignoring the family completely. "She's cyanotic. We can't wait until the rig."
They lifted me. The movement sent a fresh wave of agony through my ribcage, sharp and hot, like broken glass sliding between my organs. Caleb was still pressed against the wall, his small knuckles white against his mouth, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust on his cheeks. As they strapped my chest to the board, my arm fell limp over the edge, my fingers brushing the slick floor.
My eyes swept past my mother’s face. For the first time in my eighteen years, I saw complete, unvarnished terror in her eyes—not terror for me, but terror of what was happening to her controlled, predictable house.
"Are you coming in the rig?" the male paramedic asked, slamming the rear doors of the ambulance open.
Mom took a step forward, but Valdez turned around, her face like stone. "Only one relative. And whoever comes needs to tell me why there's a strong smell of industrial solvent coming off her clothes."
The words hung in the chilly night air like a physical barrier.
Mom froze. Her eyes flicked instantly toward Uncle Ray. Ray didn't meet her gaze; he turned his back and walked back toward the dark living room.
"I'll go," Daniel said, pushing past my mother and stepping up into the back of the ambulance before she could even answer.
As the doors slammed shut, sealing us in the sterile, fluorescent glare of the rig, the last thing I saw through the tinted glass was my mother standing on the porch, her phone already pulled out and pressed tightly to her ear. She wasn't calling the hospital. She was dialing someone else.
The heart monitor above my head beeped wildly, a high-pitched siren of its own. Valdez leaned over me, shining a penlight into my pupils. They dilated unevenly.
"Hold on, Emma," she whispered. "We're five minutes out from Mercy Hospital. Just hold on."
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Underneath the medical mask, my throat gave a dry, rattling heave. On the small tray beside my head, my phone—which Daniel had shoved into his coat pocket—vibrated continuously. The screen flickered on, illuminating the dark interior with a notification from an unknown sender:
If you tell them about the basement, your brother is next.
