Chapter 1 - The Sirens in the Mud
The dispatcher’s voice hung in the damp air like a blade cutting through the silence. My husband’s hand froze inside the mud, his fingers stiffening against the cloudy plastic of the freezer bag. For a fraction of a second, the courtyard went completely dead, save for the rhythmic humming of the cicadas in the overgrown maple tree above us.
His eyes widened, snapping from the glowing phone screen up to my face. The gentle, reasonable patriarch routine vanished in an instant, replaced by a raw, naked panic.
“What did you do?” he roared, lunging forward to yank the bag from the earth.
Dirt flew into my face as he tore the phone free, but the damage was already done. The dispatcher’s speaker squawked again, crisp and clear. “Units are two minutes out. Ma’am, stay on the line.”
“Turn it off! Marcus, turn it off!” his mother shrieked from the porch, dropping her teacup. It shattered against the wooden boards, spraying dark brown porcelain shards over Mara’s pristine white sandals.
Marcus scrambled backward, his boots slipping in the mud he had poured around my neck. He slammed the phone against the porch post once, twice, three times, trying to smash the screen. But the heavy-duty case held. On the third strike, blue and red strobes swept across the tall wooden fence at the edge of the property.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder with every heartbeat.
“You ruined everything!” Marcus screamed, dropping to his knees beside me. He grabbed my hair, trying to pull my head back, but my neck was locked in the hardened mud. “You think they’re going to believe you? You’re hysterical! You’ve been sick!”
“Leave her!” Mara screamed, retreating toward the back door. “Marcus, the police are at the gate!”
The heavy wooden gate crashed open. Flashlights pierced the dusk, pinning Marcus in a harsh white glare as four officers rushed the yard with weapons drawn.
“Hands where we can see them! On the ground! Now!”
Marcus raised his muddy hands, his lip trembling as he tried to put on his charming smile. “Officers, thank God you’re here. My wife... she’s had a severe psychotic break. She buried herself. We were trying to dig her out—”
“Shut up!” the lead deputy barked, kicking Marcus’s legs out from under him and forcing him into the grass.
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Two paramedics rushed past with shovels and a backboard. As the heavy earth was dug away from my chest and shoulders, oxygen flooded my lungs for the first time in three days. I coughed violently, blood and black dirt spitting from my cracked lips onto the grass.
As they lifted my body onto the gurney, I felt a sharp, sudden kick beneath my ribs. The baby was alive. I locked eyes with Marcus as they dragged him away in handcuffs. I didn't say a word. I just touched the corner of my mouth, where the hidden microphone had caught every single confession.
