Chapter 5 - The SUV At The End Of The Driveway
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. I just stood there, pressed against the wall beside the window, watching the black SUV. It didn’t move either. Just sat there, idling so quietly I could barely hear the engine, a dark shape in the pre-dawn gloom.
Then the passenger window rolled down.
A hand came out. Holding something white.
The man waved it slowly, back and forth. Like he was signaling. Like he wanted me to know he was there. Like he wanted me to be scared.
Mission accomplished.
I backed away from the window, my heart hammering against my ribs so hard I was sure they could hear it in the car. I ran to the stairs, taking them two at a time, and burst into my parents’ room.
“Dad!” I hissed, shaking him awake. “Dad, get up! They’re here!”
He was out of bed in two seconds flat, reaching for the rifle he kept propped against the nightstand. My mother sat up, fumbling for her glasses.
“Who?” my father said, already pulling on his pants. “How many?”
“One car,” I said. “Black SUV. End of the driveway. They signaled at me. They know we called Jacob. They were listening somehow.”
My father’s face went grim. He checked the rifle, then looked at my mother.
“Get Emma and Leo into the safe room,” he said. “Now.”
We had a safe room?
My mother saw the question on my face. “Your father built it after you left,” she said, already herding me toward the door. “He was scared Victor would come for us. It’s behind the panel in the basement. Cinder block walls, steel door. We can survive in there for a week if we have to.”
We ran down the stairs. I went into my room first and shook Leo awake. He blinked at me, confused.
“Mom?” he mumbled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, baby,” I said, lying smoothly as I pulled him out of bed and into his shoes. “We’re just going to play a game. A secret game. With Grandma and Grandpa. You have to be very quiet, okay? No talking at all.”
His eyes went wide. He loved games. “Like spies?”
“Exactly like spies,” I said, grabbing his hand and pulling him toward the stairs. “C’mon. Quick.”
We met my father at the basement door. He handed my mother a loaded revolver.
“Lock the door behind you,” he said. “Nobody comes in unless it’s me or Tyler. You hear me? Nobody. Not the police, not a neighbor, not the pizza delivery guy. Nobody.”
“What about you?” my mother said, her voice trembling.
“I’m going to have a talk with our visitors,” he said, racking the slide on the rifle.
“Dad, no,” I said. “There could be four of them in that car. Five. You can’t take them alone.”
“I’m not planning to,” he said, nodding at the phone on the wall. “I already called Tyler. He’s bringing the guys from the station. They’ll be here in five minutes. I just need to make sure these sons of bitches don’t decide to leave before they get here.”
He kissed my mother hard, then looked at Leo.
“Hey, buddy,” he said, forcing a smile. “You be good for your grandma, okay? Grandpa’s just going to go talk to some friends. I’ll be right back.”
Leo nodded solemnly. “Okay, Grandpa. Be careful.”
My father winked. “Always am.”
We went down into the basement. It smelled like damp concrete and my dad’s old workbench. My mother went straight to the back wall, to what looked like a built-in bookshelf full of old encyclopedias. She pulled on the spine of the M volume, and the whole thing swung open like a door.
Behind it was a small room — maybe ten by ten — lined with shelves of canned food, bottled water, a first aid kit, and a portable radio. There was a cot in the corner, and a chemical toilet in the other. My father had really been prepared.
She herded us inside, then closed the door behind us. I heard the heavy steel bolt slide home.
We sat in the dark.
The only light came from a single battery-powered lantern on the shelf. Leo sat between my mother and me, his small hand wrapped around my finger. He was being so brave. Not a whimper. Not a tear. Just big, wide eyes, taking it all in.
After what felt like an hour but was probably only ten minutes, we heard it.
BANG.
A gunshot.
Then another. And another.
Leo jumped. I pulled him into my arms, covering his ears. My mother had the revolver out now, held in both hands, pointed at the door. Her face was pale but determined.
More shots. Then shouting. Men’s voices. Angry.
Then — sirens.
Lots of sirens.
Five minutes later, there was a knock on the steel door.
Three sharp raps. Then two. Then three again.
The code. Tyler’s code.
My mother stood up, her hands still shaking, and slid the bolt back. She opened the door a crack, keeping the revolver trained on the opening.
Tyler stood there. Behind him, I could see flashlights bobbing in the basement. Blue and red lights flashing through the small basement windows.
“Clear,” he said. “They’re gone. Dad’s okay. Just a graze on the arm. But Emma… you need to see this.”
I handed Leo to my mother and followed Tyler up the stairs. The front door was wide open. Daylight was starting to break — pale gray light spilling over the trees. There were three police cars in the yard, two fire trucks, and half a dozen men in uniforms milling around.
My father was sitting on the porch step, a paramedic wrapping a bandage around his left bicep. He looked up when he saw me, and managed a weak smile.
“Told you I’d be fine,” he said.
I knelt in front of him. “What happened, Dad?”
“Four of them,” he said, nodding toward the driveway where the black SUV had been. “Got out of the car. Started walking toward the house. I yelled at them to stop. They kept coming. One of them pulled a gun. I fired first. Hit the lead guy in the shoulder. They ran back to the car. Took off. Tyler and the boys showed up right as they were peeling out.”
“Did you get the plates?” I said.
“Didn’t need to,” Tyler said from behind me. He was holding something in his hand, wrapped in an evidence bag. “They left us a present.”
He held it up.
It was the white thing I’d seen them waving out the window earlier. A single sheet of paper, folded in half. Written across the front in big, black, block letters:
I KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
I opened it.
Inside was a single photograph.
It was Leo. At a playground. In Columbus. Three days before we’d left for Ohio.
May you like
They’d been watching us.
For a long time.
