Chapter 2 - The Sound of Sirens
The silence on the other side of the door was far more dangerous than the pounding had been. I could hear the muffled thud of drawers opening and slamming shut in the master bedroom down the hall. Marcus and Diane weren't checking on my mother’s medication; they were scrambling to hide the paper trail before the law arrived. I kept my arm wrapped tightly around Mom’s frail shoulders, feeling the rhythmic shudder of her ribcage against my side.
“Sarah,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she looked up at me with watery, sunken eyes. “They’ll put me in the asylum. Diane told me the doctors believe whatever the guardian tells them. She said once I'm locked in the ward, they use chemical restraints so no one has to listen to the crying.”
“Nobody is locking you away, Mom,” I said gently, brushing a damp strand of silver hair from her forehead. “You don't have dementia. You have two parasites living under your roof who overdosed you on sedatives to make you look incompetent. That ends tonight.”
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From far down the rural highway, the faint, wailing crescendo of sirens began to pierce the heavy summer air. Within sixty seconds, the red and blue flashing lights painted harsh, strobing patterns through the frosted privacy glass of the bathroom window. Tires screeched across the gravel driveway outside, followed by the heavy thud of car doors slamming shut and the authoritative bark of local law enforcement commanding someone to open the front door.
I waited until I heard the heavy boots of the county sheriff's deputies trampling into the living room before I finally reached up, unlocked the deadbolt, and pulled the bathroom door open. What I saw in the hallway was a scene of pure, calculated panic: Marcus was standing near the front entrance with his hands raised, playing the bewildered, concerned caregiver, while Diane was frantically trying to shove a thick manila folder into her designer leather handbag.
