Chapter 1 - The Echo of the ScreamThe silence on the other end of the line was not the silence of an empty room; it was the silence of a held breath. My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that matched the ticking of the clock on the wall. Jake and I stood paralyzed in the kitchen of Bennett’s Pizza, the smell of cooling dough and oregano suddenly sickening.
"Evan?" I whispered, my voice thick with dread. "Evan, can you hear me?"
Nothing. Only the faint, ambient hiss of the connection.
"Jake, did they get there?" I demanded, turning toward the back room.
"The dispatcher said they’re at the perimeter," Jake replied, his face drained of all color. "They didn't hear a scream. They’re checking the perimeter now."
I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. My brain, trained for years in the high-stakes world of emergency dispatch, was running through every possible scenario. Someone had screamed—it wasn't just a trick of the line. Mrs. Price, a woman of seventy-six, was in that house, and so was a small boy caught in the middle of a transaction he didn't understand.
A sudden, jarring sound erupted from the receiver: the distinct, metallic thunk of a heavy door locking, followed by the muffled shouting of a man—not a police officer, but the man from the house.
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"Get away from the door!" he roared.
Then, the line died.
