Chapter 2: The Siren's Wail
The living room floor felt colder than the hallway. I laid Eva gently on her side on the thick woven rug, making sure her head was protected. My hands were shaking so violently I could barely keep them steady against her small shoulders. Her body was still rigid, locked in the terrifying grip of the seizure.
Behind me, Jack was screaming into his phone. His voice was a frantic, broken mess, echoing off the high ceiling of our old house. "She’s eight! She’s eight years old! She’s foaming at the mouth and her legs are completely stiff! Please, god, send someone right now!"
"Keep her airway clear, Clara," I muttered to myself, repeating the old training phrases like a mantra to keep from losing my mind. "Keep her on her side. Don't let her choke."
Eva’s eyelids fluttered, but there was no light behind them, just the pale whites of her eyes rolling back toward her skull. A terrible, hollow whimper escaped her lips, mixed with the white foam that continued to bubble at the corner of her mouth. Every instinct in my body wanted to lift her up and run, to carry her away from the darkness of this house, but I knew moving her now could make it worse.
"Stay with me, baby," I whispered, my face inches from hers. My tears fell onto her damp cheek, blending with the cold sweat that covered her skin. "Mama’s right here. I’ve got you. Just breathe. Please, just breathe."
Marlene stood in the archway of the living room, her hands tucked neatly into the pockets of her heavy satin robe. She looked down at us with a cold, analytical detachment that made my blood boil. There was no panic in her eyes, no rushing blood, no maternal instinct kicking into gear.
"If you keep hovering over her like that, you're only going to make her hyperventilate," Marlene said, her voice smooth and entirely devoid of emotion. "Children can induce these types of fits when they are caught in a lie. I read about it. It’s a classic behavioral manifestation of guilt."
I looked up at her, and for a split second, I wanted to hurt her. The sheer malice masquerading as intellectual observation was blinding. "Shut up," I breathed, my voice vibrating with a primal rage. "Shut your mouth, Marlene."
Jack slammed his phone down on the coffee table, his face completely pale. "They’re on their way. Three minutes. They said the ambulance is already in the neighborhood." He dropped to his knees on the other side of Eva, his large hands hovering over her trembling torso, terrified to touch her, terrified not to. "Eva, honey? Can you hear Daddy? Look at me, sweetie."
The sound of the distant siren began as a faint, metallic whine against the heavy silence of the night. It grew louder, a rising wail that sliced through the dark country roads surrounding our property. It was the most beautiful and terrifying sound I had ever heard. It meant help was coming, but it also confirmed that our lives had officially fractured.
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As the red and blue emergency lights began to flash through our front windows, painting the living room walls in rhythmic strokes of colored light, I glanced back at Marlene. She hadn't moved an inch, but her fingers were now tightly gripping the silk fabric of her robe. Her gaze wasn't fixed on the dying child on the floor.
She was staring intently at the front door, her jaw locked tight. It was the look of a strategist realizing her board was about to be overturned.
