𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒥𝓊𝒹𝑒,

╰┈➤ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟔

𝙰𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝟸𝟻𝚝𝚑, 𝟸𝟶𝟶𝟷

𝙰𝚝𝚕𝚊𝚜

The night was an unrelenting cascade of rain and piercing sirens, each wail slicing through the darkness like a blade. I stood alone, soaked to the bone, shivering in the deluge beside the weather-beaten door of the old woman's house. She had urged me to stay inside, to seek shelter from the storm and the chaos that had unfolded, but I couldn't leave Reuben alone.

"Over here!" I shouted, waving my arms to catch the paramedics' attention. They rushed to my side, their faces set with professional determination.

"What's the situation?" one of them asked, his voice calm but urgent.

"It's my brother," I replied, my voice breaking. "He's inside, convulsing. Please, you have to help him."

The paramedics exchanged a brief look before one of them nodded. "Show us the way," he said.

I led them back to the house, my steps quick and unsteady. As we entered, I called out, "Thomas! Bring Reuben to the living room!"

Thomas appeared almost immediately, his small frame struggling to support Reuben's limp form. The paramedics sprang into action, guiding Reuben onto a stretcher and checking his vitals.

"Is he going to be okay?" Thomas asked, his voice small and frightened.

One of the paramedics glanced up, his expression reassuring despite the gravity of the situation. "We're going to do everything we can. You did the right thing by calling for help."

As they worked, I paced nearby, my anxiety palpable. I watched as Reuben was carefully loaded into the ambulance, the paramedics continuing their efforts to stabilize him. The sirens wailed once more as the vehicle pulled away, taking Reuben to the hospital.

I stood silently, the rain continuing to pour around me. The old woman who had helped me stood by her door, her face a mask of concern. "They'll take good care of him," she said gently.

"Thank you," I replied. "Thank you for everything."

________________

The first light of dawn was a sickly grey, casting an eerie pallor on the neighbourhood. Mrs. Williamson's car, a hulking sedan, crept into the driveway, its engine a low growl that seemed to echo in the quiet morning. I watched from the doorway, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. Her face, when she emerged, was a mask of grim determination, her eyes shadowed and hard.

A hushed crowd had gathered across the street, their faces a mosaic of fear and curiosity. Their whispers, like the rustling of leaves in autumn, carried a chilling undertone. Mrs. Williamson's arrival seemed to galvanize them, their gazes following her like hungry vultures.

"Everything alright?" a neighbour, a woman with a face etched with worry, ventured. Her voice was a tentative whisper, but it carried across the silent street.

Mrs. Williamson's response was a curt, icy glare. "Mind your own business," she spat, her voice low and dangerous.

The neighbour flinched, her eyes wide with shock. A young man, his face pale, stepped forward. "We heard an ambulance," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "Is everyone okay?"

Mrs. Williamson's lips curled into a sneer. "It's none of your concern," she snapped. The air between them crackled with tension.

As she stormed up the driveway, I could feel the weight of their scrutiny pressing down on me. It was as if they were accusing me, their eyes boring into my soul. I ducked inside, the slamming of the front door echoing in my ears.