Chapter 2 - The Neighbor's Warning
"Mrs. Harris! It's David, Emily's father," he called out, keeping his voice low but urgent as he approached her fence line.
The elderly woman stepped closer to the edge of her patio, squinting through the dim amber glow of her porch light. Recognition softened her lined face, though her eyes remained wide with an uncharacteristic, jittery tension.
"David? Good heavens, what are you doing here in the middle of the night? It's past midnight!" she whispered, clutching her robe tighter around her throat.
"I can't reach Sarah, and Emily hasn't answered her phone in three days," David said, gesturing frantically toward the dark colonial house next door. "The front door is locked, nobody's answering, and there's a chain on their side gate. Have you seen them? Have you seen Emily?"
Mrs. Harris’s expression shifted from surprise to something deeply troubled. She glanced over her shoulder toward her quiet, dark kitchen before stepping right up to the wooden fence separating their yards.
"I haven't seen the little girl at all since Wednesday morning," Mrs. Harris said, lowering her voice to a nervous hiss. "Not once. And that's entirely unnatural. Emily used to wave at me from her bedroom window every single afternoon when I watered my hydrangeas. But lately... the curtains have stayed shut."
David gripped the wooden slats of the fence. "What about Sarah and Jason? Have they been home?"
"Jason's been here, but he's acting like a ghost," the neighbor replied, her eyes darting nervously toward the neighboring property. "And the noise... David, there have been terrible arguments coming from that house for weeks. Shouting, heavy thuds against the walls, and once or twice, I thought I heard a child crying, but it was cut off so fast it chilled my blood."
David felt the blood drain from his face. "Arguments? Sarah and Jason?"
"Sometimes Sarah, yes. But mostly Jason's voice, booming and angry," Mrs. Harris said, gripping the top of the fence. "And then, about a month ago, Jason hired contractors to build those tall privacy panels along the back property line. They block the view completely. You can't see anything from the street or from my yard anymore. It's like they built a fortress."
"A fortress," David repeated, the word tasting like ash in his mouth.
"That's not even the worst of it," Mrs. Harris whispered, leaning closer, her voice trembling. "Last night, around two in the morning, I couldn't sleep because of the wind. I looked out my second-story window into their backyard. Jason was out there in the dark, wearing a heavy raincoat."
David’s breath hitched. "What was he doing?"
"He was carrying several large, heavy black trash bags," Mrs. Harris said, her eyes wide with fear. "One by one, he dragged them across the patio and threw them straight into their backyard swimming pool. He didn't care that they sank. He just stood there staring at the water for a long time before he walked back inside."
A heavy, sickening weight dropped into the pit of David’s stomach. A swimming pool in late autumn. Heavy black bags. A missing child who hadn't spoken in three days.
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"Thank you, Mrs. Harris," David said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, steely register. "Stay inside. Lock your doors."
Before the elderly woman could offer another warning, David placed his hands on the top of the dividing fence, swung his legs over with athletic desperation, and dropped heavily into the damp, overgrown grass of Sarah’s backyard.
