Chapter 4: The Watchers
The paranoia was infectious. By the fourth day, David found himself peering through the slats of the blinds, watching the street. It started subtly. A black sedan with heavily tinted windows idled at the corner of their block for three hours. When David stepped out onto the porch to write down the license plate, the car slowly rolled away, turning the corner without signaling.
Then came the static. Every time David picked up his cell phone, a faint, rhythmic clicking echoed on the line.
Leo was acting out, absorbing the suffocating atmosphere of the house. He stopped speaking, communicating only through violent, jagged crayon drawings. David found one on the kitchen table: a picture of their house surrounded by tall, faceless men in black suits, with red scribbles over the windows.
May you like
"We can't stay here," David told Mary that evening. "You're right. They know."
"They've known since the moment you spoke my name on the street," Mary replied, staring into the cold fireplace. "We are already dead, David. We’re just waiting for the bodies to catch up."
