Chapter 2 - The Voice in the Dark
I dropped the phone on the grass and instinctively threw my body over the stroller to shield the baby.
The heavy tires of the SUV screeched against the asphalt as the vehicle suddenly reversed and sped away down the street.
I did not wait to see if they were coming back.
I scooped up the baby, blanket and all, and sprinted toward my front door with tears streaming down my face.
Once inside, I slammed the heavy wooden door shut and threw the deadbolt, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I leaned against the wood, gasping for air while clutching the infant tightly to my chest.
He felt so incredibly real, radiating warmth and smelling faintly of baby powder and lavender.
I carried him into the living room and laid him gently on the sofa to inspect him further.
He looked exactly like the photos I had taken of Noah in the hospital before everything went wrong.
I needed to understand where he came from and who had left those dozens of strollers on my lawn.
Leaving the baby on the couch, I cautiously peeked through the living room blinds.
The street was empty, but the rows of strollers remained parked on my grass like a silent, haunting army.
I ran back outside, rushing to the nearest stroller and tearing open the sealed box inside it.
There was no baby in this one.
Instead, the box was filled to the brim with thick medical files, encrypted flash drives, and stacks of cash.
I grabbed an armful of the folders and rushed back inside, locking the door behind me again.
I threw the files onto the kitchen table and flipped open the top folder, scanning the pages frantically.
It was a confidential hospital transfer log from the night Noah supposedly passed away.
My eyes landed on a signature at the bottom of the page, authorizing a covert transport of a live infant.
The signature belonged to Dr. Evans, the same doctor who had pronounced my son dead.
Suddenly, a loud, heavy pounding echoed from my front door, shaking the entire house.
I froze in terror as the pounding grew louder and more frantic.
I slowly backed away toward the kitchen counter, my hand reaching blindly for the largest knife on the block.
The handle of the front door began to jiggle violently.
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A voice screamed from the porch, sending a fresh wave of ice through my veins.
"Sarah, open the door, they are going to kill us!"
