Chapter 5 - THE BRACELET
The harsh scent of gasoline seeped through the gap under the door, suffocating and sharp. Panic, cold and paralyzing, gripped my chest.
Through the reinforced glass, Tommy Marlow smiled. It wasn’t the manic grin of a villain in a movie; it was the calm, practiced smile of a businessman closing a deal. He tossed the empty red canister aside and pulled a silver lighter from his pocket.
“I told June she was too soft for this world,” Tommy’s muffled voice came through the thick door. “She came running upstairs, crying about you and the kid. I appreciate you finding the brat for me, Sarah. Really saves me the trouble of tearing the house apart.”
“Tommy, stop!” I screamed, slamming my fists against the heavy steel door. “You’re going to burn the whole estate down!”
“That’s the idea,” he replied casually, flicking the lighter. A small, bright flame danced in the dim hallway. “An electrical fire. Tragic. The great Malcolm Rook, too sick to escape, burns to death in his basement along with his loyal maid. The police will find my gold watch upstairs—a sign that I bravely tried to save him before being forced back by the flames. It’s poetic, really.”
He lowered the lighter toward the gasoline-soaked carpet.
“Wait!” I yelled, desperate to buy even a second of time. I unclipped the cheap gold charm bracelet from my apron pocket—the one I had slipped off June’s wrist when she dropped the gun. I held it up to the glass. “June didn’t just run! She went to the police! She’s turning on you!”
Tommy paused, the flame hovering inches from the fuel. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the bribe he had given the young maid.
“She doesn’t have the guts,” Tommy sneered.
“She has a conscience! And she has your money trail!” I lied, my voice shaking but loud. “She told me everything. If you start this fire, the cops will know it was arson before the fire trucks even arrive!”
For a fleeting second, doubt flickered across Tommy’s face. He stood up slowly, extinguishing the lighter.
“I’ll deal with June,” he said coldly. “Enjoy the quiet, Sarah. I’m going to go have a little chat with the boy. When I’m done with him, I’ll come back and finish what I started here.”
He turned and strode away, disappearing down the corridor toward the servant’s quarters where Malcolm and Leo were hiding.
“No!” I screamed, throwing my full weight against the door. It didn’t budge an inch. The medical room was built like a bunker to protect Malcolm’s illegal drug supplies. The walls were cinderblock. The only window was the tiny square of reinforced glass in the door.
I spun around, scanning the room frantically. Cabinets, a rolling metal cart, medical supplies, an oxygen tank.
The oxygen tank.
It was heavy, made of solid steel, and stood nearly three feet tall. I grabbed the cold metal cylinder by the neck, tipping it backward. It weighed almost as much as I did.
I dragged it across the linoleum floor, my muscles burning with the effort. When I reached the door, I took a deep breath, stepped back, and swung the bottom of the heavy tank directly into the reinforced glass window.
CRACK.
A web of spiderweb fractures bloomed across the glass. It didn't break.
I screamed in frustration, hoisted the tank again, and slammed it into the center of the fractures with every ounce of strength I possessed.
The glass shattered inward, raining sharp shards onto the hallway floor.
The hole was small, barely wide enough for my shoulders. I didn’t care. I shoved the auto-injector into my pocket, climbed onto the rolling metal cart, and forced myself through the broken window. Jagged edges of glass sliced through my uniform, tearing the skin on my arms and ribs. I bit back a scream as I tumbled through, landing hard on the gasoline-soaked carpet.
I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the blood running down my arm. I sprinted down the hallway toward the servant’s quarters.
I burst through the door.
The room was empty.
Malcolm was gone. Leo was gone. The only thing left behind was a smear of dark blood on the concrete where Malcolm had been sitting.
“No, no, no,” I chanted, dropping to my knees. I had failed. Tommy had gotten to them.
Then, a faint, rhythmic sound caught my attention. It was coming from the floor vent in the corner of the room. A slow, scraping noise.
I ran to the heavy iron grate and pulled it open. Beneath it was a steep, narrow stone chute that led even deeper beneath the mansion. It was one of the old Prohibition-era smuggling tunnels Mrs. Birch had mentioned once in passing.
I slid into the chute, tumbling down into pitch blackness until I hit a dirt floor.
“Hold it right there,” a weak, gravelly voice echoed in the dark.
I heard the heavy, unmistakable click of a revolver hammer being pulled back.
“Mr. Rook!” I cried out. “It’s me! It’s Sarah!”
A flashlight clicked on, blinding me for a second. When my eyes adjusted, I saw Malcolm sitting against a dirt wall, aiming a massive silver revolver squarely at my face. Beside him, little Leo was clinging to his grandfather’s leg.
Malcolm lowered the gun, his hand shaking uncontrollably. “You made it.”
“Tommy locked me in,” I said, crawling over to him and pulling the auto-injector from my pocket. “He’s coming for us. He wants to burn the house down.”
I ripped the cap off the syringe. “I don’t know how to do this!”
“Just jam it… into my thigh,” Malcolm wheezed. “Press the button.”
I didn't hesitate. I drove the needle through his trousers and pressed the trigger. The device hissed, injecting the blue liquid directly into his muscle.
Malcolm let out a sharp, agonizing roar, his entire body going rigid. For three terrifying seconds, I thought the medicine had killed him.
Then, he exhaled a massive, shuddering breath. The gray pallor began to recede from his face. His eyes cleared slightly.
“Good girl,” he grunted, using the dirt wall to push himself up. The antidote was working, but he was still terrifyingly weak.
“We have to get out of here,” I said, taking Leo’s small hand.
“This tunnel leads out to the cliffs past the estate walls,” Malcolm said, his voice steadier now. “We keep moving.”
We started down the dark, damp tunnel. But we hadn't made it fifty yards when a new, terrifying sound echoed through the underground passageway.
It wasn't footsteps.
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It was the frantic, aggressive barking of dogs.
Tommy hadn’t just come down to find us. He had brought the estate’s Dobermans. And they had caught our scent.
