Chapter 8 - THE SEARCH IN THE DARK
Julian and Thomas were right behind me as I picked up the knitting needle.
“She went down,” I said, pointing to the stairwell that led toward the sub-basement—the hospital's old utility tunnels.
“Those tunnels connect to the city storm drains,” Thomas warned, his voice tight. “If she wanders down there, we might never find her.”
We descended the concrete stairs, the air growing colder and smelling of damp earth and old pipes.
The sub-basement was a maze of rusted machinery and flickering fluorescent lights.
“Mrs. Hanley!” I called out, my voice echoing off the brick walls.
No answer.
“We need to split up,” Julian said, pulling out his phone to use the flashlight. “Dad, stay by the stairs. Helen, take the west corridor. I'll take the east.”
I hurried down the dark hallway, shining my own small penlight into the shadows.
Every shadow looked like a person. Every dripping pipe sounded like footsteps.
“Martha!” I called gently, using her first name to keep her calm if she heard me. “It's Helen. I have your knitting needles.”
As I turned a corner, my light caught a glimmer of fabric.
It was a hospital blanket, snagged on a rusted valve wheel.
I moved faster, following the trail.
At the end of the tunnel, there was a heavy steel door that led out to the loading docks. The door was slightly ajar, cold night air rushing in.
I pushed it open and stepped out into the freezing alleyway behind the hospital.
Rain had started to fall, slicking the pavement.
Sitting on a wooden pallet, shivering uncontrollably in her thin hospital gown, was Mrs. Hanley.
I ran to her, stripping off my heavy nursing jacket and wrapping it around her frail shoulders.
“Martha, I’ve got you,” I whispered, rubbing her arms.
She looked up at me, her eyes completely clear for the first time all evening. The cold shock had temporarily broken through her confusion.
“Helen?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes, sweetie. It’s me.”
“The bad lady told me I had to leave,” she whimpered, clutching my jacket. “She said my family didn't want to pay for my room anymore.”
My heart broke. Celeste’s cruelty knew no bounds.
“That was a lie, Martha. Your family loves you. They are upstairs waiting for you right now.”
I helped her to her feet, supporting her weight against my side.
As we turned to go back inside, a dark figure blocked the alleyway entrance.
It was one of Marcus Vance's bodyguards. The men who had been stationed in the VIP rooms. He had escaped the FBI sweep and was trying to flee through the loading docks.
He saw us and pulled a knife from his coat.
“Don't make a sound, old woman,” he growled, stepping toward us. “Give me your car keys.”
I didn't have my keys. And I couldn't fight him while holding Mrs. Hanley.
But before the man could take another step, a massive metal trash can came crashing down from the loading dock above, striking the bodyguard squarely in the back.
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He collapsed to the concrete.
Standing on the dock above, breathing heavily and leaning on his cane, was Thomas Mercer.
