Chapter 6 - The Dark Room
The beam of the tactical flashlight flooded the small, windowless concrete enclosure.
It was brutally cramped—no more than five feet wide and eight feet long. There was no bed, no chair, only a pile of soiled blankets huddled in the far corner.
And in the center of the room, lying half-curled on the cold floor, was a figure dressed in a torn, dirt-stained white blouse and dark trousers. Her long brown hair was matted with sweat and dried blood across her forehead. Her wrists were raw, purple, and swollen where heavy zip-ties had been used to bind her hands behind her back.
"Lauren," Ethan choked out, crawling frantically across the threshold.
He didn't care about the dust, the dirt, or the danger. He scooped her frail, shivering body into his arms, pulling her head up against his chest. Her skin was ice-cold, and her breathing was agonizingly shallow, rattling with every intake of air.
"Ethan..." she whispered, her eyelids fluttering open with immense effort. Her amber eyes met his through a haze of extreme exhaustion and dehydration. "You... you came."
"I'm so sorry," Ethan wept, pressing his face into her hair, kissing her forehead over and over again, ignoring the blood that smeared onto his lips. "I'm so sorry, Lauren. I didn't know. I swear to God, I didn't know."
"Claire..." Lauren managed to cough, a spasm of pain crossing her face as she clutched her side. "She... she didn't want you... she wanted the house... she wanted..."
"Don't talk. Save your strength," Marcus commanded, pressing his radio to his mouth. "Medic! Medic team down to the basement immediately! We have a severe trauma victim, hypothermia, dehydration, and internal injuries! Move, move, move!"
Within seconds, the basement was flooded with emergency personnel, oxygen tanks, medical bags, and bright portable lights. Paramedics rushed in with a backboard, gently prying Lauren from Ethan’s arms to secure her neck and administer IV fluids.
Ethan stood up slowly, his legs shaking so badly he had to lean against the concrete wall for support.
May you like
He looked down at the floor where Lauren had been lying.
There, half-hidden beneath a torn blanket, was a heavy silver candlestick stained with dark, dried blood—the weapon Claire had used to ambush her sister three days ago before locking her away to rot in her own home.
