Chapter 4 - The Ambulance at the Back Gate
Marcus didn't shout when he saw the open basement door. That was the worst part. He looked down the stairs, found Elena standing three steps above Dominic, and spoke with the patient disappointment of a man noticing a stain on a newly cleaned wall.
"I told you to leave," he said.
Elena had been afraid of him for two days. The fear remained, but something more solid had joined it. She had a recording on her phone, a photograph of the property schedule, a witness in Celia, and an ambulance coming. She also had a seven-year-old child waiting for bread in a yellow bag. She would not give Marcus the satisfaction of watching her forget any of that.
"He's alive," she said. "You know that. Help is on its way."
Marcus's gaze slid to Celia. "You gave her the keys."
"I saw the condition he's in," Celia answered.
"And you decided to become a doctor?"
"I decided to open a door."
Marcus took the first step downward. Elena raised her phone where he could see the active call screen. She had called the emergency dispatcher back and had not ended the line. "We're in the basement. His name is Dominic Crane. The man who threatened us has arrived."
"Ma'am, stay on the line," the dispatcher said. "Officers are almost there."
Marcus stopped. His face did not change, but his fingers flexed once at his side. "You think an operator protects you?"
"No," Elena said. "I think witnesses matter."
A second set of footsteps approached from the kitchen. The younger man who had been asking about the inspection stood behind Marcus. He wore a leather jacket and held what looked like a thick document envelope. He stopped when he saw the phone.
"Police," Marcus said. "Of course. My brother stages a spectacle and makes me look guilty. That's his gift."
From below, Dominic made a rough sound that might have been laughter. "You were always better at the speeches."
Marcus glanced at him. Something like old grief moved across his features and vanished. "You should've stayed gone."
Elena heard the first knock at the front door. Then another, louder. A responder called out that emergency services were on scene. Celia hurried to meet them. Marcus didn't try to stop her. With the dispatcher listening, his options had narrowed in ways he wasn't used to tolerating.
A police officer and two paramedics came down the stairs. Elena backed against the wall, suddenly aware of the trembling in her thighs. The paramedics took over and assessed Dominic, bringing a stretcher with a second team. Their questions were efficient and direct. Elena told them when she had found him, what she had observed, and what she had used in her attempt to keep him alive. She was truthful about the limitations of her care. She did not claim the fever had been cured or the wound made safe.
The officer, a woman named Detective June Alvarez, looked from Dominic's injuries to the chain bolted into the stone. "Are either of you willing to make a statement?"
"Yes," Elena said.
"Yes," Celia echoed, her voice thinner.
Marcus said, "My attorney will explain everything."
"Then we'll hear from your attorney," Alvarez replied. She separated the parties, asked Marcus to remain in the kitchen with another officer, and directed a colleague to document the cellar before anything was moved unnecessarily. She did not let Dominic's wealth change her questions. Elena noticed that and felt her breath come a little easier.
When the paramedics wheeled Dominic toward the rear exit, he caught sight of Elena. "Noah," he said.
Elena froze. "How do you know his name?"
"You said it downstairs." He struggled for air. "Go home to him. Don't come after me unless you want to."
It was the first instruction from a Crane she could obey without feeling diminished.
At the back gate, a camera crew had already gathered beyond the police tape. Someone had tipped off the local news before the ambulance arrived. Elena kept her face lowered. Alvarez found a plain coat from a responder's kit and helped her put it over the bloodstained cardigan.
"Marcus threatened my son's school," Elena said. "He knew where I lived."
"We'll document that. Do you have somewhere you can stay where he can't reach you easily?"
"Mrs. Patterson's next door. It's all I have."
"Then let's talk about immediate safety before you leave." Alvarez did not promise a magical wall of police protection. She helped Elena make a report, provided a direct contact number, and arranged for a patrol to accompany her home that evening. Elena asked for a copy of her statement and the property folder. Alvarez photographed both and gave her a receipt for the evidence.
In the hospital waiting room later, Dr. Mae Ortiz found Elena sitting with her elbows on her knees. Elena had insisted on following the ambulance in a separate car only far enough to know Dominic had made it into medical care. She still needed to collect Noah.
"He'll be admitted," Ortiz told her. "The injuries and infection are serious, but he's being treated. We're watching him closely."
"Did you know where he was?"
Ortiz's silence was answer enough. She sat down. "Three weeks ago, someone brought me a falsified hospital discharge bearing my signature. I reported it. I didn't know if he'd escaped or been killed. I've spent every day since trying to prove I didn't sign it."
Elena showed her the photograph of the sale schedule. Ortiz took one look at the list and shook her head. "Harbor House. That's the building Marcus wants vacant. The one with the families."
Elena thought of the cracked tiles in her own hallway and Noah's drawings taped to the refrigerator. "Why would selling a building require my son to be afraid?"
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"It shouldn't," Ortiz said. "But someone has been paying people to make it look uninhabitable."
Elena's phone lit up. Mrs. Patterson had sent a photograph of Noah holding two slices of bread beside an enormous lopsided sandwich. Under it was a second message: A man came to our door and asked if you had a boy. I told him he had the wrong apartment. Elena, please call me.
