Chapter 2 - THE DOOR BENEATH THE DINING ROOM|
For one second, Ethan Blackwell forgot that thirty people were watching him.
He forgot about the engagement celebration, the champagne, the expensive suits, and the woman standing behind him in a white gown. All he could hear was Claire screaming beneath the floor.
"Move!"
He shoved the Persian rug aside and seized the brass grille. It was secured with four heavy screws. He ripped one loose with his bare fingers, then reached for the second.
"Get the tools!" he ordered.
His security chief, Marcus Reed, was already moving.
Vanessa hurried toward the entrance.
"Everyone, please remain calm," she announced, forcing a smile. "This is clearly some kind of misunderstanding."
Ethan looked up.
"Lock every exit."
The command stopped her.
Two guards positioned themselves at the doors. Guests began whispering, and several reached for their phones.
"Nobody records anything," Marcus warned.
A wealthy banker protested.
"You cannot hold us here!"
Ethan barely glanced at him.
"Then try leaving."
The banker fell silent.
Lucy stood beside the table, trembling. Ethan noticed her and softened his voice for the first time that evening.
"Lucy. Come here."
She approached cautiously.
"Did you see anything else?"
"No, sir. I only heard the tapping."
"Did you hear a voice?"
She nodded.
"She whispered something before the ring came through."
"What?"
Lucy's eyes filled.
"She said, 'Don't let Vanessa see me.'"
Vanessa turned sharply.
"That is a lie!"
Ethan's expression became colder.
"Then why are you frightened?"
"I'm frightened because you're allowing a desperate woman to destroy your reputation in front of your guests."
"Your reputation?" Ethan repeated.
He looked down at the engagement ring on Vanessa's finger.
"Interesting choice of words."
Marcus returned with a heavy tool case. He removed the remaining screws and lifted the grille.
Beneath it was a narrow maintenance shaft, barely wide enough for a person to crawl through. A metal ladder descended into darkness.
Ethan took a flashlight.
"Marcus, you're coming with me."
"Sir, let me go first."
"No."
"Someone is down there."
"My wife is down there."
He climbed down.
The air grew colder with every step. The sound of the party faded, replaced by a distant mechanical hum. At the bottom, he found a narrow corridor lined with old pipes.
"Claire!"
His voice traveled through the darkness.
A faint reply came from somewhere ahead.
"Ethan?"
He ran.
Marcus followed, weapon raised.
They reached a heavy steel door. Scratches covered the lower half, and a fresh smear of blood marked the handle.
Ethan pulled it open.
The room beyond was empty.
A thin mattress lay against the wall. A plastic cup stood beside it. There were food containers, a blanket, and a small bucket.
Someone had been living there.
Someone had been imprisoned there.
But Claire was gone.
Ethan noticed a trail of blood leading toward another door.
He followed it into a second corridor. At the far end, a small ventilation panel hung loose.
Marcus crouched.
"Sir, there are footprints."
"How many?"
"At least two sets. One smaller. One larger."
Ethan touched the blood on the wall.
"Claire was injured."
A faint sound came from behind the second door.
Three knocks.
Then two.
Ethan froze.
It was the rhythm Claire used to tap against his bedroom wall when she wanted him to know she was awake.
He opened the door.
A woman lay curled behind a stack of old maintenance equipment. Her wrists were bruised, and one ankle was wrapped in a torn piece of fabric.
"Claire."
He dropped beside her.
Her eyes opened slowly.
For a moment, she looked terrified.
Then she recognized him.
"Ethan?"
He reached for her, but she flinched.
He stopped immediately.
"It's me. You're safe."
Claire tried to speak.
"Don't let them take me upstairs."
"Nobody is taking you anywhere."
"Vanessa—"
"I know."
"No." Claire grabbed his sleeve with surprising strength. "You don't understand. She isn't the one who comes down here."
A noise sounded behind them.
Marcus turned.
The corridor was empty.
Then the steel door slammed shut.
A lock clicked into place.
Ethan stood.
Someone had just sealed them inside.
And from the other side of the door came a familiar voice.
"Welcome home, Ethan."
It was his older brother.
May you like
Daniel Blackwell.
The brother who had supposedly died eight years earlier.
