Chapter 4 - The Girl in the Basement
The heavy wrought-iron gates of St. Jude’s were unlocked, hanging loosely on rusty hinges. Adrian killed the car’s headlights and coasted the final hundred yards, parking under the thick canopy of pine trees to avoid detection.
Armed with only a heavy flash light and his fury, Adrian crept up the decaying concrete steps of the main entrance. The heavy wooden double doors were ajar.
Inside, the grand foyer was a cavernous tomb of rotting drywall and shattered plaster. Rain dripped rhythmically through holes in the roof, echoing in the darkness.
“Claire!” Adrian called out in a sharp whisper, his flashlight beam cutting through the thick layer of dust hovering in the air.
No answer came. Only the soft whistle of the wind blowing through smashed window frames.
Adrian moved quickly through the ground floor corridors, checking room after room. Empty iron bed frames, overturned medical carts, rusted IV stands—nothing else.
Then, he heard it.
A faint, metallic scraping sound coming from beneath the floorboards.
He searched frantically until he found a heavy steel security door set into the wall near the back service staircase. Unlike the rest of the abandoned facility, this door was brand new, equipped with a digital keypad and an industrial magnetic lock.
Fresh tire tracks and mud-caked boot prints led straight to it.
Adrian took a deep breath. Remembering the ruined lock from his estate, he didn't waste time looking for a keycard. He examined the door frame and noticed a thick black power cable running along the ceiling into a nearby breaker box.
He whipped out his heavy pocketknife, wrapped his hands in his thick leather jacket for insulation, and jammed the blade straight into the main breaker switch.
SPARK!
A brilliant blinding flash illuminated the hallway, accompanied by a loud pop. The electronic lock on the steel door clicked open as the power died.
Adrian yanked the heavy door open, revealing a steep flight of stone stairs descending into darkness. The air down here was freezing, carrying the stench of damp earth and antiseptics.
He ran down the steps, his flashlight beam bouncing violently against the subterranean walls. The basement opened into a network of old brick cellars that pre-dated the sanatorium itself.
In the center of the largest chamber, illuminated by a portable battery-powered halogen lamp, was a makeshift operating theater.
Bound to a gurney by thick leather straps was a woman. Her hair was matted, her face pale, and her arms wrapped in clean white bandages over fresh wounds.
“Claire!” Adrian screamed, sprinting across the floor.
The woman’s eyes fluttered open slowly. She was heavily sedated, her blue eyes glossy and unfocused.
“A... Adrian?” she rasped, her voice barely a whisper.
“I’m here, baby! I’m here!” Adrian cried, his hands trembling as he fumbled with the complex iron buckles binding her wrists. “I’m taking you home!”
“Adrian... behind you!” she suddenly gasped, her eyes widening in sheer panic.
Before Adrian could turn, a heavy glass bottle shattered across the side of his head.
BANG.
Pain exploded in Adrian’s skull. A blinding wave of white light blurred his vision as he collapsed onto the cold concrete floor, his flashlight rolling away into the shadows.
Above him stood Dr. Malcolm Reed, his face twisted in a cold, sadistic sneer, holding the jagged neck of a broken IV bottle. Behind him, emerging from the darkness with a heavy brass revolver held in his hand, was Julian Vance.
Adrian groaned, pressing a hand to his bleeding head as he looked up in shock at his best friend.
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“Julian...?” Adrian gasped, blood dripping down his cheek. “Why...?”
“I’m sorry, Adrian,” Julian said, his voice completely devoid of emotion as he aimed the gun directly at Adrian’s chest. “You were always too good, too trusting. You never realized that in our world... family and friendship are just business assets waiting to be liquidated.”
