Chapter 7 - The Hospital TrapEthan didn't call Eleanor. Instead, driven by a desperate, suicidal fury, he sprinted through the automatic sliding doors of the hospital, ignoring the blood dripping from a cut on his forehead.
He bypassed the front desk, taking the stairs two at a time to reach the fourth floor. The corridor of the surgical wing was eerily quiet. Too quiet.
The security guard stationed outside Room 404 was slumped forward in his chair, fast asleep—or worse. Ethan crept forward, pulling a heavy metal wrench he had grabbed from his car out of his jacket pocket.
He slowly pushed open the door to Room 404.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the rhythmic, pale green glow of the heart monitor.
Beep... beep... beep...
Claire lay in the center of the bed, her face pale as porcelain, hooked up to an intravenous drip. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow but steady.
Ethan exhaled a shaky breath of relief, stepping toward the bed. "Claire..." he whispered.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Mr. Vance."
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Ethan froze. A soft click echoed from the corner of the room. A nurse stepped out from the shadows near the bathroom door, sliding a surgical mask down her face. But her hands weren't holding a syringe of medicine. They were holding a silenced pistol, pointed squarely at his chest.
"Dr. Thorne sends his regards," the fake nurse smiled coldly. "And he said to tell you that family reunions are always such a killer."
