Chapter 4 - THE DESPERATE ESCAPEIn the sudden darkness, chaos exploded.
Detective Miller, using the split-second distraction, lunged forward from the floor and swept Victor’s legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard, the gun clattering out of his grip and sliding under my hospital bed.
"Run, Violet! Get out!" Detective Miller shouted, wrestling with Victor in the shadows.
I didn't hesitate. I threw off the heavy hospital blankets, ripped the IV line straight out of my arm, and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The sharp pain in my fractured cheek and bruised ribs tore through me, but adrenaline flushed the agony out of my system.
I dropped to my knees, felt blindly under the bed, grabbed the heavy iron frame, and hauled myself up. I didn't grab the gun; I grabbed the laptop with the hard drive still plugged into the USB port.
"Give me that!" Linda screamed, lunging at me like a feral animal in the dark. She grabbed my hair, yanking my head back.
"Get off me!" I yelled. I turned and drove my elbow directly into her nose.
A sickening CRACK echoed in the small room. Linda let out a shrill scream, falling back and clutching her face as blood gushed between her fingers.
I stumbled out of Emergency Room Four into the main hallway.
The hospital was in complete panic. Red emergency lights were flashing, and the intercom system was blaring an automated warning: “Code Silver. Emergency Department. Seek shelter immediately.” Medical staff and patients were screaming, running for the exits, or barricading themselves inside patient rooms.
I hugged the laptop tightly against my chest and ran toward the double doors marked Emergency Exit - West Wing.
Behind me, I heard a heavy door slam open, followed by the sound of furious, heavy footsteps.
"VIOLET!" Victor’s voice roared down the corridor. He had overpowered Detective Miller. He was bleeding from a cut on his head, his gun back in his hand, advancing like a relentless nightmare. "YOU CAN'T RUN FROM ME!"
I shoved through the heavy crash-doors of the emergency exit and spiraled down the concrete stairwell. My heart was pounding like a jackhammer in my throat. I could feel my body giving out; the blood loss from my earlier head wound was making my vision swim with dark spots.
I burst through the ground-floor exit into the freezing night air of the hospital parking lot.
It was pouring rain. Thunder rumbled ominously in the distance, illuminating the rows of parked cars in sharp, flickering flashes of lightning.
I sprinted toward the far end of the lot, looking for anywhere to hide. But my strength was rapidly fading. My knees buckled, and I fell hard onto the wet asphalt, skidding against the tire of a parked SUV.
The laptop slipped from my grip, sliding under the car.
I tried to stand, but my legs were like lead.
Slowly, deliberately, the sound of heavy boots sloshing through puddles approached my position.
Victor rounded the edge of the SUV. He was drenched, his wet hair plastered to his forehead, his face twisted into an expression of pure, unadulterated malice.
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He pointed the gun down at me.
"End of the line, brat," he panted, his breath coming in hot, visible plumes in the cold air. "No more games. No more recordings. Just you, me, and a bullet."
