Chapter 6 - The Darkness
The heavy darkness inside the maintenance shaft felt like a physical weight pressing against my chest.
There was barely enough room for the two of us to stand side-by-side.
Vincent reached out, his hand blindly finding the thick, grease-covered elevator cable in the center of the shaft.
He told me we had to climb down the cable for twenty floors to reach the hidden service garage.
I grabbed the rough steel cable, my hands slipping slightly from my own nervous sweat.
Vincent went first, climbing downward to guide my feet in the pitch-black void.
We descended slowly, the terrifying silence broken only by our ragged breathing and the distant echoes of gunfire above.
About five floors down, I heard Vincent gasp sharply in agonizing pain.
The intense physical exertion had torn open the fresh stitches in his shoulder.
I could hear the sickening sound of blood dripping steadily onto the metal grating far below us.
Vincent suddenly stopped moving, freezing completely in the suffocating darkness.
I whispered his name, asking if he needed to rest for a minute.
He didn't answer me.
His breathing escalated into rapid, shallow hyperventilation.
I realized the tight, enclosed space and the absolute darkness were triggering his severe PTSD.
He was flashing back to the night Isabella locked him in the basement to burn alive.
His massive hands began to slip from the heavy steel cable.
He muttered frantically that he couldn't breathe and that the smoke was suffocating him.
I knew that if he let go, he would fall fifteen stories to a gruesome death.
I slid down the cable until my boots met his broad shoulders, then carefully wrapped my legs around his waist.
I let go of the cable with one hand and wrapped my arm tightly across his chest, pressing my body firmly against his back.
I ordered him to focus on the steady, rhythmic beating of my heart pressed against his spine.
I whispered that there was no fire, there was no smoke, and I was right here holding him.
He shuddered violently, fighting a decade of agonizing psychological trauma in the dark.
Slowly, his breathing began to match the calm, steady pace of my own.
His grip on the cable tightened again, his immense strength finally returning.
He whispered a soft, raw thank you before continuing the dangerous descent.
We finally reached the bottom of the shaft, dropping onto the concrete floor of the hidden service garage.
Vincent kicked open the access panel, leading us out into the dimly lit, cavernous parking structure.
We ran toward a sleek, black getaway car parked in the shadows near the exit.
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But as we approached the vehicle, the headlights suddenly clicked on, blinding us completely.
Standing in front of the car, holding a gun to the getaway driver's head, was Matteo.
