Chapter 4 - The Blackout
I refused to go back to the house.
The police set us up in a secure hotel downtown, registered under a fake name. Detective Ramirez promised there would be a squad car parked in the underground garage at all times.
For three days, Emma and I stayed locked in that room. We watched cartoons, ate room service, and I held her tightly every time she woke up crying from nightmares about the water.
On the fourth night, a massive thunderstorm rolled over the city. The rain lashed against the hotel windows like handfuls of gravel.
At 11:15 PM, the power in the hotel went out.
The television died. The lamps snapped off. The room was plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.
I froze, sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s just a storm, I told myself. A blown transformer.
Then, my cell phone vibrated on the nightstand.
I picked it up. It was a text message from an unknown number.
Room 412. I always loved how predictable you are.
My heart stopped.
I scrambled off the bed and ran to the window, peering down into the parking garage across the street. The police cruiser was still there, but the officers were slumped over in the front seats, motionless.
He was here.
"Emma," I whispered frantically, shaking her awake. "Baby, wake up. Don't make a sound. We have to play a hiding game."
Emma rubbed her eyes, sensing the sheer terror in my voice. She nodded silently, grabbing her bear. I pulled her off the bed and guided her into the suite's heavy oak wardrobe, pushing her behind my winter coats.
"Do not come out until I say so," I whispered, kissing her forehead. I closed the wardrobe doors just as I heard the distinct click of the electronic keycard reader on our hotel room door.
He had bypassed the security system.
The door creaked open. Lightning flashed outside, illuminating David’s silhouette in the doorway. He was soaking wet, holding a heavy metal flashlight in one hand and a syringe in the other.
"Honey, I'm home," David whispered into the dark room.
May you like
I pressed myself against the wall next to the bathroom door, holding the only weapon I could find—the heavy, solid brass base of the hotel room’s desk lamp.
"You shouldn't have called the cops," David said, his footsteps completely silent on the carpet as he stalked further into the room. "The buyers are very upset. They want their data. They want their test subject. And they want you gone."
