Chapter 6 - The Fugitive
I sprinted blindly down the narrow maintenance corridor, the blaring code-blue alarms successfully masking the sound of my footsteps.
My chest burned fiercely as I gasped for air, still feeling the brutal, lingering pressure of Gareth's fingers on my throat.
I had managed to save Bernard from the immediate overdose, but my absolute nightmare was far from over.
Elias had betrayed me entirely, meaning my getaway car in the garage was a guaranteed trap.
I strictly bypassed the staff elevator and shoved open the heavy metal door leading to the emergency stairwell.
I took the concrete stairs two at a time, descending rapidly toward the basement level.
My mind raced desperately to formulate a completely new plan of survival.
I needed a highly secure place to decrypt the flash drive and expose Gareth's massive criminal conspiracy.
Suddenly, my burner phone buzzed violently inside my scrub pocket.
I answered it without breaking my rapid, exhausting stride.
"You actually managed to reverse the paralytic," Elias said, his voice echoing eerily over the digital line.
"How much is Gareth paying you to completely ruin my life?" I demanded breathlessly.
"More than you could ever possibly imagine, Irene," Elias replied with a dark, humorless chuckle.
"But you should know that Gareth just informed the police that you violently attacked him and fled the scene."
I pushed through the basement door and sprinted directly into the underground hospital laundry facility.
"Every single officer in Westport is currently setting up roadblocks to find you," Elias warned smugly.
I tossed the burner phone directly into a massive industrial washing machine, permanently severing their ability to track me.
I navigated quickly through the labyrinth of steaming laundry carts and exited through the rear delivery bay.
The cold night air was extremely thick with the wail of approaching police sirens.
I spotted an old, rusted pickup truck idling near the loading dock, the driver completely asleep at the wheel.
I didn't have any time to negotiate gracefully or ask for a polite favor.
I quietly opened the passenger door, slipped inside, and pressed a surgical scalpel from my medical bag gently against the driver's neck.
The older man woke up instantly with a terrified, gasping choke.
"Drive me out of this city right now, and you will absolutely not get hurt," I ordered, my voice trembling but undeniably absolute.
The terrified man threw the truck into gear and sped aggressively away from the hospital just as police cruisers completely swarmed the entrance.
I sank incredibly low into the passenger seat, my heart hammering violently against my ribs.
I was officially a wanted fugitive, hunted heavily by the police and targeted by a ruthless billionaire.
The nervous driver reached out slowly and turned up the volume on the local radio station.
The news anchor's urgent voice filled the tense, suffocating silence of the truck cabin.
"Breaking news out of Westport, where a massive manhunt is currently underway for an extremely dangerous suspect."
I closed my eyes tightly, completely bracing myself to hear my own name broadcast to the entire state.
"Police are currently searching for thirty-eight-year-old former nurse Irene Langston."
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The anchor took a sharp, dramatic breath before strictly delivering the final, devastating blow.
"She is the prime suspect in the brutal murder of her husband, Gareth Langston, whose body was just discovered in the hospital stairwell."
