Chapter 8 - The Total Blackout
The sudden pitch darkness was absolute, broken only by the frantic, pulsing crimson strobe of the security camera overhead casting long, distorted shadows across the checkered floor. Clara lunged forward in the gloom, her hands finding the heavy brass edge of the elevator doors and pulling with all her might to widen the narrow gap. A loud metallic screech echoed through the shaft as the doors resisted her strength, stuck firmly in their automated tracks.
“Light’s out, Clara. Give it up,” Vance’s gruff voice boomed from the darkness just inches away, accompanied by the distinct scrape of shoe leather on marble.
Clara didn’t answer. She braced her foot against the elevator frame and heaved with a desperate surge of adrenaline, her muscles straining until her vision blurred at the edges. With a sudden, explosive pop, the internal locking mechanism gave way, and the heavy doors slid open another crucial six inches, revealing the dark, cavernous interior of the maintenance lift above.
“Over here! I heard a noise!” a booming voice echoed from the distant main lobby at the far end of the East Wing, cutting through the silence like a beacon of hope.
Marcus cursed loudly in the dark, the sound of his hurried footsteps scrambling toward the emergency exit indicating that their carefully orchestrated frame-job was suddenly falling apart under the weight of an unexpected patrol.
“Vance, grab her!” Marcus yelled back over his shoulder as a bright beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness, sweeping wildly down the corridor toward them.
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The bright beam of light caught Elena standing awkwardly over the puddle of fake blood, her golden gown glittering frantically as she realized the game was up.
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