Chapter 9 - The Flashlight Beam
The harsh white beam of the security flashlight swept across the checkered floor, illuminating the glittering shards of glass and the undeniable artificial puddle of stage blood near Elena’s feet. A towering figure in a full private security uniform marched down the hall, his hand resting firmly on the radio clipped to his tactical vest as he took in the chaotic scene.
“What in the world is going on here? Officer Vance, explain yourself!” the guard demanded, his voice ringing with authority as he trained his heavy flashlight directly onto the detective’s drawn weapon.
Vance quickly holstered his pistol, his face flushing in the harsh white light as he flashed his brass detective shield with practiced ease. “False alarm, Miller. Domestic dispute, completely under control. Move along.”
Clara squeezed her body through the narrow gap in the elevator doors, her ruined red dress catching on a protruding metal bolt with a sharp rip. She ignored the tearing fabric, pressing herself flat against the interior wall of the lift shaft as Miller frowned at the detective’s evasive answer.
“That doesn’t look like a domestic dispute, Vance. That looks like a staged crime scene,” Miller said, stepping closer and shining his light directly onto Elena’s uninjured shoulder, highlighting the dried theatrical paste.
Elena let out a sharp, gasping sound, throwing her hands over her face as the glaring truth of their deception was laid bare under the unblinking white light of the honest guard’s flashlight.
“He’s lying, Miller! They framed me for corporate embezzlement and tried to kill me!” Clara yelled from inside the dark elevator shaft, her voice echoing down the metallic drop.
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Miller’s hand instantly left his radio and dropped to his tactical baton, his eyes darting between Vance and the open elevator doors with sudden, grim realization.
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