Chapter 9: The Hospital Dash
The wood groaned under Julian’s weight, but the smart-lock mechanisms held firm, reinforced by heavy steel deadbolts. Realizing he was wasting precious energy, Julian pulled back, panting heavily as he scanned the foyer for an alternative exit. His eyes landed on the tall, arched stained-glass windows overlooking the side garden. Without a second thought, he grabbed a heavy cast-iron umbrella stand from the corner and hurled it directly at the lower pane of glass.
The window shattered with a deafening explosion of colorful shards, showering the flower beds outside.
Before the impostor could cross the room to stop him, Julian scrambled through the jagged opening, cutting his hands on the sharp edges of the glass as he tumbled out onto the damp grass of the lawn. Pain flared across his palms, but he ignored it completely, scrambling to his feet and sprinting toward his car parked in the driveway. The keys were still in the ignition, left dangling from his hurried arrival earlier.
He threw himself into the driver's seat, slammed the door, and fired the engine with a vicious twist of the key. The tires spun wildly on the gravel before catching traction, spraying dirt and stones across the lawn as he tore down the driveway, leaving the grand estate behind in a cloud of exhaust.
The drive back to the county hospital felt like an eternity. Every red light blurred past in a smear of neon, his foot pressed hard against the accelerator as the engine screamed under the strain. His hands, smeared with blood from the broken glass, gripped the steering wheel so tightly his fingers throbbed. He kept repeating a single mantra in his head: Please let her be safe. Please let her be safe.
When the monolithic concrete structure of the hospital finally loomed into view, Julian didn't bother parking in the designated visitor lot. He slammed his car into park right in front of the emergency entrance doors, leaving the driver's side door wide open as he sprinted into the brightly lit foyer.
The chaotic scene from earlier had settled, replaced by an eerie, subdued quiet. The night shift nurses were stationed behind the front desk, speaking in low murmurs. Julian didn't stop to explain himself; he bolted down the familiar linoleum corridor toward Treatment Room Four, his boots slapping rhythmically against the floor.
He reached the door of the treatment room, breathless and trembling, his hand reaching out to push it open.
The door swung inward easily, too easily.
The room was pitch black. The goose-neck lamp near the bed had been knocked over, its bulb shattered against the tiled floor. Julian flicked the wall switch beside the door, flooding the room with harsh fluorescent light.
The hospital bed was completely empty. The white sheets were tossed aside, and Mia’s small white orthopedic cast was resting neatly on the mattress, unbuckled and empty, as if she had simply vanished into thin air.
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Julian stared at the empty bed, his mind refusing to process the horror unfolding before him. He stumbled forward, his hands gripping the metal railing of the bed as a sharp, metallic glint on the bedside table caught his eye.
Resting right beside a half-empty cup of water was a sleek, unfamiliar smartphone, its screen lit up with a single incoming video call from an unknown number.
