Chapter 9
Julian hit the narrow attic stairwell running, his boots pounding against the wooden treads in a chaotic rhythm. Behind him, Elena’s footsteps were swift and unhesitating, the heavy brass poker striking the handrail with sharp, metallic clangs as she pursued him through the darkness. The confined space smelled of dust and old timber, amplifying the frantic sound of their breathing.
He burst out of the attic service door into the second-floor hallway, slamming the heavy wooden panel behind him and throwing the deadbolt with a hard, satisfying snap. It wouldn’t hold her for long, but it bought him crucial seconds. He sprinted toward Chloe’s bedroom, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Julian threw open the door to Chloe’s room. The soft pink nightlight still cast a warm glow across the mattress. Chloe was awake now, sitting upright in her pink blanket, her eyes wide with terror as she heard the commotion outside in the corridor.
“Daddy?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“Get out of bed, sweetheart. We’re leaving right now,” Julian said, scooping her into his arms, blanket and all. The medical patch on her forehead brushed against his cheek, hot and damp with nervous sweat.
As he turned toward the hallway door, the wood near the attic lock splintered with a loud crack. Elena was applying brute force to the service door upstairs. Julian knew he didn’t have time to reach the front entrance downstairs; Elena would intercept them in the open-riser foyer. He needed an alternative exit.
Julian rushed to Chloe’s bedroom window, pushing past the lace curtains and unlocking the double-hung sash. He shoved it upward, letting the cool night air rush into the room. Below them lay the flat zinc roof of the lower-level sunroom, roughly eight feet drop to safety, followed by the paved driveway beyond.
“Hold onto my neck tightly, Chloe,” Julian instructed, his voice urgent but controlled. “Don’t look down, just look at my face.”
“I’m scared, Daddy,” the little girl cried softly, burying her face against his collarbone, clutching the pink blanket around her shoulders.
Julian climbed onto the windowsill just as the attic door upstairs gave way with a resounding crash. Heavy, calculated footsteps rushed down the hallway toward Chloe’s bedroom. He didn’t look back. He dropped downward onto the sloping zinc roof, his boots skidding slightly on the dew-slicked metal before finding traction. He stumbled forward, absorbing the impact with his knees, and scrambled toward the edge of the sunroom roof.
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From the bedroom window above, Elena’s silhouette appeared against the warm pink light of the room. She stood framed in the opening, holding the brass fire poker in one hand, her dark hair catching the outdoor breeze. She didn’t raise the weapon to throw it; she simply watched him with cold, detached clinical interest, as if observing a laboratory subject attempting an unrecorded escape maneuver.
“You can’t run away from reality, Julian,” Elena’s voice carried clearly across the chilly night air. “She’s still my patient.”
