Chapter 4 - Echoes Beneath the Floor
The subterranean thud reverberated through the soles of Elena’s shoes, a dull, heavy vibration that carried the unmistakable weight of someone—or something—desperately trying to batter its way upward through reinforced concrete. David flinched violently, covering his ears with his palms as if trying to shut out a ghost that had haunted him for decades.
"You hear that, don't you?" Evelyn whispered, leaning in close with a triumphant glint in her eyes. "Your son isn't the first to be curious, Elena. And he certainly won't be the last unless we teach him proper obedience."
Elena backed away, her breathing coming in ragged gasps. She looked down the hallway, where Toby was huddled against the wooden pillar, rubbing his bruised neck where the heavy metal chain had chafed his skin. The little boy’s tear-streaked face looked up at her with a heartbreaking mixture of terror and hope.
"Don't listen to her, Mom," Toby sobbed quietly, his small voice carrying clearly into the silent kitchen. "The man in the room... he talked to me through the vent. He said grandma keeps the keys behind the portrait."
Evelyn’s calm demeanor vanished in a single fraction of a second. Her face twisted into an ugly, feral snarl, and she lunged toward the hallway with surprising speed. "You little parasite!"
"Stay away from him!" Elena screamed, throwing herself forward and intercepting Evelyn with a vicious shove that sent the older woman stumbling against the doorframe.
David finally snapped out of his paralyzed stupor. He rushed past them, grabbing Toby by under the arms and yanking the boy away from the wooden pillar, though the heavy iron chain remained locked around the post, trailing behind them with a terrifying metallic rattle.
"Get the bolt cutters from the garage!" David yelled over Toby’s piercing screams as the boy clutched his father’s neck. "Tool chest by the workbench! Hurry, Elena!"
Elena didn't hesitate. She sprinted toward the garage door, her mind racing as she burst into the dim, oil-scented space. She flung open the heavy metal tool chest, tossing aside wrenches and screwdrivers until her fingers brushed against the rubber-coated handles of a heavy-duty pair of bolt cutters.
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As she grabbed the tool and turned back toward the kitchen, the heavy front door of the house was suddenly kicked off its hinges with a deafening crash, and uniform-clad police officers flooded the entryway with guns drawn.
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