Chapter 8 - Into the Dark
The drive to Franklin Middle School took four agonizing minutes.
The building stood like a dark, terrifying leviathan against the stormy sky. All the exterior lights were dead. Inside, only the dim, amber glow of emergency exit signs flickered through the heavy glass windows.
Harper slammed her car into park near the rear service entrance. The police cruiser that had been following her pulled up seconds later, its red and blue lights flashing frantically against the wet brick walls.
Officer Harris, a young patrolman, jumped out of his car with his flashlight drawn. "Ms. Hadley! Stay in the vehicle! Backup is three minutes away!"
"There's a mother and a twelve-year-old child trapped inside with an armed suspect!" Harper shouted over the roar of the rain. "He locked the magnetic emergency doors! The service hatch in the janitorial closet bypasses the magnetic lock!"
Harris looked at the dark building, then at Harper’s pregnant frame. "Show me the hatch. But you stay behind me!"
They ran to the rear service door. Harper used the master key Rachel had given her two days ago to unlock the heavy outer bolt. They slipped into the pitch-black service hallway, illuminated only by Officer Harris’s tactical flashlight.
The air inside was freezing. The central heating was off, and the silence was heavy, thick, and suffocating.
"Rachel!" Harper called out softly, her voice echoing down the dark corridor. "Noah!"
From deep within the basement levels—near the boiler room—a muffled, heavy thump echoed through the floorboards.
THUMP. THUMP.
"They're in the lower storage wing," Harper whispered.
Officer Harris led the way down the narrow concrete stairs, his flashlight beam cutting through the damp, heavy air. The smell of copper, rust, and old coal dust grew stronger as they descended into the subterranean levels.
Suddenly, a loud, cold voice echoed from the end of the dark corridor.
"I knew you'd come, Ms. Hadley."
Officer Harris raised his handgun, sweeping his flashlight beam down the hallway. "PETER MILLER! THIS IS THE POLICE! DROP YOUR WEAPON AND PUT YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!"
The flashlight beam landed on a figure standing thirty feet away near the heavy steel doors of the boiler room.
Pete Miller stood in his dark security uniform. In his left hand, he held a heavy tactical flashlight. In his right hand, he held a black handgun.
And standing pinned against the steel door behind him were Rachel and Noah Bennett, their hands bound with heavy plastic zip-ties.
"Step back, Officer," Miller said, his voice terrifyingly calm, devoid of all emotion. "Or the kid takes the first bullet."
Noah looked at Harper through the beam of light, his small face streaked with tears, his mouth covered with heavy silver duct tape.
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Harper stepped out from behind Officer Harris, shielding her stomach with one hand, her eyes locked on Miller.
"Pete," Harper said, her voice steady, clear, and ringing through the dark concrete corridor. "Look at me."
