Chapter 4 - The Midnight Visitor
At 4:15 a.m., a sharp, metallic clatter echoed from the alleyway directly beneath my kitchen window.
My eyes flew open. I hadn't realized I’d fallen asleep in the armchair, wrapped in a fleece throw blanket. Across the room, Oliver stirred on the couch, letting out a soft murmur before settling back into deep sleep.
I slipped off the chair, my bare feet padding silently across the hardwood floor. I crept toward the kitchen, keeping low beneath the window sill. The rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt outside slick and glistening under the amber streetlights.
I peered cautiously through the blinds.
Down in the alley, near the metal trash enclosures, a dark sedan with tinted windows was idling quietly. Two figures stood by the brick wall of my building. One of them was shining a small, focused flashlight beam up toward the second-floor windows, sweeping the light directly across my apartment’s exterior.
My blood ran cold. Agent Hayes said they were looking for Oliver. They found us.
How? We had been driven straight from the hospital in an unmarked state police vehicle. Had we been followed? Or did they trace the credit card I used to pay for the hospital discharge paperwork?
Panic clawed at my throat, but years of quiet independence hardened into sudden, fierce resolve. I couldn't call 911 on my landline—it was a cordless unit that would make noise, and my cell phone was sitting on the coffee table right next to Oliver's sleeping form.
Suddenly, a heavy, metallic thud echoed from the front hallway.
Someone was working on the deadbolt of my front door.
Click. Scrape. Click.
They were picking the lock.
I bolted back into the living room. Oliver’s eyes were wide open now, terror plastered across his pale face. He pushed the blanket off, scrambling up from the couch.
"Nora? What's happening?" he whispered, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
"Shh," I hissed, grabbing his good arm and pulling him toward the back hallway. "Get down low. Stay behind me."
We didn't have time to run down the stairs—the front door was already opening. A heavy boot stepped onto my squeaky hallway floorboard, the familiar creak cutting sharply through the apartment.
"Check the bedrooms," a raspy, low voice growled from the entryway. "The kid's here. I saw the light go off in the kitchen."
I shoved Oliver into my bedroom, locking the flimsy brass bedroom door behind us. It wouldn't hold a determined intruder for more than five seconds, but it bought us precious time.
I rushed to my bedside table, grabbing my cell phone. My fingers shook so badly I dropped it twice before unlocking the screen. I didn't dial 911. I hit the direct speed-dial code Agent Hayes had scrawled on the back of his card before leaving the hospital.
Ring... ring...
"Hayes," a gruff voice answered instantly on the first ring, as if he never slept.
"Agent Hayes, it's Nora Ellison," I whispered into the phone, my voice trembling with absolute terror. "They're in my apartment. Two men. They just picked my lock at Elmwood Street. You need to send backup right now!"
"Lock yourselves in a room, stay off the phone, and stay quiet," Hayes barked, his voice transforming into pure military command. "State troopers are three blocks away on routine patrol. They’ll be at your door in ninety seconds. Do not open that door for anyone, Nora. Do you understand?"
"Hurry!" I gasped, just as a heavy fist slammed against the bedroom door outside.
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Bang! Bang!
"Open up, kid! We know you're in there!" the voice shouted from the hallway, accompanied by the splintering crack of wood as the frame began to give way.
