Into the Fortress

I traded the gardener's truck for a rental car at a strip mall twenty miles away, paying cash and using a fake name. By the time I pulled up to the gates of Sunnyvale, it was 10:45 PM.

The facility looked different tonight. The windows were dark, but the perimeter lights were blazing. Two extra patrol cars were parked by the entrance, engines idling.

I checked my phone. One bar of signal.

*Are we go?* I texted Sarah.

*Go,* she replied. *But hurry. The Administrator is on edge. He keeps checking his watch.*

I drove up to the intercom.

"State your business," the guard said. His voice was tense.

"Corinne Hawthorne," I said, channeling the same imperious tone I had used before. "I forgot my purse. In my mother-in-law's room."

"Ma'am, the facility is on lockdown. No visitors."

"I'm not a visitor," I snapped. "I'm an owner. Open the gate, or I call Arthur."

There was a pause. A murmur of voices.

"One moment, ma'am."

I waited. My hand gripped the steering wheel, slick with sweat. If they called Arthur, it was over. If they checked the license plate, it was over.

But Arthur was busy. He was prepping the disposal team. He wouldn't be answering his phone.

*Buzz.*

The gate swung open.

I drove through.

I parked in the main lot, right next to the Administrator's reserved spot. I grabbed my bag. Inside was the ledger, the birth certificate, and a small, heavy flashlight.

I walked to the front doors.

The same guard from last night, Kyle, was at the desk. But he wasn't alone. Two security officers stood behind him, arms crossed.

"Mrs. Hawthorne," Kyle said, looking nervous. "I'm sorry, but I need to escort you. New protocol."

"Fine," I said. "Just take me to the room."

I needed to be on the fourth floor when the alarm went off. I needed to be near the secure wing.

We got into the elevator. The two guards squeezed in with us. The air smelled of cheap cologne and tension.

The elevator rose.

*Floor 2.*

*Floor 3.*

I checked my watch. 10:58 PM.

Two minutes.

The doors opened on the fourth floor.

The hallway was empty. The lights were dimmed.

"This way, ma'am," Kyle said.

We walked toward the secure wing.

"Wait," I said. "I need to use the restroom."

"There's a restroom in the room," one of the guards said.

"I'm not using a patient's toilet," I said, wrinkling my nose. "Is there a staff restroom?"

Kyle pointed to a door near the nurses' station. " right there."

"I'll wait here," the guard said.

I went into the bathroom. I locked the door.

I checked my watch. 10:59 PM.

I took a deep breath.

*One minute.*

I put my ear to the door.

"Why is she here?" the second guard whispered. "The boss said no one in or out."

"She's the wife," the first guard said. "She gets what she wants. Besides, the truck isn't here yet."

"It's five minutes out," the second guard said. "We need to clear the floor."

Five minutes.

The cleaners were five minutes away.

I looked at the mirror. My reflection was pale, eyes wide and dark. I didn't look like Corinne. I looked like a woman who was about to die.

And then it happened.

*BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.*

The fire alarm shrieked. A deafening, pulsing wail that vibrated in my teeth.

*WHOOSH.*

The sprinklers overhead burst open.

Water hammered down, cold and shocking.

I threw open the door.

The hallway was chaos. The guards were shouting into their radios. Kyle was running toward the stairs.

"Evacuate!" the intercom blared. "Code Red! Evacuate!"

The mag-locks on the double doors to the secure wing clicked.

*Clunk.*

Unlocked.

Wait. Vance said the secure wing would lock down. He said it was on a separate circuit.

Unless he lied.

Or unless he routed the alarm to override the lockdown instead of trigger it.

He had given me a chance.

I sprinted toward the doors. The guards were distracted, herding nurses toward the fire exit. They didn't see me slip through the water-curtain and push through the double doors.

I was inside.

The secure wing was dry. The sprinklers hadn't triggered here.

But the Administrator was standing in the middle of the hall.

He held a gun. And he was pointing it right at me.