The Distraction

Vance didn't shoot. Not immediately.

He stared at me, his face pale in the dim emergency lighting. The gun trembled in his hand.

"Mrs. Hawthorne?" he said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for my mother-in-law," I said, stepping fully into the hallway. "And you're going to let me take her."

"I can't," he said. "The disposal team... they're almost here."

"I know," I said. "That's why we're leaving now."

"We?"

"You," I said. "Me. And Margaret."

I took a step forward.

"You triggered the alarm, Paul. You unlocked the doors. You already picked a side."

"I did it for the money," he said, his voice cracking. "I didn't sign up for this."

"It's too late for regrets," I said. "If Arthur finds out you helped me, you're dead. If the police find out what you've been doing here, you're in prison for life. Your only way out is with me."

He lowered the gun slightly. He looked down the hall toward Room 402.

"She's sedated," he said. "Heavily."

"Then we carry her."

I walked past him. I didn't look at the gun. I walked straight to Room 402.

I tried the handle. Locked.

"The code," I said, turning to Vance.

"It's biometrics now," he said. "Or a master key."

"Do you have the key?"

He shook his head. "Arthur took it. He said he wanted to be the only one with access until the transfer."

I looked at the keypad. The red light blinked mocking me.

"The override," I said. "You told me the override was my eye."

"That's for the main system," Vance said. "For the building lockdown. Not for individual patient rooms."

I slammed my hand against the door. "Open it!"

"I can't!"

From the other side of the door, I heard a sound.

A voice. Singing.

*Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green...*

It was faint, muffled by the heavy wood. But it was her.

"Margaret!" I shouted. "Margaret, it's Elena! Open the door!"

The singing stopped.

"Elena?"

"Yes! Open the door, Margaret! Please!"

"I can't," she said. Her voice was right against the wood now. "He took the handle. There's no handle on the inside."

Of course. It was a cell.

I looked at Vance. "Shoot the lock."

"What?"

"Shoot the lock!" I screamed. "Do it!"

He raised the gun. His hands were shaking violently.

"I've never fired a gun," he whispered.

"Just pull the trigger!"

*CRACK.*

The sound was deafening in the enclosed hallway. Wood splintered. The lock mechanism shattered.

I kicked the door.

It swung open.

The room was dark, lit only by the strobe of the fire alarm from the hallway.

Margaret stood in the center of the room. She was wearing a white nightgown. Her hair was loose, wild silver strands framing a face that hadn't aged a day since her funeral.

She looked at me. She looked at Vance holding the smoking gun.

She didn't scream. She didn't faint.

She smiled.

" about time," she said.

"We have to go," I said, grabbing her hand. It was cold, thin as parchment.

"My ring," she said. "He took my ring."

"I know," I said. "We'll get it back. Come on."

We moved into the hallway.

"The elevator is locked out," Vance said. "We have to use the stairs."

"Which stairs?" I asked.

"North stairwell," he said. "It leads to the service exit. My car is there."

We ran. Margaret was slow, stumbling on bare feet. I put my arm around her waist, half-carrying her. Vance took the lead, gun still in his hand.

We reached the stairwell door. Vance pushed it open.

And then he stopped.

He backed away, his face turning gray.

"What is it?" I asked.

A man stepped out of the stairwell.

He wore a black tactical vest. He held a suppressed pistol.

And behind him, two more men.

The cleaners.

"Going somewhere?" the lead man asked. His voice was calm, professional. Like a plumber asking about a leak.

Vance raised his gun. "Back off!"

The cleaner didn't even blink.

*Thwip.*

Vance dropped. A small, neat hole in the center of his forehead.

He hit the floor with a heavy thud. The gun skittered away.

I screamed. I tried to pull Margaret back, to run the other way.

But the hallway behind us was blocked.

Arthur Hawthorne stood at the other end of the corridor.

He was flanked by Miller and two more guards.

We were trapped.

"Hello, Elena," Arthur said. He walked toward us, stepping over Vance's body like it was a piece of trash. "I'm so glad you could make it for the family reunion."

He looked at Margaret. His eyes softened, just for a second.

"Hello, my love," he said. "It's time to go."

Margaret straightened. She pulled away from me. She stood tall, facing the man who had buried her alive.

"Go to hell, Arthur," she said.

Arthur smiled. A cold, reptilian smile.

"I'm already there," he said. "And I'm taking you with me."