Part 4: The Sealed Corridor
“He exists,” Audrey said, her voice shaking with a mixture of pain and fierce, burning conviction. She planted her feet wide apart, one hand cradling her heavy stomach while the other pointed a steady finger at the false doctor. “I spent three years regretting every time I looked away from a child in need. I am not looking away tonight.”
Dr. Wells sighed, a sound of supreme weariness. He reached into his left breast pocket and pulled out a small, heavy black device with a glowing blue LED screen.
“Sentimentality is an expensive luxury, Mrs. Mercer,” Wells said, his thumb resting over the central pad of the device. “And in your condition, stress can induce precipitate labor. You really should have stayed in bed.”
A sharp, stabbing cramp ripped across Audrey’s lower stomach. Her knees buckled, and she would have hit the floor if Marcus Rowan hadn't reached out with his free hand to catch her by the elbow.
“Hold onto me,” Marcus muttered, his eyes never leaving the intruder. He kept his other arm braced against Wells’s chest, holding the older man pinned against the wall. “Mister, I don't know what kind of black-ops outfit you think you're running, but you are not taking my son anywhere. My brother is the chief of police in Westmoreland County. He’s twenty minutes away.”
Dr. Wells smiled—a thin, humorless stretch of the lips.
“Your brother’s cruiser was pulled off the interstate twenty minutes ago, Mr. Rowan. A routine tractor-trailer accident has blocked Route 42. He won't be here for hours.”
Marcus’s face drained of color. “How do you...?”
“We anticipate variables,” Wells said simply.
He pressed his thumb down onto the glowing pad of the black device.
BEEP.
A high-frequency whine filled the room, so sharp it made Audrey’s teeth ache. Down the hallway outside, the sound of muffled shouts and running footsteps suddenly cut off, replaced by the heavy thud of multiple fire doors slamming shut across the entire west wing.
St. Vincent Medical Center was on total lockdown. The entire maternity and pediatric observation sector had just been digitally sealed off from the rest of the hospital.
“What did you do?” Brooke Ellis cried out from the other side of the reinforced glass window in the door, her face pressed against the pane as she hammered on the wood with her palms.
“Quarantine protocol,” Dr. Wells said, his voice echoing in the enclosed space. With a sudden, surprising burst of strength, he wrenched his torso away from Marcus’s grip, shoving the heavy-set father backward across the room. Marcus stumbled over the scattered medical trays, crashing down onto the linoleum floor.
Dr. Wells didn't pursue him. Instead, he stepped smoothly toward the bed, his hand reaching out to grab Caleb’s shoulder.
“Come along, Cal,” Wells said gently. “The car is waiting in the sub-level loading bay.”
Caleb curled into a tight ball, screaming at the top of his lungs, his small hands clawing at the sheets.
Audrey pushed past the searing pain in her abdomen. She looked around the chaotic room, her eyes landing on the heavy stainless-steel IV pole standing beside the bed. Without hesitation, she grabbed the metal stand, ripped the hanging saline bag off its hook, and swung the heavy pole around with all the strength she had left.
May you like
“Get away from him!” Audrey screamed.
She brought the heavy base of the IV pole down directly across Dr. Wells’s path, shattering the glass front of the wall-mounted medication cabinet in a shower of glittering shards.
