Chapter 5 - Uninvited Guests
"Hey! Open the door!" the young guard shouted, pounding his fists against the heavy metal.
I grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. "Stop. They know we're in here."
My eyes adjusted to the pitch black of the server room. The only illumination came from the tiny, blinking green LEDs of the backup generators humming in the corner. I scanned the room for a weapon. Nothing but keyboards and swivel chairs.
"Is there another way out?" I hissed at the kid.
"The ventilation shaft," he stammered, pointing to a grate near the ceiling. "It leads out to the loading dock. We use it to sneak out for smoke breaks."
"Help me up."
I dragged a heavy desk underneath the vent and scrambled up. The grate was flimsy, held in by two loose screws. I kicked it hard, and it clattered into the metal duct.
The heavy steel door of the security room began to rattle. Someone on the outside was using a blowtorch on the electronic lock. I could smell burning metal.
"Go, go, go!" I pushed the kid into the vent first, then hauled myself up just as the hinges of the door gave way with a deafening screech.
I didn't look back. I army-crawled through the cramped, dusty ductwork, the smell of grease and stale air suffocating me. We shimmied in the dark for what felt like an eternity before I saw the slatted moonlight of the exterior vent.
We tumbled out onto the concrete of the loading dock, gasping for air. The young guard didn't even look at me; he scrambled to his feet and sprinted off into the Mexican night, terrified for his life. I didn't blame him.
I stayed in the shadows, catching my breath. Why? Why would Arthur Sterling, a high-ranking corporate executive, personally sabotage a skylight to kill a random pregnant woman from Ohio? It made no sense.
Unless it wasn't random.
My phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text from an unknown number.
They know you saw the tape. Don't go back to the hospital. Go to room 412.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Room 412 was our hotel suite. The suite we had abandoned when the ambulance took Mara away.
I should have called the police. But I couldn't trust them. Not after they dismissed my story. Not when Sterling clearly had enough money to buy anyone in this town.
I snuck back into the resort through the kitchen service entrance, avoiding the main lobby. I took the stairwell up four flights, my legs burning, until I reached our floor.
The hallway was empty, eerily silent, illuminated only by dim wall sconces. I crept toward Room 412. The door was slightly ajar.
I pushed it open slowly. The suite had been completely trashed. Our suitcases were slashed open, clothes thrown everywhere. The mattresses had been flipped. They were looking for something. But what? We were just tourists.
I walked further into the room, stepping over Mara's ruined clothes. And then I froze.
Sitting in the middle of the unmade bed, perfectly untouched by the chaos around it, was a piece of hotel stationery.
I walked over and picked it up. It was a drawing. A child's drawing, done in crude, heavy strokes of black and red crayon.
It depicted a man and a woman. The woman had a large, round belly. Above them was a jagged, broken line representing a ceiling. Standing on the ceiling was a dark figure with red eyes.
But it was the bottom of the drawing that made the blood freeze in my veins.
Written in perfect, cursive English, far too neat for a child, were the words:
He isn't trying to kill your wife, David. He's trying to kill what she's carrying.
"She is carrying something that doesn't belong to you," a small voice echoed behind me.
I whipped around.
Standing in the doorway of the bathroom, bathed in the pale moonlight filtering through the window, was the little girl in the yellow dress.
She wasn't wet from the pool. She wasn't shaking anymore.
Her eyes were locked onto mine, completely devoid of childish innocence. They were old, ancient eyes, carrying a terrible weight.
"Who are you?" I whispered, my voice trembling.
May you like
"I am the one trying to keep it alive," the little girl said, her voice echoing strangely in the quiet room. "But they are coming up the stairs, David. We have to leave right now, or your child will never be born."
Down the hallway, the elevator dinged, and heavy boots began sprinting toward Room 412.
