Chapter 4 - The Loose Tread
Julian didn't think. His body reacted before his brain could process the name on the page.
He took a quick, panicked step backward into the dark linen closet. His heel hit an old iron bedframe leaning against the back wall.
CLANG.
The sound smashed through the quiet stairwell like a grenade going off.
"Who's there?" Sterling’s voice echoed down the concrete shaft, instantly dropping its polite, professional tone. It was flat. Cold. Heavy.
Julian didn't answer. He threw his weight against the back exit door of the linen closet—the old laundry chute service hatch. It yielded with a groan of rusted metal, popping open just wide enough for his thin frame to squeeze through.
Behind him, the closet door was yanked open with violent force, the hinges screaming as they hit the wall.
"Julian?" Sterling’s voice was right behind him now, unhurried, almost amused. "Is that you down there, son? You shouldn't be up here. The floors are weak."
Julian slid down the smooth galvanized tin of the laundry chute, his shoulders scraping against the metal walls, sending sparks flying into the dark. He plunged three floors down in total darkness, his arms tucked tight against his chest, before slamming hard into the pile of damp, discarded mattresses at the bottom of the basement collection bin.
The impact knocked the air completely out of his lungs. White light flashed behind his eyes.
He lay there in the dark, gasping for air, his left elbow throbbing with white-hot pain.
Above him, high up in the tin tube, he heard the metallic click of a plastic cap being unscrewed.
Then came the smell—sharp, burning, suffocating.
May you like
Sterling was pouring the lye straight down the chute.
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