Chapter 8 - The Third Shelf
Julian stared at the screen, his thumbs trembling over the glass.
Who is this? he typed back, his hands slick with grease.
The reply came instantly:
The girl from Ward 4. The one Sterling thinks he killed three hours ago. Move, Julian. He’s coming back for his planner.
Julian didn't hesitate. He unhooked his phone from the crude wire splice, grabbed his scraper, and ran to the left wall of the vault.
The third shelf was stacked high with thick glass jars containing faded yellow chemical compounds. He shoved them off without care, the heavy glass smashing on the floor, filling the tiny room with the sharp smell of formaldehyde.
Behind the jars, set into the concrete wall, was a small square iron maintenance panel, twelve inches by twelve inches, secured by four rusted flathead screws.
This was the old laundry intake access—a narrow pipe meant to send dirty rags down to the incinerator in the sub-basement.
Julian jammed the flat edge of his iron scraper into the top screw, putting all his weight into the turn. The rusted iron groaned, then snapped. He moved to the second, the third, his breathing turning into ragged, shallow gasps as the air in the sealed vault grew hot and thin.
Outside the main iron door, a heavy metallic clang echoed down the hallway.
Sterling was back.
"Julian?" Sterling’s voice echoed through the iron door, tighter this time, devoid of its previous patience. "I forgot my black notebook. Did you happen to pick it up off the stairs?"
Julian didn't answer. He turned the fourth screw. It stripped, the rusted head grinding into useless iron dust under his scraper.
"Dammit," Julian muttered, his throat dry as bone.
"I hear you in there, son," Sterling said, his footsteps stopping right outside the door. The sound of a heavy metal drill starting up shook the frame. VRRRRRR. "I was going to let you sleep, but if you have my book, we need to talk now."
Julian wedged the scraper behind the top edge of the iron panel and pulled back with everything he had left in his body.
The iron plate bent, tearing away from the stripped bottom screw with a loud screech.
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Julian shoved his head and shoulders into the narrow black pipe just as the vault's heavy door lock was drilled out from the outside, throwing a brilliant beam of yellow light across the room.
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