Chapter 8 - The Maid in the WallsDarkness swallowed the room.
Noah cried out.
Dominic held him tighter. “I have you.”
It was the first time Clara had heard him say those words to his son without command, without guilt, without fear hidden beneath them.
The emergency lights flickered on, washing everything red.
Marco crouched by the sealed door, removing a panel with a pocket tool. “Manual wiring. Give me time.”
“We may not have time,” Clara said.
Elena’s monitor beeped erratically. The backup battery had engaged, but the oxygen system hummed weakly.
Dominic moved toward the cabinet. “Medical supplies?”
“Locked,” Clara said.
Marco tossed her a thin metal tool. “Try the lower seam.”
Clara had never picked a medical cabinet lock, but she had opened jammed diner storage rooms, cheap apartment windows, and once the office drawer where her manager kept confiscated tips. Poverty made people practical.
Her hands shook, but she worked the tool into the seam.
Noah watched from Dominic’s arms.
“You can do this,” Dominic said.
Clara almost laughed. The most feared man in Chicago was encouraging a maid to break into a cabinet in his secret prison room while his resurrected wife struggled for breath.
Life had become ridiculous.
The lock clicked.
Inside were medication bottles, syringes, saline bags, and a portable oxygen mask. Clara grabbed the mask.
“Elena,” she said gently, fitting it over the woman’s face. “Breathe slow.”
Elena’s eyes found hers.
There was gratitude there.
And warning.
Her fingers moved weakly against Clara’s palm.
Three taps.
Pause.
Two taps.
Pause.
Three taps.
Clara frowned.
“What is it?”
Elena’s gaze shifted toward the wall behind the bed.
Clara followed it.
The wallpaper there did not match perfectly. A thin vertical line cut down the corner, almost invisible in the red light.
A service panel.
“Dominic.”
He turned.
Clara pointed. “There.”
Marco left the door and helped pull the bed away from the wall. Behind it was a narrow maintenance hatch.
Dominic stared. “This isn’t on the house plans.”
Elena whispered through the mask, “Old staff passage.”
Hargrove had not built every secret.
Some secrets had been waiting long before her.
The hatch opened into darkness barely wide enough for a grown adult.
Marco shook his head. “I go first.”
“No,” Clara said.
Dominic looked at her. “Absolutely not.”
“I’m the smallest.”
“And injured.”
“And not holding a child. And not the only man here your enemies need to frame.” She looked at Marco. “Where does it lead?”
Marco hesitated, then pulled a tiny flashlight from his belt. “If it follows the original service wall, maybe the laundry corridor. Maybe the old chapel.”
Clara held out her hand.
Dominic did not give her the flashlight right away.
“You owe me nothing,” he said.
Clara met his eyes. “Noah doesn’t either.”
That ended the argument.
She took the flashlight and crawled inside.
The passage was suffocating. Dust coated her palms. Her ribs screamed with every movement. Behind her, Noah whimpered until Dominic began speaking softly to him. Clara could not hear the words clearly, only the tone.
A father learning how to sound safe.
She crawled for what felt like forever. The passage sloped downward, then turned sharply left. At one point, she had to squeeze beneath a wooden beam, biting her lip so she would not cry out.
Then she heard voices.
She switched off the flashlight.
Through a crack in the wall ahead, light spilled into the passage.
Mrs. Hargrove stood in the old chapel.
Beside her was Victor Cross, holding a gun.
Dr. Keller sat in a chair, wrists tied, blood at the corner of his mouth. He was alive.
Mrs. Hargrove spoke into a phone. “Yes, the police will receive the anonymous tip in fifteen minutes. Tell them Elena Vale is being held in the north wing. Tell them the maid found her and Dominic attacked staff when confronted.”
A pause.
“No, the child will not be harmed. He is too useful alive.”
Clara’s breath stopped.
Victor’s voice was low. “And Clara Reed?”
Mrs. Hargrove smiled. “Poor girl panicked and ran. Or poor girl took money and lied. Either version works.”
Dr. Keller lifted his head. “You won’t get away with this.”
Mrs. Hargrove looked almost bored. “Doctor, I got away with burying the wrong woman beneath Elena’s name.”
Clara’s stomach turned.
Victor checked his watch. “What about Miriam?”
At that name, Mrs. Hargrove’s face changed.
For the first time, Clara saw fear.
“Miriam is not your concern.”
“She became everyone’s concern when she disappeared with the original dental records.”
Clara pressed closer to the crack.
Original dental records.
Elena’s death had been confirmed with false records.
Miriam Vale, Dominic’s sister, had helped stage the lie—or tried to stop it. Clara could not tell which.
Mrs. Hargrove’s voice sharpened. “Miriam was weak.”
Victor laughed. “Miriam was greedy. Weak came later.”
Clara shifted her weight.
The old wood beneath her hand creaked.
Victor turned instantly.
Clara froze.
He walked toward the wall.
Mrs. Hargrove narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“I heard something.”
Clara looked around desperately. The passage continued past the chapel. She crawled backward an inch, then another.
Victor opened a panel.
Light sliced into the darkness.
Clara kicked with both feet.
The rotten support beneath her cracked.
She fell through the wall, hit the chapel floor hard, and pain exploded through her side.
Victor raised his gun.
Clara rolled behind a pew as the shot cracked through the chapel.
Somewhere above them, Noah screamed.
Then Dominic Vale’s voice thundered through the house speakers.
May you like
“Clara, get down.”
The chapel doors blew inward.
