Chapter 2 - The Sound in the Dark
The plastic heart-shaped recorder lay on the linoleum floor, its tiny green indicator light blinking like a miniature, malevolent eye in the dimness of the locked psychiatric room.
Click. Whir. Static.
Dr. Grant’s recorded voice looped endlessly from the small speaker, bouncing off the stark white walls and the wire-reinforced glass of the door.
“One hundred and forty-six beats per minute. Your baby boy is perfectly healthy.”
My breath hitched in my throat. I stared at the floor, my hands pressed tightly against my lower abdomen where Noah had just delivered that sharp, undeniable kick. The fabric of the blue maternity dress was still visibly indented from his small foot.
I am not crazy, the thought screamed inside my skull, loud and clear, cutting through the fog of doubt that Dr. Ross and Mark had so carefully tried to weave around my mind. I am pregnant. That heartbeat is real. The baby is real.
Outside in the corridor, the handle of the door stopped turning.
The soft, metallic click of the latch echoed through the silent room. Then came the scrape of a shoe against the floor tiles, followed by a low, muffled murmur.
“Patient is resting,” a male voice said. It sounded like one of the security guards stationed outside. “Sedative should still be active for another two hours.”
“Check the seal on the window,” a second voice replied. This one was smooth, crisp, and clipped with an unmistakable air of corporate authority—a voice I had never heard in the hospital before. “And make sure her personal belongings remain locked in the staff supervisor’s office until the discharge papers are finalized in the morning.”
My blood ran cold.
Discharge papers?
They weren't planning to keep me for observation. They were planning to move me somewhere else entirely—somewhere permanent, somewhere my voice could never reach a courtroom, a police officer, or a news reporter.
Quickly, ignoring the shooting pain across my lower back, I scrambled off the bed. My bare feet touched the cold floor. I bent down, wincing as my swollen stomach pressed against my thighs, and scooped up the red heart recorder. I pressed the stop button, plunging the room back into absolute, suffocating silence.
I slipped the recorder into the front pocket of my hospital trousers, my mind racing.
The door was locked from the outside. The window opened less than two inches—not nearly enough for a human body, let alone an expectant mother at thirty-two weeks gestation. There was no telephone in the room, no call button, and my purse, my phone, and my car keys were locked away in some administrative vault down the hall.
I was completely, utterly isolated.
Unless...
I turned my attention toward the heavy wooden door. Through the narrow frosted glass window, I could see the blurry outline of the security guard leaning against the wall, his silhouette illuminated by the fluorescent light of the nurses' station.
If I wanted to get out of here, I couldn't wait for morning. By morning, the transfer orders would be signed, the drugs would be flowing through my IV lines again, and Noah would be gone before I even knew his name.
I needed a distraction.
I looked around the sterile, minimalist room. There was a metal bedside table, a plastic pitcher of ice water with a paper cup, a box of tissues, and a heavy wooden chair tucked beneath a small writing desk.
I crept across the room, my footsteps entirely silent on the floor, and grabbed the plastic water pitcher. I walked over to the bathroom door, stepped inside, and emptied the entire contents of the pitcher—ice cubes and water—onto the slick tile floor.
Then, I positioned the heavy wooden chair directly behind the main bedroom door, wedging the top rung neatly beneath the brass handle.
I took a deep breath, braced myself, and slammed my shoulder against the wall, letting out a sharp, blood-curdling scream.
“Help!” I shrieked, letting my voice crack with terror. “Oh God, help me! Something’s wrong with the baby! Help!”
For a second, there was total silence in the hallway.
Then came the frantic sound of running boots.
“Open up! What’s going on in there?” the security guard shouted, throwing his weight against the door.
The door slammed inward, but it hit the wooden chair wedged beneath the handle with a loud, resounding CRACK. The chair held, jamming the door open by only six inches, but creating just enough friction to catch the guard off guard.
As the guard leaned his weight forward to shove the door open further, his boot hit the threshold—and slid straight out from under him.
He didn't just stumble; he went airborne, his feet flying out from beneath him as he hit the slick puddle of ice water I had poured across the bathroom tile just inside the doorway.
CRASH!
The guard hit the floor with bone-shattering force, his head striking the edge of the metal bedside table on his way down. He let out a single, heavy groan, and then went completely limp.
May you like
I stood frozen in the center of the room for a fraction of a second, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Then, I stepped over his motionless body, grabbed his heavy metal security radio clipped to his belt, and ran out into the empty hallway.
