Chapter 8 - The Empty Room and The Echo.
The grand stairwell of the Sterling estate was lined with priceless oil paintings.
Thomas ignored the painted eyes of dead aristocrats staring down at him.
He moved like a phantom ascending the wide, velvet-carpeted steps.
His right hand gripped the cold steel of the stolen sidearm tightly.
His left hand pressed against his broken ribs, trying to keep them stable.
He reached the second-floor landing without making a single sound.
The mansion was eerily quiet, lulled into a false sense of security by the looped camera feeds.
Thomas slipped into the shadows as a lone maid walked past the hallway.
He waited until she disappeared before continuing his ascent to the third floor.
The third floor was the oldest section of the massive house.
It was a narrow, dimly lit corridor that led only to the attic stairs.
Thomas reached the top of the final staircase and paused.
His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He was only fifty feet away from his children.
He stepped into the corridor, his eyes locked on the heavy oak door at the very end.
The electronic lock on the door was glowing a steady, bright green.
His remote override had worked perfectly.
Thomas hurried down the hallway, ignoring the sharp pain radiating through his chest.
He reached the heavy wooden door and placed his hand on the brass handle.
He took a deep, trembling breath to steady his nerves.
He pushed the handle down and pushed the door open.
"I'm here, kids."
Thomas whispered, stepping into the dark, dusty room.
But no one answered.
Thomas blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the deep gloom of the attic.
The room was completely, utterly silent.
He reached for the wall switch and flicked on the single overhead bulb.
A harsh yellow light flooded the cramped space.
Thomas stared at the bare wooden floorboards in absolute horror.
The attic was entirely empty.
There was no oversized catering apron.
There were no shivering children huddled in the corner.
The only thing left was the spilled plastic water bottle Grandma had dropped.
A suffocating wave of panic crashed over Thomas.
He dropped to his knees and touched the puddle of water.
It was still wet.
They had been here just minutes ago.
"Where are they?"
Thomas gasped out loud, his mind racing wildly.
Suddenly, the sharp click of high heels echoed from the corridor outside.
Thomas instantly stood up, raising his weapon and stepping behind the open door.
The footsteps grew closer, accompanied by the low murmur of two heavy male voices.
"Did you pack their passports?"
Grandma's cold, arrogant voice drifted into the attic.
"Yes, Ma'am."
A deep voice replied.
"Mr. Sterling ordered the helicopter to prep for immediate departure."
"Good."
Grandma sneered.
"I want those little brats out of my house before the storm gets worse."
Thomas felt a surge of pure, unadulterated fury course through his veins.
Marcus hadn't waited for the private jet at two in the morning.
He was moving the children right now via the rooftop helipad.
The footsteps stopped directly outside the open attic door.
"Why is this door open?"
Grandma demanded sharply.
"I locked it myself."
"Stay back, Ma'am."
One of the bodyguards instructed, stepping into the doorway.
The guard raised his flashlight, peering into the dusty room.
Thomas didn't give him a chance to yell.
He reached out from the shadows and grabbed the barrel of the guard's rifle.
He violently yanked the weapon downward, throwing the massive man off balance.
Thomas stepped out from behind the door and slammed the butt of his pistol into the guard's temple.
The man dropped like a stone.
The second guard drew his weapon, but Thomas was already moving.
Thomas kicked the falling guard's body directly into the second man's legs.
The second guard stumbled backward into the narrow hallway.
Thomas lunged forward, closing the distance in a fraction of a second.
He disarmed the second guard with a brutal twist of the wrist.
A swift, devastating strike to the throat sent the second man crashing to the floor, gasping for air.
Grandma stood frozen in the hallway.
Her eyes were wide with genuine terror as she stared at her son-in-law.
Thomas stood over the two unconscious mercenaries, covered in rain and blood.
He looked like a demon summoned straight from hell.
He slowly raised the pistol and pointed it directly at Grandma's chest.
"Where are my children, you evil witch?"
Thomas growled, his voice vibrating with lethal intent.
Grandma's lip trembled, but her lifelong arrogance refused to break entirely.
She raised her chin, desperately trying to maintain her aristocratic superiority.
"You are too late, Thomas."
She spat, though her voice shook.
"Marcus is already taking them up to the roof."
"By the time you get there, they will be gone forever."
A loud, thunderous roar suddenly shook the very foundations of the old mansion.
It wasn't the storm outside.
It was the unmistakable sound of a heavy helicopter engine spinning up to full power.
The rhythmic thumping of the massive rotor blades vibrated through the floorboards.
Thomas's eyes widened in sheer desperation.
He grabbed Grandma by the pearl necklace tightly wound around her neck.
He pulled her face inches from his own.
"If that helicopter leaves the roof with my kids inside..."
Thomas whispered, his eyes completely dark and hollow.
"I am going to throw you off the balcony."
May you like
He shoved her violently against the wall and sprinted toward the rooftop access stairs.
The final countdown had just begun.
