Chapter 44
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
We sprint toward the elevator, our footsteps heavy. My breath comes in ragged gasps as we head downstairs.
When we burst into the lobby, chaos greets us.
Police everywhere. Radios crackling. Voices overlapping in urgent commands.
Through the glass doors, I spot the ambulance parked at the curb, lights flashing red and blue. A firetruck idles behind it. Three—no, four—police cars block the street.
A SWAT team member stands near the entrance, his tactical vest bulging with equipment—pouches and holsters strapped across his chest, a radio clipped to his shoulder.
His rifle hangs across his torso, and he's scanning the lobby with sharp, assessing eyes.
The sight of him makes everything feel more real, more urgent.
This isn't just building security responding to a call—this is serious.
This is the kind of response you see on the news.
My heart hammers against my ribs.
A female officer speaks to Julian near the front desk. He spots me and gestures me over.
"They need someone to show them where the maintenance room is," he says.
"I'll go." I step forward.
"Me too," Colleen says, pushing past me.
The officer holds up her hand. "Only one civilian accompanies us. Too many people goes against protocols."
"She's my niece!" Colleen's voice cracks. "I need to be there when—"
"Claudia needs to see a familiar face when you guys get her out of there," I point out, stepping closer to the officer. "She's her family. She's the person she'll want to see. But she's never been down there before, and I know the exact location of that maintenance room. I was just down there."
Colleen whirls on me, eyes wild with panic and desperation. "Then tell me where it is! Just tell me exactly where to go!"
Truth is, I want to be there for Colleen, in case Claudia is in bad shape, in case my friend needs someone to hold her together when she sees what's waiting in that maintenance room.
"You won't be able to find it by yourself. The basement's a complete maze—hallways branch off in every direction, rooms that all look identical." I reach out and grab her trembling hand, squeezing it tight between both of mine.
"Let's all go now."
The officer nods. "Let's move."
I count the team as they assemble. Three officers—two men built like linebackers, the woman who'd been talking to Julian. Two firefighters carrying what looks like heavy-duty tools. Two paramedics with medical bags slung over their shoulders.
Seven people. Plus me and Colleen.
The tallest of the male officers—the one built like he could bench-press a car—steps forward and gestures toward the stairwell with an outstretched arm.
"Lead the way," he says, his voice firm but not unkind.
There's an urgency underlying his words that matches the adrenaline already flooding my system.
I nod once, sharply, and turn on my heel.
I head toward the basement stairs, my pulse roaring in my ears.
We cluster at the maintenance door. One firefighter steps forward, hefting bolt cutters. The metal lock glints dully under the single fluorescent bulb overhead.
The firefighter positions the bolt cutters carefully, the thick metal blades sliding around the rusted shackle of the lock with a metallic scrape that sets my teeth on edge.
He adjusts his grip as he prepares to apply pressure.
For a moment, everything goes still—the only sound is Colleen's shallow breathing beside me and the distant hum of machinery somewhere in the building's depths.
Then he bears down hard, and the blades bite into the metal with brutal force. A sharp, resounding crack splits the air, the sound bouncing off the concrete walls and reverberating through the narrow corridor like a gunshot, making me flinch involuntarily.
The lock falls to the concrete floor with a dull clang.
The door swings open, revealing a dank narrow hallway. Emergency lighting casts sickly green shadows on the walls.
"Stay close," the female officer says.
I follow behind them, Colleen's ragged breathing loud beside me. The air grows thicker as we descend—musty, stale, tinged with something sour that makes my throat tighten.
The walls press in. Narrow. Claustrophobic.
I picture Daniel dragging Claudia down these stairs. Did she scream? Fight back? Was she conscious?
My stomach lurches.
Maybe he drugged her. Carried her limp body through this dungeon while she floated somewhere beyond awareness, spared the horror of watching her prison approach step by step.
The alternative—her awake, struggling, seeing exactly where he was taking her—
I can't.
I glance at Colleen. Her face has gone chalk-white, lips pressed into a bloodless line. Her hands shake so violently she shoves them into her jacket pockets.
"Almost there," I whisper.
She doesn't respond.
The dim hallway stretches before us, concrete walls sweating moisture. Exposed pipes run overhead. The fluorescent lights flicker intermittently, casting everything in stuttering frames.
The officers move forward, boots scraping against grit.
Thirty feet ahead, another door. Heavy steel. Industrial.
A placard reads: MAINTENANCE ROOM.
My heart stops.
The officer in front raises his fist and pounds three times. "Police! Is anyone in there?"
Silence.
Then—
"HELP!"
The voice cracks with desperation, raw and frantic.
"PLEASE! HELP ME!"
Colleen chokes on a sob.
The firefighters surge forward, bolt cutters already raised. One grabs a massive lock securing the door. The other positions himself at the hinges.
"Claudia!" Colleen screams. "Baby, we're here! We're coming!"
"Stand back," the firefighter barks.
The bolt cutters bite into metal. Once. Twice.
The lock snaps.
"GET ME OUT! PLEASE!"
The door flies open.
The two officers move with practiced efficiency, stepping through the threshold one after another in a choreographed dance they've clearly performed before.
Their broad shoulders and tactical vests form an impenetrable wall of navy blue and black that completely my view into the room, shutting me out from whatever horror lies beyond.
Their heavy boots thud against the concrete floor with authoritative purpose, the sound echoing off the basement walls and reverberating through the confined, musty space.
The air down here is thick and stale, pressing against my lungs.
I crane my neck desperately, shifting my weight from foot to foot, trying to see past their imposing frames and catch even the smallest glimpse of what's inside that room.
My heart hammers so violently against my ribcage that I can feel each frantic beat pulsing in my throat, in my temples, behind my eyes.
The waiting—not knowing—is torture. Every second that ticks by feels like an eternity, stretching and distorting until I want to scream.
"Ma'am, you need to stay back," one tells me, arm extended like a barricade.
Colleen surges forward. "That's my niece!"
"We understand, but let us assess the situation first."
Through the gap between their bodies, I catch glimpses. The female officer kneels beside a figure huddled on a filthy mattress. One paramedic crouches next to her, shining a penlight into her eyes.
“Miss, can you tell me your name?" the paramedic asks, voice steady and calm.
"Claudia… Please, I need—"
"It's okay. You're safe now. Can you tell me if you're injured?"
Colleen's scream splits the air. "Claudia!"
"AUNT COLLEEN!"
The girl's voice cracks, desperate and broken.
"I'm here, baby! I'm right here,” she says reassuringly. “LET ME SEE HER! PLEASE!"
The officers exchange glances. The male one nods.
"Alright. One person. But stay out of the way."
Colleen doesn't wait. She shoves past them, stumbling into the room.
I lean sideways, peering through the doorway.
Colleen drops to her knees beside the mattress, arms wrapping around Claudia's skeletal frame. They clutch each other, both sobbing. Claudia's hair hangs in greasy tangles. Her clothes—sweatpants and a t-shirt—hang loose on her emaciated body.
My eyes drift to the metal shelving against the wall.
Three granola bars. Two protein shakes. Four water bottles.
That's it.
That's all that's left.
The stench hits me then—urine, sweat, something rancid I don't want to identify. I press my hand over my nose and mouth.
If Julian hadn't insisted on breaking into Daniel's apartment—
If we hadn't found that computer—
If we hadn't checked the cameras—
She would have died.
Alone. In the dark. Starving.
Her body would have rotted here, undiscovered until someone eventually bought the building and stumbled across her remains. Months from now.
My knees buckle. I grab the doorframe to steady myself.
“Ms. Singh?”
I blink. An officer appears beside me, hand on my shoulder.
"She could've died," I whisper.
"But she didn't."
“Because of you. You saved her."
He shakes his head. "We all saved her."
On the mattress, Claudia clings to Colleen like she'll disappear if she lets go. The paramedic tries to examine her, but she won't release her grip.
"I thought I was going to die," Claudia sobs. "I thought no one would find me."
"Shh. You're safe now. You're coming home."