Chapter 8 - Race against TimeZ
I coughed violently, clutching Bruce’s arm as he hauled me up off the cold concrete floor. Samuel was sitting against the hallway wall, shaking his head to clear the grogginess from the halon gas exposure.
“How... how are you here?” I gasped, leaning heavily against Bruce’s chest. “The police arrested you!”
“Detective Ortiz is smarter than Agatha gave her credit for,” Bruce said, handing me a bottle of water. “When Claire presented the verified evidence of Dr. Vance’s backdated medical records, Ortiz realized Agatha was using her precinct to carry out a personal hit. She released me on my own recognizance thirty minutes ago.”
“Bruce! The girls!” I grabbed his lapels, panic surging through me with terrifying speed. “Agatha’s men ambushed the SUV in the garage! She took Olivia and Holly! She’s taking them to Facility 4 at the San Jacinto wing!”
Bruce’s expression turned to pure stone. “Then that’s where we’re going. Samuel, can you drive?”
Samuel pushed himself up off the wall, drawing a fresh magazine from his belt and slapping it into his sidearm. “I can drive, shoot, and tear that facility apart.”
We sprinted through the service corridors of the foundation building, taking the emergency stairwell down to Bruce’s personal vehicle—a black matte armored Suburban waiting outside the rear loading dock.
As Bruce tore out of the alleyway, tires screaming against the wet asphalt, I grabbed the center console tablet. “Call Detective Ortiz! Tell her we have proof David is being held against his will at Hall Crest Rehabilitation Center!”
“Already done,” Bruce said, weaving through morning traffic at ninety miles per hour. “Ortiz is mobilizing a SWAT entry team, but they are twenty minutes out. Agatha knows the FBI download went through. She’s going to erase the evidence before law enforcement arrives.”
“Erase the evidence?” I turned to him, terror gripping my throat. “You mean... David? And the girls?”
“Agatha is a sociopath, Gabrielle,” Bruce said grimly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “To her, people are assets or liabilities. David became a liability six years ago when he tried to stop her embezzlement, so she faked his death and had him declared incompetent, hiding him under a false name in a psychiatric ward to keep control of his trust funds. Now that the truth is out, he is a walking death sentence for her. She won't let him—or anyone who can testify against her—leave that building alive.”
Tears burned my eyes, but I forced them back. I reached down and felt the hard outline of David’s leather notebook tucked into my waistband.
Six years of suffering. Six years of lies.
“She took six years of my life,” I whispered, my voice trembling with a deadly quiet anger. “She will not take my children. She will not take David.”
Ten minutes later, the towering concrete perimeter walls of the Hall Crest Rehabilitation Center appeared through the thick Palm Springs fog. The San Jacinto wing was a secluded, three-story brutalist structure situated at the far edge of the medical campus, surrounded by high chain-link fences topped with razor wire.
The main security gate was closed, guarded by two private security contractors wearing black tactical uniforms—Agatha’s hired mercenaries, not hospital staff.
“Hold on!” Bruce roared.
He didn't slow down. The heavy armored Suburban smashed directly into the iron gate at sixty miles per hour. Metal twisted, hinges snapped, and the gate was ripped entirely off its posts as we ploughed into the courtyard.
The two guards drew their weapons, but Samuel leaned out the passenger window, firing three quick, non-lethal suppression rounds that sent them diving into the bushes for cover.
Bruce slammed the vehicle to a halt right in front of the main glass doors of the San Jacinto wing.
We spilled out of the vehicle, running toward the entrance. Samuel kicked open the heavy glass doors, and we breached the lobby.
The lobby was eerily silent. Flashing red emergency lights illuminated the whitewashed walls, and an automated alarm chimed softly in the background:
SYSTEM ALERT: FACILITY EVACUATION IN PROGRESS
ALL PATIENT RECORDS TERMINATED
“They’re purging the facility!” Bruce shouted, rushing toward the security desk and pulling up the floor plans on the main terminal. “Facility 4 is on the third floor—Room 302!”
We sprinted toward the heavy steel fire stairs, taking the steps three at a time. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. Every second felt like an eternity.
When we reached the third-floor landing, the smell of burning paper and chemical fire accent hit our noses. Smoke was beginning to billow from under the doors down the main hallway.
Agatha wasn't just evacuating—she was setting fire to the wing to destroy all physical medical records and evidence of David’s existence.
“David!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, breaking away from Bruce and Samuel, running wildly down the smoke-filled corridor. “DAVID!”
“Gabrielle! Wait!” Bruce called out, chasing after me through the gathering black smoke.
I reached Room 302. The heavy reinforced door was wide open.
Inside, the room was in total disarray. Bedding was torn, medical monitors were smashed, and standing in the center of the room, holding a crying Holly in her arms while Olivia pulled violently at her trench coat, was Agatha Shields.
Standing behind her, holding a heavy suppressed pistol aimed directly at a gaunt, terrified man cornered against the wall, was Dr. Julian Vance.
The gaunt man turned his head toward the door.
“Gabrielle?” David breathed, his voice weak, raspy, as if he hadn't spoken in years.
“David!” I cried out.
Dr. Vance spun around, swiveling his gun toward my chest. “Don't move! Stand back or I’ll kill her!”
“Put the gun down, Vance!” Bruce’s voice boomed from behind me, his shotgun raised and aimed straight at the doctor’s head.
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Agatha didn't flinch. She held Holly tighter, her eyes dark, hollow, and completely insane as the smoke from the hallway began to fill the room.
“You’re too late, Bruce,” Agatha said softly, a terrifying, serene smile spreading across her face. “The foundation is gone. The records are ashes. And my family... stays with me.”
