Chapter 15 - Lockdown
St. Matthew's locked the maternity floor.
Security stationed guards at both elevators.
Claire was moved to a room under a privacy alias.
Our names disappeared from the public patient directory.
It should have felt extreme.
Instead, it felt late.
At 8:14 p.m., the lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the hallway went dark for three seconds before emergency power kicked in.
Claire grabbed my hand.
"Adrian."
"I'm here."
An alarm sounded near the service elevators.
Staff moved fast. Doors closed automatically. A nurse told us to stay inside.
Then somebody tried our door handle.
Once.
Twice.
I stepped between Claire and the door.
"Security?"
No answer.
The handle turned again.
I picked up the metal IV pole.
Claire stared at me. "What are you doing?"
"Improvising."
The door opened six inches.
A man in blue hospital scrubs pushed against it.
I slammed my shoulder into the door.
"Who are you?"
"Transport. I need the patient."
"No, you don't."
He shoved harder.
Claire hit the call button.
The man cursed and forced his arm through the gap.
I brought the IV pole down against the door, pinning his forearm between the edge and the frame.
He yelled.
Footsteps thundered down the hall.
The man ripped free and ran.
I opened the door just as two security officers chased him toward the stairwell.
One tackled him before he reached the exit.
He wasn't Martin Cole.
He was twenty-five, maybe thirty.
And he had a hospital badge.
A real one.
Security dragged him into an empty room.
Minutes later, Ramirez called.
"The man says someone paid him five thousand dollars to move Claire to another floor during the outage."
"Who?"
"He claims he never saw her face."
"Her?"
"Yes."
My heart kicked.
"Where is my mother?"
"Still missing."
Claire's monitor suddenly changed rhythm.
A nurse rushed in.
"Claire, roll onto your left side."
Dr. Patel appeared seconds later.
The baby's heartbeat dropped.
For thirty terrible seconds, nobody explained anything.
Then the rate came back up.
Dr. Patel looked at us.
"Stress can trigger contractions. We may not be able to stop labor much longer."
Claire squeezed my hand until my knuckles hurt.
My phone lit up on the tray table.
A video call.
From my mother's number.
I answered.
Her face filled the screen.
May you like
Behind her was our nursery.
And in her hand was a loaded syringe.
