Chapter 5 - The Glass House
The basement kitchen was vast, dark, and filled with the cold shine of stainless-steel countertops and commercial refrigerators.
Rain was pounding against the high, narrow transom windows near the ceiling, sending distorted ripples of light across the tile floor.
I hit the ground floor, my lungs burning like fire, my legs shaking from the adrenaline surging through my blood. Theodore was crying loud now, frightened by the dark and the sudden violent movement, his small hands clutching tightly at my collar.
"Shh, my love," I gasped, leaning against a cold steel table, trying to catch my breath. "Shh... Mommy's got you. I've got you."
Above me, I heard heavy boots thundering down the main hall corridor.
They knew.
Christopher knew I had the evidence. Victoria knew the police were at the gate. The house was collapsing, and wild, trapped animals are always the most dangerous.
I needed to reach the front entrance, but the main hall was a death trap. Christopher had a gun, and he knew every inch of this estate better than I did.
I reached inside my tote bag, pulled out the digital voice recorder Raymond had given me, and hit the play button to ensure it worked.
A small red light blinked on.
Through the soft static of the tiny speaker, Raymond’s voice—recorded two months ago before the poison took his vocal cords completely—filled the dark kitchen:
...If you are listening to this, my nephew Christopher Winslow and my wife Victoria have been systematically altering the corporate accounts of Winslow Shipping... They have diverted twelve million dollars into offshore entities in Panama... And if I am dead by the time this tape is found, it was not illness. They are using Dr. Samuel Wallace to administer...
I hit pause.
It was complete. It was lethal. It was enough to put Christopher and Victoria in a federal penitentiary for the rest of their lives and strip Wallace of his medical license before the sun came up.
Suddenly, the lights in the kitchen flickered and died.
Total, absolute darkness swallowed the room.
The hum of the commercial refrigerators shut off, replaced only by the roar of the storm outside and the sound of my own ragged breathing.
Christopher had cut the main power circuit.
"Nora..." his voice drifted down through the air vents in the ceiling, amplified by the metallic ducts, sounding cold, hollow, and everywhere at once. "You can't walk out of Bellevue Crest on foot. It's four miles to the main highway through dark woods in a thunderstorm. You'll freeze before you reach the gate."
I shrank down beneath the stainless-steel prep table, hiding in the shadows between two heavy garbage bins.
"Give me the bag, Nora," his voice echoed again, closer this time, coming from the pantry doorway at the back of the kitchen. "Give me the envelope, and I'll let you take your child and walk away. I'll even give you fifty thousand dollars in cash from the vault downstairs. You can leave the state. Start over."
I heard the soft click-clack of his shoes stepping onto the kitchen tile.
He was inside the room.
I pressed my back against the cold steel legs of the table, holding Theodore's face against my chest, covering his mouth gently with my hand so his soft whimpers wouldn't give away our position.
Through the dark, I saw the faint beam of a tactical flashlight sweeping across the stainless-steel appliances.
The light flickered across the stove... the sink... the center island.
It was moving straight toward my table.
Ten feet away.
Eight feet away.
My heart was beating so hard I was certain he could hear it. I tightened my grip on the heavy brass tea kettle sitting on the low shelf beside my foot.
If that light hit my face, I would throw the heavy kettle straight at his head and run for the back loading bay.
Five feet away.
The flashlight beam landed directly on my white nursing shoes sticking out from beneath the shelf!
"Found you," Christopher whispered from the dark.
He raised the flashlight, blinding me with two thousand lumens of harsh white light, while the silver barrel of his pistol pointed straight between my eyes.
"End of the line, nurse," he sneered.
Before his finger could tighten on the trigger, a blinding white flash of light illuminated the entire kitchen from the floor-to-ceiling glass patio doors behind him!
CRASH!
The massive double-pane glass doors exploded inward in a shower of ten thousand sparkling crystal shards!
A heavy, dark shape threw itself through the shattered glass, slamming straight into Christopher’s back with the roaring fury of an enraged bear!
Christopher screamed as he was slammed face-first into the stainless-steel island, his pistol flying out of his hand and skittering across the slick, wet tiles directly to my feet!
I looked up through the darkness and spray of rain.
Standing over Christopher, holding a heavy iron fireplace poker in his trembling, blood-stained hand, was Raymond Winslow.
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He was barefoot. His white hospital gown was soaked with blood and rain. His legs were shaking violently under his own weight, but his eyes were filled with an ancient, unstoppable rage.
"Get away... from my nurse..." Raymond roared, his voice no longer a whisper, but a terrifying, guttural scream that shook the very foundation of the room.
