Chapter 5 - The Crimson HallwayInstinct took over. I didn't hesitate. I turned on my heel, sprinted back into the master bedroom, and slammed the heavy oak door shut, throwing the thick brass deadbolt just as a burst of automatic gunfire chewed through the outer wood panels.
Inside, the room was absolute chaos.
The nurse was shielding the bassinet with her own body, whispering frantic prayers, while Sarah sat upright in bed, her face drained of all color, clutching the newborn tightly against her chest.
“Claire! What’s happening?!” Sarah cried out, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. “Was that... was that gunfire? Where’s Victor?!”
“He’s holding them off! Get down on the floor—all of you, behind the heavy mahogany dresser!” I ordered, grabbing a heavy bedside chair and dragging it across the floor to wedge beneath the door handle just in case the lock failed.
Outside in the hallway, the sounds of violence were deafening—shouts, heavy bodies crashing against drywall, the shattering of antiques, and the unmistakable, terrifying crack of gunfire echoing through the vaulted ceilings of Hale House.
My mind raced. We couldn't stay trapped in this room. If Julian’s men breached the door, or if they decided to set fire to the mansion as Julian had threatened, we were sitting ducks. There had to be another way out.
Every old cliffside estate built by wealthy families in the nineteenth century had architectural quirks—panic rooms, smuggling tunnels, or secondary service stairs designed for staff or emergency escapes.
“Nurse, stay with Sarah and the baby! Keep them low!” I commanded, rushing toward the massive walk-in wardrobe at the back of the bedroom.
I threw open the mirrored doors, shoving aside rows of designer dresses, fur coats, and custom suits. I ran my hands frantically along the wooden wainscoting at the back of the closet, tapping against the panels, searching for a seam, a latch, or a hidden spring.
Bang! Bang!
Another burst of gunfire hit the bedroom door. The wood splintered around the lock. The deadbolt groaned under the pressure. We had seconds, maybe a minute at most, before the door gave way.
“Come on... come on...” I muttered under my breath, my fingernails scraping desperately against the dark mahogany panels.
My thumb caught a small, recessed brass toggle disguised as a knot in the wood. I pressed down hard with all my weight.
With a soft, pneumatic hiss, a section of the back wall swung inward, revealing a dark, narrow stone stairwell descending sharply into the bedrock beneath the mansion. A faint, cool breeze smelling of damp earth and sea salt drifted up from the opening.
“I found it!” I called out, rushing back into the bedroom. “Sarah, get up! We have to move right now!”
The bedroom door splintered open with a thunderous crash.
Through the ruined doorway stepped one of Julian’s tactical guards, his assault rifle raised, scanning the room through the darkness with cold, professional menace.
Without thinking, I grabbed the heavy glass water pitcher from the bedside table and hurled it with all my might. It struck the guard squarely in the helmet, throwing off his aim just as he squeezed the trigger. The bullet buried itself harmlessly into the mattress inches from where Sarah crouched.
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“Go! Go! Go!” I screamed, grabbing Sarah by the arm and hauling her toward the open wardrobe, shoving the nurse ahead of us.
The guard recovered instantly, shouting back down the hall for reinforcements, but we had already tumbled through the hidden doorway. I slammed the heavy stone panel shut behind us just as heavy boots thundered across the bedroom hardwood floor.
