Chapter 4 - The Fortress in the PinesThe gate to Pinecrest Medical Retreat rose out of the snowy darkness like the entrance to a prison.
High chain-link fences topped with razor wire surrounded a sprawling, grey stone compound tucked deep inside a dense forest of cedar trees. A single security booth guarded the main entrance, its yellow light illuminating the falling snow.
I pulled my truck into the treeline fifty yards from the entrance, shutting off the headlights.
My heart pounded against my ribs as I grabbed a heavy steel tire iron from behind my seat. I slipped on my heavy work gloves, wrapped Natalie's wedding ring around my pinky finger under the glove, and stepped out into the howling storm.
I didn't try to negotiate. I knew what Brenda was capable of now. If I walked up to that booth, they would call the police, report me for trespassing, and transfer Natalie to another facility before sunrise.
I circled the perimeter, creeping through the knee-deep snow along the fence line until I found a spot where a heavy pine branch had fallen under the weight of the ice, bending the top wire downward.
I threw my coat over the razor wire, leapt up, caught the top of the fence, and hauled myself over. I hit the ground hard on the other side, rolling into the snow, my breath coming in ragged white clouds.
The central building was three stories tall, its dark windows secured with decorative steel bars.
I moved along the shadow of the stone foundation until I reached the service door near the loading dock. A white van with the logo Apex Guardian Services was parked outside, its engine still warm, water dripping from its wheel wells onto the concrete floor.
The trail of water.
I checked the handle of the service door. Locked.
Without hesitating, I raised the heavy tire iron and smashed it into the glass panel beside the lock. The sharp crack echoed through the quiet alley. I reached through the broken pane, flipped the crash bar from the inside, and slipped into the warm, sterile-smelling interior.
The hallway smelled of bleach, floor wax, and damp linen.
"Hey! Who the hell are you?!" a voice shouted from the end of the corridor.
A large guard in a navy blue tactical uniform was stepping out of a security office, his hand dropping to the holster at his hip.
I didn't say a word. I didn't stop.
Three years of unexpressed anger, the guilt of my own stupidity, and the desperate, burning need to save my wife surged through my veins like liquid fire. I covered the distance between us in three strides. Before the guard could pull his weapon, I drove my shoulder straight into his chest, slamming him back against the cinderblock wall.
The guard grunted, reaching for my throat, but I swung the tire iron, catching him square across the forearm. He screamed, dropping his gun. I grabbed the front of his vest and slammed his head back against the wall once, twice, until his eyes rolled back and his body went limp.
I fell to my knees, gasping for air, grabbing the ring of master keys from his belt.
"Natalie..." I whispered, pulling myself up. "Natalie, where are you?"
I ran down the long, dim corridor, checking the small glass viewports of each door.
Room 101: Empty.
Room 102: An elderly man sleeping under a restraint blanket.
Room 104: Empty.
Then, at the far end of the wing, behind a reinforced door marked Isolation B, I heard it.
A soft, ragged, whistling cough.
My heart shattered into a million pieces. It was her cough. The sound she made whenever her asthma flared up under extreme cold or stress.
"Natalie!" I yelled, throwing myself against the door.
I shoved key after key into the lock, my hands shaking so hard I dropped the ring twice.
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"Landon...?" a faint, trembling voice came through the small iron grille near the top of the door.
Finally, the lock clicked. I threw the door open.
