Chapter 3 - Beneath the Ruins Was a Room That Should Never Have Existed
The warehouse had been abandoned for two years.
Weeds pushed through cracked concrete.
The windows were boarded.
The walls still carried black scars from the explosion.
Nora stood beside Arthur.
“You've been here since?”
“Once.”
“Why only once?”
Arthur's jaw tightened.
“Because the first time I came back, I couldn't remember where everything was.”
She understood.
Losing sight wasn't just losing vision.
It was losing certainty.
Arthur had built his world around sounds.
He listened to footsteps.
Air movement.
Echoes.
The texture of surfaces beneath his cane.
Nora watched him move through the ruins.
He stopped near a collapsed wall.
“There's a hollow space.”
“How do you know?”
“Echo.”
He tapped his cane.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
“There.”
They moved debris.
A steel panel appeared.
Behind it was a staircase.
Nora stared.
“This was hidden.”
“Yes.”
They descended.
At the bottom was a corridor.
Fresh footprints marked the dust.
Arthur's voice became cold.
“Someone has been here.”
They followed the corridor.
A metal door stood at the end.
B-17.
The key fit.
Nora turned it.
The lock clicked.
Arthur inhaled.
Inside was a room filled with boxes.
Documents.
Photographs.
Old hard drives.
And a single wall covered with pictures.
Arthur's face appeared in dozens.
Nora stepped closer.
There were photographs of Arthur before the explosion.
Arthur at meetings.
Arthur entering restaurants.
Arthur with Vincent.
Arthur with his brother, Daniel.
Then Nora saw something.
A photograph of Arthur entering the warehouse on the night of the explosion.
Timestamped 11:02 p.m.
Another showed him leaving his car.
Then another.
Someone had watched him.
Someone had planned the explosion.
Arthur stood motionless.
Nora looked at him.
“Arthur?”
He didn't answer.
She touched his sleeve.
He flinched.
Then she noticed a photograph lying on the floor.
It showed Arthur's father.
Beside him stood a younger Vincent.
And beside Vincent stood Marcus Bell.
Nora's breath caught.
“Arthur.”
He turned.
She handed him the photograph.
He ran his fingers over it.
“Where did you find this?”
“Here.”
Arthur went silent.
Then he said:
“My father died fifteen years ago.”
Nora nodded.
“Who is the woman?”
Arthur's face changed.
“What woman?”
Nora pointed.
In the corner of the photograph stood a woman.
Dark hair.
White coat.
She was holding a clipboard.
Arthur touched the photograph.
His fingers began to tremble.
“I know that voice.”
Nora looked at him.
“Whose?”
“My doctor.”
“Your doctor?”
“The woman who treated me after the explosion.”
Nora stared at the photograph.
“What's her name?”
Arthur whispered:
“Dr. Evelyn Shaw.”
Then a sound came from behind them.
A click.
The door locked.
Gas began filling the room.
Nora coughed.
Arthur grabbed her hand.
“Stay with me.”
“I am.”
He pulled her toward the wall.
“Find the vent.”
She searched blindly through the smoke.
“I can't see.”
“Neither can I.”
She laughed despite herself.
“Not funny.”
“Wasn't joking.”
They found an emergency hatch.
Arthur kicked it.
Nothing.
Again.
Nothing.
Nora grabbed a metal bar.
“Move.”
She struck the lock.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
It broke.
They crawled through.
Behind them, the room filled with smoke.
Arthur lay on the concrete, breathing hard.
Nora sat beside him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He laughed.
Then stopped.
“What?”
Nora looked at the floor.
A small recorder lay there.
She picked it up.
It had one audio file.
Arthur pressed play.
A man's voice filled the corridor.
“You were never supposed to survive.”
Arthur froze.
The voice continued.
“Your blindness was the only thing that saved you.”
Then another voice spoke.
A woman's.
Dr. Evelyn Shaw.
“Arthur was never the target.”
Nora's blood ran cold.
Arthur whispered:
“Then who was?”
May you like
The recording ended.
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