Chapter 4 - The Ghost in the Mirror
The basement of St. Jude’s felt like a vault below the earth. The air was frigid, damp, and smelled heavily of industrial sedatives.
Adrian threw his weight against the heavy steel door at the bottom of the stairs, bursting into the corridor of Sub-level Two.
At the far end of the hallway, a tall, grey-haired man in a white doctor’s coat was desperately trying to wheel a covered gurney toward a rear service elevator. Beside him stood two heavy-set orderlies holding medical restraints.
"Thorne!" Adrian screamed, his voice echoing off the damp concrete walls like a thunderclap.
Dr. Arthur Thorne spun around, his face twisting in panic. "Secured the doors! Get him out of here!" he yelled to the two orderlies.
The orderlies stepped forward, pulling heavy metal batons from their belts. But Adrian was no longer a civilian businessman. Driven by four years of accumulated grief and raw rage, he closed the distance in seconds. He ducked under the first orderly's swing, driving a solid right hook into the man's ribs, following up with a brutal knee to the sternum that sent the man crashing to the floor.
Jackson, arriving a second behind Adrian, caught the second orderly in a headlock, driving him against the wall and knocking him unconscious with a single precise strike.
Dr. Thorne let go of the gurney and scrambled backward, backing into a corner, holding a syringe filled with clear fluid like a knife. "Stay back! She’s my patient! She suffers from severe, violent psychosis—"
Adrian walked up to Thorne, grabbed the doctor by his throat, and lifted him slightly off the ground, pinning him against the concrete wall. The syringe fell from Thorne’s hand, shattering on the floor.
"If you move," Adrian whispered into Thorne’s ear, his breath ragged, "I will ensure you never walk again."
He threw Thorne to the floor, where Jackson immediately bound the doctor's hands with zip-ties.
Slowly, with his heart hammering against his ribs so hard it felt like it would crack his sternum, Adrian turned toward the gurney.
The woman lying on the gurney was wrapped in a coarse, hospital-issued blanket. Her frame was thin—frighteningly thin. Her long, dark hair, once thick and lustrous, was dry and tangled, cascading over her pale shoulders. Her skin had the translucent pallor of someone who hadn't seen the sun in years.
Adrian’s hands trembled violently as he reached out, gently pulling back the rough blanket to reveal her face.
It was Eleanor.
Her cheekbones were sharp, her lips dry and cracked, but the delicate curve of her nose, the small mole just beneath her left collarbone—it was her. The woman he had wept for, the woman whose clothes he had kept in his closet for two years before Victoria finally convinced him to donate them.
Eleanor’s dark eyelashes fluttered weakly. Her deep brown eyes, clouded with sedatives and confusion, slowly opened. She stared up at the tall man standing over her, the bright fluorescent light creating a halo around his head.
She didn't scream. She didn't shrink away.
Slowly, painfully, Eleanor raised a thin, bruised hand, her fingers trembling in the cold air. She reached out, her fingertips brushing against Adrian’s jaw, feeling the stubble on his skin.
"Adrian...?" she whispered, her voice barely a dry rasp, sounding like rustling dry leaves.
Tears burst from Adrian’s eyes, hot and unrestrained. He fell to his knees beside the gurney, grabbing her hand and pressing it against his face, kissing her palm over and over again.
"It’s me, my love," Adrian sobbed, his head resting against her chest, feeling the faint, steady beat of her heart. "It’s me. I found you. I’m so sorry... I’m so sorry it took me so long."
Eleanor’s fingers weakly curled into his dark hair. "The... the babies..." she murmured, her clouded eyes struggling to focus. "Where are my babies...?"
"They’re safe, Eleanor," Adrian swore, looking into her eyes with pure, unwavering devotion. "Leo and Mia are safe. Clara brought them to me. You’re all safe now."
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A faint, beautiful tear slipped from the corner of Eleanor’s eye, trailing down her pale cheek. "You came..."
"I’m never leaving again," Adrian promised. He stood up, carefully gathering her frail body into his arms, wrapping her tightly in his coat to shield her from the cold. He carried her down the hall, past the bound doctor, past the broken security doors, and out into the roaring storm—leaving the nightmare of St. Jude's behind forever.
