My ex left me for a millionaire and didn’t send a single dollar for our daughter for three years. Then, out of nowhere, he mailed her a dirty old doll. I almost threw it away… until I woke up at 3 a.m. and saw my little girl pulling something out of its stomach: “Save me. I’m being held captive.”

The air inside the bunker smelled of damp concrete, bleach, and stagnant water.

I pulled a small tactical flashlight from my pocket, its thin beam cutting through the oppressive darkness. A long flight of concrete stairs descended deep underground.

Every step I took echoed faintly off the walls. My heart felt like it was going to burst through my ribs.

At the bottom of the stairs was a long, narrow corridor lined with rusted pipes and heavy steel doors. It looked less like part of a luxury estate and more like a abandoned prison.

"Marcus," I whispered into my earpiece, "I'm inside. Which room?"

Static crackled in my ear. "Sarah... signal is getting weak... heavy concrete... head to the end... door on the left..."

"Marcus?"

Silence. The signal went completely dead. I was entirely on my own.

I gripped my flashlight tightly, creeping down the hallway.

From somewhere behind the steel door at the far end of the hall, I heard a sound. A low, raspy groan, followed by the metallic clink of a heavy chain.

I rushed to the door. There was a small, reinforced glass window built into the top section, covered in grime. I wiped the glass with my sleeve and pressed my face against it, shining my flashlight inside.

My heart shattered.

Sitting on a bare metal cot in the center of a small concrete cell was Harrison.

He was wearing a filthy, oversized grey jumpsuit. His hands were bound behind his back, his ankles chained to the floor frame. His face was gaunt, his ribs visible through his shirt, his skin a sickly, jaundiced yellow. An IV drip was hooked up to his left arm, feeding a clear liquid slowly into his veins.

"Harrison!" I gasped, rattling the heavy brass latch on the door.

The man on the bed flinched violently, covering his eyes from the flashlight beam. He cowered against the wall like a beaten animal.

"No... no more pills..." he croaked, his voice raw and broken. "Please... Rachel... I signed... I signed everything..."

"Harrison! It's me! It's Sarah!" I pleaded, throwing my weight against the door.

The lock was heavy, but Marcus’s cloner held a master override code. I pressed the device against the keycard scanner on the wall. The red light blinked twice... three times... then turned solid green.

THUNK.

The heavy steel bolt retracted. I threw the door open and rushed inside.

"Harrison!" I dropped to my knees beside the cot, grabbing his hands.

He stared at me, his hollow gray eyes wide with disbelief, his chest heaving. It took several seconds for the fog in his mind to clear, for recognition to slowly flicker behind his eyes.

"Sarah?" he whispered, his voice cracking. "No... no, I'm hallucinating. The drugs... they're making me see you..."

"You're not hallucinating, Harrison," I sobbed, tears spilling down my face as I pulled a pair of heavy wire cutters from my belt and began snipping at the plastic zip-ties binding his wrists. "Chloe got the doll. I saw the video. I'm here to take you home."

"Chloe..." Harrison wept, big tears rolling down his gaunt cheeks. "My little girl... she got it? You found the drive?"

"I found everything," I told him, snapping the ties. "I know who she really is. I know about Rachel Collins."

Harrison grabbed my arms with a sudden, desperate strength, his eyes wild with terror. "Sarah, you shouldn't have come! She's crazy! She's been poisoning me with synthetic scopolamine... wiping my memory, forcing me to sign corporate transfers! Once the final transfer clears at midnight tonight, she's going to kill me and throw my body in the ocean!"

"She's not going to kill anyone," I said fiercely, working on the heavy lock holding his ankle chains. "We are leaving. Right now."

"Well, well, well," a smooth, cultured voice purred from the dark doorway behind us. "Isn't this a touching family reunion?"

I froze.

Slowly, I turned around.

Standing in the doorway, framed by the harsh hallway light, was Rachel Collins. In her right hand, she held a sleek silver revolver, pointed straight at my chest. Beside her stood Kane, his scarred face twisted into a cruel, triumphant sneer.

"I must admit, Sarah," Rachel said, stepping into the cell, her diamond necklace sparkling under the dim fluorescent light. "I underestimated you. I thought you were just a pathetic, low-class ex-wife living on scraps in Reseda. But you actually made it all the way down here."