Chapter 52 The Next Stranger
In the corridor just outside, a young officer stood with his radio pressed to his mouth, relaying the situation to dispatch in clipped, urgent tones.
“…We have a man down...”
But fortunately enough, the shootout had happened in a hospital.
He didn’t hear the screaming from inside the room. Or if the sound registered somewhere at the edge of his attention, it was just one more note in the chaos he was already trying to manage.
He didn’t hear the quiet footsteps approaching him either, until a voice spoke at his shoulder.
“Officer.”
He turned.
The man standing behind him was calm in a way that didn’t fit the scene at all. Tall, dark-eyed, dressed in clothes that carried no blood, no dust, no evidence of having been anywhere near the carnage on this floor.
“Look at me,” the man said deeply.
The officer looked and almost instantly, something in his expression went slack. The tension around his eyes dissolved. His radio hand dropped slowly to his side.
The man reached into his jacket and produced a photograph, holding it up between two fingers.
“This is the shooter,” he said, his voice carrying that same quiet, absolute authority. “Maddox Barker. That was the shooter just now. You’ll remember his face clearly, but not his name until someone mentions it, and you’ll tell your colleagues it was him.”
“Maddox Barker,” the officer repeated in a flat, hollow tone. “The shooter.”
“And your colleague,” the man continued. “The wounded officer. Maddox Barker killed that officer too.”
A beat of silence. Then the officer spoke, still in that empty monotone. “But my colleague is still alive.”
The man’s expression didn’t flicker. “Then correct that.”
The officer turned and walked. His footsteps were stiff and controlled, carrying him without hesitation down the corridor toward the room where his wounded colleague lay.
A single muffled gunshot followed, then silence.
The man slipped the photograph back into his jacket and turned toward the destroyed room where Grace’s screaming had not stopped.
When footsteps finally crossed the threshold, Grace nearly sobbed with relief.
A man stepped into the destroyed room. He was tall, built with lean muscle, dressed in dark clothes. His features were sharp and handsome in a way that reminded Grace of Enzo and Zion, though this man was older, perhaps in his thirties. His eyes scanned the chaos with an expression that was far too calm, almost satisfied.
But Grace was too desperate to care about that wrong expression, she was too desperate for any help at all.
“Thank God,” Grace gasped out. “Please, help me. He’s bleeding out. I can’t get him off me and he needs medical attention right now.”
The man crossed the room without hurrying, stepping carefully around debris.
Up close, Grace could see his eyes more clearly. Dark, almost black, with something lurking in their depths that made her uncomfortable.
But Enzo was dying and she’d take help from anyone.
“Please,” Grace said again, her voice breaking. “Help me get him off. He’s going to die if we don’t stop the bleeding.”
The man nodded once and crouched beside them. His hands found Enzo’s shoulders and started to shift his weight.
His grip was rough. Too rough. His fingers dug into Enzo’s side without care, pulling and pushing in ways that would cause more damage. Grace winced but said nothing. She just needed to get free.
With the man’s help, Enzo’s weight was finally shifted enough for Grace to pull herself out. She scrambled backward on shaking limbs, getting to her feet on unsteady legs.
“Thank you,” Grace breathed, turning back toward the man.
She didn’t see it coming. The man’s hand shot out and connected with the side of her head with a brutal strike.
Grace’s vision exploded into white light then darkness. She felt herself falling, felt strong arms catching her before she hit the floor.
‘Of course, the next stranger I meet turns out dangerous.’
Then nothing.
The man caught Grace easily, adjusting her limp body over one shoulder. He turned back to where Enzo lay barely breathing on the floor and hefted him onto his other shoulder with the same ease.
For a moment he stood there, two unconscious bodies draped over his shoulders, surveying the destroyed room with cold, emotionless eyes.
Then he turned toward the shattered window and dove through it into the night below.