Chapter 47 up
“Stop here.”
Clark’s voice came out hoarse as the car screeched to a sudden halt in front of the silent, abandoned warehouse. The headlights swept across the peeling concrete walls, exposing rusted shadows and a half-closed iron door. Vincent opened his door first and got out quickly, his breath catching as a bad feeling tightened in his chest.
“This is the place,” Vincent said. “The coordinates match.”
Clark didn’t answer. He was already running, his shoes crunching against gravel, the sound tearing through the night’s silence. He shoved the iron door—it was locked.
“Damn it!” Clark kicked the door, then shouted, “Nyla! Nyla!”
No answer.
Vincent pulled a flashlight from his pocket. “Easy. We’ll go in from the side.”
They ran around the warehouse. A small door at the back was half open, clear pry marks etched into the metal. Clark pushed it; the door groaned softly. The stench of damp air and rust rushed out to meet them. The flashlight beam danced across the cold concrete floor.
“Nyla?” Clark called again, his voice breaking.
Vincent scanned the room. “Clark… look at this.”
Clark followed the light. A chain. A heavy chain lay on the floor, its end snapped. Beside it, a dark stain—blood that hadn’t fully dried yet. Clark dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he touched the floor.
“No…” His breath hitched. “No, no, no—”
He rubbed the stain with his fingers, as if hoping it was just dirt. His hands shook violently. “This is my fault,” he whispered. “I’m too late.”
Vincent grabbed Clark’s shoulder. “Don’t fall apart now.”
Clark shot up, brushing Vincent’s hand away. “I let this happen! I’m the one who didn’t see it—”
“Clark!” Vincent snapped. “Listen to me. She’s still alive. If they wanted her dead, they wouldn’t have bothered moving her.”
Clark let out a bitter laugh. “You’re sure? Look at this!” He pointed at the blood and the chain. “This means nothing to you, but this is her life!”
Sirens wailed in the distance. Police. Vincent nodded toward Clark. “They’re coming. We need to work with them.”
Two police cars pulled up. An officer stepped out, his eyes quickly assessing the warehouse. “We received a report. Don’t touch anything else.”
Clark clenched his fists. “She was just moved! You need to chase them now!”
The officer raised a hand. “We have to secure the crime scene. Procedure.”
“Procedure?” Clark stepped closer, his voice rising. “Every minute matters!”
Vincent positioned himself between them. “Officer, we have strong indications and time is critical. Please—”
“Sir,” the officer cut in. “We’ll do this by the book.”
Clark turned his face away, his jaw hardening. “Your rules are killing time.”
Another officer started setting up police tape. Red and blue lights flashed, making the shadows tremble. Clark paced back and forth, tugging at his hair in frustration.
“I can’t just stand here,” he said. “I have to do something.”
Vincent followed him, lowering his voice. “And you will. Just not by destroying yourself.”
Clark stopped. “I saw her blood.”
“A little,” Vincent replied quickly. “Not a fatal wound. Look at the angle—it’s more like a scrape.”
Clark stared at him, doubt flickering in his eyes. “You’re sure?”
Vincent nodded. “Sure enough to act.”
An officer called out, “We found something.”
They moved closer. In the corner of the warehouse, behind a rusted metal wheel, lay a small hair ribbon. Worn. Clark swallowed hard. “That’s Nyla’s.”
The officer took notes. “Evidence.”
Vincent pointed toward the back door. “And this?” He crouched, shining his light on the doorway. A torn piece of fabric was caught on a nail. “A trail.”
Clark knelt again, this time more carefully. “She left this,” he said, his voice trembling with hope. “She’s still thinking. She’s still fighting.”
“Yes,” Vincent said. “And that means she wants us to follow.”
Clark stood up, scanning the area. “Where to?”
Vincent looked outside, toward the dirt road leading away from the warehouse. “Wet soil. Northbound. Toward the outskirts.”
The officer shook his head. “We can’t move without authorization.”
Clark spun around sharply. “You can—you just won’t.”
Vincent grabbed Clark again. “Clark. Focus.”
Clark let out a rough breath. “How am I supposed to focus when I’m one step too late?”
Vincent met his gaze. “By turning that one step into ten steps forward.”
Vincent’s phone buzzed. He checked the screen, then looked up. “Traffic camera footage. A black car leaving this area around midnight. Partial plate.”
Clark leaned in. “Which direction?”
Vincent pulled up a map. “This is the interesting part.”
Clark stared at the highlighted route. His eyes widened. “That’s impossible.”
“That’s exactly why,” Vincent said quietly. “The last place you’d expect.”
Clark rubbed his face, fear and hope tearing through his chest. “Tell me.”
Vincent pointed to a spot. “South—an old complex near the lake. Abandoned houses. Everyone thinks that place is dead.”
Clark fell silent. A shadow from the past crept in—a place he’d passed before without a second thought. “I know that area.”
Vincent nodded. “And they’re counting on that.”
The officer approached again. “We’ll follow up.”
Clark looked at the hair ribbon in the officer’s hand. “Please… don’t waste time.”
The officer sighed. “We’ll do what we can.”
Clark turned to Vincent. “I’m coming.”
“We move,” Vincent replied. “Now.”
Clark glanced back at the warehouse one last time—the blood, the chain, the silence. “Wait for me,” he whispered, as if Nyla could hear him. “I’m coming.”