Chapter 10: The Footsteps Overhead
The floorboards above their heads groaned under the weight of heavy boots. The sound was distinct—not the light, hurried steps of a courier, but the heavy, deliberate tread of men who knew every corner of the house and didn't care about making noise. Julian’s hand went instinctively to his side, his fingers brushing the empty space where his holster used to hang before he left it in the glove compartment of the car down on Route 9. He cursed under his breath. Clara backed away toward the far corner, her hand still clutching the phone, the leather whip trailing behind her like a dead tail. "Where’s the second key?" Julian demanded, stepping toward her with his hand out. "The key to the padlock. Give it to me." "I don't have it," she lied, her eyes darting toward the small wooden desk near the furnace where a clutter of old receipts and spare parts sat under a layer of gray dust. Julian didn't wait for her to admit it. He lunged past her, his shoulder clipping her arm as he swept his hand across the desk, scattering screwdrivers and rusted washers across the floor until his fingers hit a cold, heavy ring of iron keys. He grabbed them, the metal biting into his palm, and spun back toward the cage just as the basement door at the top of the stairs began to creak open.
