Page 41 of Silent Home

"Anna wrote this," Sheila said."She came here willingly."

"But where did they go?"Finn was examining the surveillance monitors."None of these shows the inside of this building."

Sheila turned slowly, studying the room with new eyes.Decades of film reels lined the walls, meticulously labeled.Ancient projection equipment gathered dust in corners.But something about the space felt wrong.

"The room's too small," she said suddenly.

"What?"

"For a projection booth.Look at the exterior wall—it should extend another ten feet at least."She ran her hands along the wood paneling."There has to be..."

Her fingers caught on something—a slight gap, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.She pressed, and a panel shifted with a soft click.

Behind it was another door, solid metal with a heavy handle.

"That's not original to the building," Finn said quietly.

Sheila examined the handle."Recently used too.See the oil on the hinges?Someone's been keeping it maintained."

They shared a look, both thinking the same thing: Wilson had spent nine years renovating this old theater.Nine years with unlimited access.Nine years to make modifications that nobody would notice.

Sheila checked her weapon, then reached for the handle."Ready?"

Finn nodded, his own weapon drawn.

The door opened onto a narrow staircase leading down into darkness.Sheila started down the stairs, keeping close to the wall.Each step felt solid, professionally installed.This wasn't some hasty renovation—someone had taken their time, created exactly what they needed.The stairs seemed to descend forever, curving deeper beneath the old theater.

A door closed somewhere below.Then the sound of footsteps echoed up the stairwell.

"They're on the move!"Sheila said in an urgent whisper as she raced down the stairs.The beam of her flashlight bounced wildly against the walls, creating disorienting shadows.

A door closed below them.Then another.

"Multiple exits," Finn said between breaths."He knows the layout."

They reached the bottom of the stairs, finding themselves in a concrete corridor that branched in three directions.Each branch disappeared into darkness, and all three had doors standing open.

"Split up?"Finn asked.

Sheila moved closer to the nearest doorway, listening."Wait..."

A faint sound carried from the left corridor—something metal scraping against concrete.

They moved quickly but cautiously down the left branch.The air grew colder, damper.More doors lined the corridor, but these were older, original to the building.Except one—a modern steel door that stood slightly ajar.

As they approached, they heard movement on the other side.Sheila gestured for Finn to take the high position while she went low.On a silent count of three, they pushed through.

The room beyond was massive—some kind of former storage space, now converted into what looked like a private theater.Rows of seats faced a small stage.But Wilson wasn't there.

A door was closing on the far side.

"Stop!Police!"Sheila shouted, already running.

They burst through the door into another corridor, catching a glimpse of Wilson disappearing around a corner.His footsteps echoed off the walls, creating a disorienting cacophony.

Had he not heard them?Or was he trying to escape?

Sheila and Finn rounded the corner to find a maze of pipes and maintenance accessways.Steam hissed from somewhere deeper in the complex.Their flashlight beams caught brief glimpses of Wilson moving through the shadows, always just out of reach.

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