Page 7 of When You're Broken
Finn lifted his palms slowly, trying to keep his voice steady.“All right, easy.Put the gun down.We’re not here to do you any harm.”
Peterson's laughter came out in a strangled burst."No.This is the way it has to be.The way it was meant to be.You want to find out what's missing.Where the files went.You can't."His hand trembled, the barrel wavering for a second as if uncertain where to aim.
A jolt of clarity hit Finn.Peterson was about to shoot.Adrenaline spiked.Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Amelia shift a fraction, gauging if she could move.“Stanley,” Finn said calmly, “we don’t have to do this.We can talk—”
A shot exploded in the confined room, ear-splitting.The muzzle flash lit Peterson’s face, wild eyes reflecting the spark.Finn flung himself sideways, the bullet whizzing past, ricocheting off a metal cabinet with a shriek of metal on metal.Paper erupted from the impact, swirling in the air like frightened birds.
Amelia dropped to the floor, heart pounding.She tried to scramble behind a cabinet row, pulling her jacket aside to reach her weapon.But Peterson tracked her, pointing the gun again.Another shot thundered.Amelia ducked, the bullet slamming into a filing drawer.She cried out, mostly in alarm, though the fragments missed her by inches.
“Stop!”Peterson barked, his voice trembling with a mania.“I don’t want to do this!But I have to!”
He didn’t finish because Finn used the moment to lunge forward.He tackled a corner of a tall shelving unit, shoving it into Peterson’s line of sight.The manager cursed, stumbling back as the heavy structure groaned.The muzzle swung wildly.Finn heard Amelia scramble for cover.Dust motes filled the air in choking plumes.
Desperate, Finn realized the manager had a vantage on the single exit.He and Amelia needed to break line of sight, find another route.But the basement had no obvious second door.He could see a small side area, maybe a closet or storage room, near the far corner.“Amelia,” he shouted, “over here!”
She half-crawled, half-ran behind a row of cabinets, ducking low to avoid another shot that barked out, striking the cement floor.Chips of concrete stung her ankles.The manager hissed like a man possessed.“I told him I’d handle it,” he muttered, voice echoing.“I promisedhimI would keep my end of the bargain.”
Finn pressed close behind Amelia, guiding her toward the side room.The overhead bulb flickered again, sending shadows jerking across the floor.His heartbeat roared in his ears, but he forced himself calm.If they hesitated, Peterson could corner them and finish them off.
They reached the small doorway—little more than a battered wood panel.With a firm push, it swung open into darkness.Amelia stumbled inside, Finn followed, and he groped for a handle on the inside to shut it.The moment he did, footsteps pounded across the basement.Stanley Peterson’s breath rasped outside, the gun’s slide clicking as he presumably checked his ammunition.
Coursing with adrenaline, Finn eased the door closed, quietly sliding the ancient deadbolt.It might not hold up against a determined kick, but it might buy them seconds.Inside, the space was cramped, stacked with moldering boxes that smelled of old clothes or bedding.No windows, no secondary exit.A single overhead light fixture hung from a chain, but it remained off.Amelia pressed her back against the boxes, chest heaving.She reached for her sidearm now, but the close-range gunfight risked cornering them.It was a precarious situation.
Finn leaned near the door, listening.Heavy footfalls echoed from beyond the corridor.Peterson’s silhouette passed the narrow gap at the base of the door, once, then again.The manager muttered under his breath, words too muffled to parse.Then a scraping sound—like he was dragging something across the floor.Or maybe searching behind cabinets.
Amelia's eyes caught Finn's in the gloom, wide with adrenaline.She mouthed, "We can't stay."He pressed a finger to his lips, silently agreeing but not sure how they'd manage an escape.
Peterson’s footsteps paused.The doorknob rattled, sending a jolt of fresh fear through Finn.He froze, wishing for a gun in his hand, arms tensed, ready to strike if the manager burst in.The knob jerked again.A faint grunt of frustration sounded.The manager must have realized they’d locked it from within.
Then came a soft metallic clack, harsh and distinct in the hush.The slide of a magazine.The unmistakable sound of a gun being reloaded.
Finn’s stomach turned to ice.He traded a stricken look with Amelia.He’s reloading.He might have enough rounds to shoot through the door.The angle wouldn’t guarantee their safety inside.A single well-aimed bullet could kill one or both of them if they huddled by the entrance.
Outside, Peterson’s footsteps grew heavier, closer.The floor seemed to vibrate under each step.Finn’s throat went dry.His chest tightened.Amelia pressed herself flatter against the boxes, bracing for the worst.In the suffocating dark, each second felt like an eternity.
The footsteps halted right outside.A heartbeat of silence.Finn listened to the manager’s ragged breathing, so close it felt like they shared the same stagnant air.Then, a scraping noise along the door, as though Peterson tested the wood with the barrel of his gun or checked for weak points.Finn’s pulse pounded.He could practically taste the tension as he watched, helpless.One wrong move…
Amelia’s eyes locked on him, unwavering.She whispered again, “Wait.I’m not convinced he knows we’re in here.”He understood: no precipitous action.They needed a better angle.The manager might fire blindly if spooked.Another bullet ricochet in a tight space could end them.
A quiet hiss escaped Peterson.Then he said something, so low it was barely audible: “Shouldn’t have come.Should’ve left it alone.”Finn’s breath caught, wanting to ask himwhy?—why do this, for whom, and how far was he willing to go?But he kept silent, sweat beading on his forehead.The manager might be just unhinged enough to kill them out of panic.
Time stretched.Finn could hear his own heart, each thump echoing in his skull.Outside, the manager shifted, footsteps scuffing in place.Another subtle click of metal.Then, all at once, the footsteps retreated, growing fainter.Finn didn’t dare breathe too loud, half expecting Peterson to lunge back at the door in some ruse.
The corridor fell into an eerie hush.Dust motes danced in the narrow strip of light under the door.Slowly, Finn lowered his gun an inch, glancing at Amelia.She seemed torn between relief and continued dread.The manager’s footsteps might vanish, but he could be setting a trap.Neither dared speak yet.They remained perched in that tension, hearing the building’s old pipes gurgle softly somewhere overhead.
Then came more footsteps, returning.He was definitely pacing back and forth, as if searching frantically.Each pass stoked the creeping sense of doom.The door handle rattled again, an impatient jostle.Another grunt, sharper this time.A savage thump as though he struck the wood with his fist.Amelia flinched, stifling a gasp.Finn braced every muscle, certain a bullet might tear through the door at any moment.
But all they heard next was a harsh exhale, followed by the manager’s voice, lower now, almost a mutter, “Where are they?I— I can’t let them escape.”Then the footsteps resumed, slower, heading away.A distinct shuffle of shoe against concrete.Another pregnant pause.The corridor light flickered, shadows dancing under the door.
Finn realized he was gripping the handle so tightly that his knuckles felt numb.The manager was still close.The man’s nerves were obviously fraying.That made him more dangerous, not less.He might lash out any second.
Seconds dragged into a full minute.The footsteps circled around, nearer again.The hush hung so heavy, it felt as though the entire children's home waited for the next thunder of gunfire.Amelia’s eyes flicked over to Finn, searching for direction.He gave a microscopic shake of his head:Not yet.They couldn’t risk stepping out only to be shot.
Then a final scuff, and silence.Finn strained to catch any sound, but the manager seemed to hold his breath as well.More tension, heavier than before.Is he gone, or is he standing there, gun raised?Finn realized the door had no peephole to confirm.He’d never felt so cornered.
After a moment, the building’s old pipes rumbled again, and something dripped in the distance.No further footsteps.Slowly, carefully, Finn leaned his ear to the door, ignoring the dryness in his mouth.He heard only the faint hum of overhead lights, the stale hush of air.Nothing that suggested immediate presence.But that might mean Peterson was waiting in ambush.
He turned to Amelia, exhaling a shallow breath.She nodded in silent question:What now?The end of the corridor, if they could reach it, might lead to a second set of stairs or an external door.But escaping from the front would require crossing right through the manager’s vantage.But if they opened the door and made a run for it, would they make it?
