Chapter 11 - Saint Mercy
Saint Mercy Rehabilitation Center had been closed for eleven years.
The building stood beyond a rusted gate near Lake Durant, its white exterior stained by rain and neglect. Several windows had been boarded over, but lights glowed on the ninth floor.
Detective Whitman wanted Eleanor to remain with the police command team.
Eleanor refused.
“The message was addressed to me.”
“That is exactly why you should stay outside.”
“They will not reveal themselves to an officer.”
“They may kill you.”
“They may kill Rachel if I do not enter.”
After a tense argument, Whitman agreed to let Eleanor approach wearing a concealed microphone. Officers surrounded the property but remained beyond the tree line.
Eleanor carried the brass plaque in both hands.
The front doors opened automatically.
Inside, the abandoned lobby smelled of disinfectant.
A speaker crackled.
“Place the plaque on the reception desk.”
The voice was electronically distorted.
Eleanor obeyed.
“Where is my daughter?”
“Elevator nine.”
The elevator opened.
Eleanor stepped inside.
There were no buttons. The doors closed, and the car rose.
On the ninth floor, fluorescent lights flickered above a long hospital corridor.
Rachel lay unconscious in a room at the far end, secured to a bed.
Trent sat beside her.
His shirt was torn, and dried blood marked his forehead.
“You brought it,” he said.
Eleanor entered cautiously.
“Release her.”
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because they locked us in.”
For the first time, Trent looked frightened.
Eleanor glanced at Rachel’s monitors.
Her pulse was steady.
“What did Mallory give her?”
“I don’t know. He took the drive and left.”
“You brought her here.”
“He said we needed to protect her from you.”
“And you believed him?”
Trent laughed bitterly.
“I believed I would be paid.”
The honesty surprised her.
“How much?”
“Enough to clear my debts.”
“You married Rachel for my shares.”
“At first.”
Eleanor’s expression hardened.
“At first?”
Trent looked at his unconscious wife.
“I was supposed to marry her, isolate her, and secure the proxy. It was business.”
“And later?”
His voice lowered.
“Later she became mine.”
“That is not love.”
“I know.”
A speaker inside the room activated.
“Mr. Mercer, take the plaque.”
Trent stood.
“Who is that?” Eleanor asked.
“I never met him.”
“Martin?”
“No. Martin was only the legal channel. Samuel handled payments.”
“Samuel is dead.”
Trent looked toward the camera.
“Samuel called me yesterday.”
The door locked behind Eleanor.
A panel opened in the wall.
Inside was a syringe and a typed instruction.
INJECT ELEANOR. LEAVE THE PLAQUE. TAKE RACHEL.
Trent picked up the syringe.
Eleanor did not step back.
“You destroyed the camera because you thought there would be no evidence.”
“I destroyed it because they told me to.”
“You punched me because they told you to?”
His hand shook.
“No.”
“That was your choice.”
Trent stared at the syringe.
Rachel stirred.
“Mom?”
Her voice was weak.
Trent turned.
Eleanor lunged.
She struck his wrist with the brass edge of the plaque. The syringe fell. Trent grabbed her, but Rachel pulled one arm free and kicked him behind the knee.
He crashed against the bed.
The microphone beneath Eleanor’s collar transmitted every sound.
Outside, Detective Whitman gave the order to enter.
Alarms erupted through the building.
Trent looked toward the door.
“They’re coming.”
The distorted voice returned.
“No, Mr. Mercer. They are not.”
A deep explosion shook the lower floors.
The lights went out.
Smoke entered through the ventilation system.
Rachel struggled against the restraints.
Eleanor found the release latch and freed her.
Trent retrieved the syringe but did not attack. He threw it aside and lifted Rachel from the bed.
“The stairs are at the end of the hall.”
They entered the corridor together.
Below them, gunfire echoed through the stairwell.
Trent stopped.
“That isn’t the police.”
A figure appeared behind the smoke at the opposite end.
The person wore a white medical coat.
Dr. Mallory raised a pistol.
“Leave the plaque,” he ordered.
Trent pushed Rachel behind him.
Eleanor held the brass plate against her chest.
Mallory aimed.
Before he could fire, the ceiling lights flashed on for one second.
Eleanor saw another person standing behind him.
A man with silver hair and a scar across his chin.
Samuel North.
May you like
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Alive.
👉 Samuel North had supposedly died in the river, yet he stood inside the burning clinic—and the weapon in his hand was pointed not at Eleanor, but at Dr. Mallory.
