Chapter 2: Fifteen Minutes

Meanwhile, in the confined space of an hospital, twenty-three-year-old Dr. Isadora Bell had just clocked out after a grueling double shift at St. Meridan General.

Her body ached in places she didn’t know could ache, and her mind was still caught between the beep of monitors and the scream of a mother whose child hadn’t made it.

She reached her locker in the residents’ lounge, peeled off her stethoscope, and tossed it in with a sigh that came from her soul.

She ran a hand through her curls, eyes heavy, just as two interns…both fresh out of med school…poked their heads into the room.

“Dr. Bell,” one of them said, nervous, clinging to a clipboard. “It’s really coming down out there.”

She glanced out the narrow hallway window. The sky looked like it had cracked open and the wind had picked up enough to rattle the glass.

Isadora exhaled and grabbed her hoodie off the chair.

“Y’all better head home,” she said, voice soft as she turned to the interns that was with her . “This storm’s only getting worse. Don’t hang around waiting for anyone. Go. Get some rest.”

The two interns exchanged looks, then nodded.

“Okay, ma,” they chorused politely, shuffling off down the corridor.

Isadora gave a tired smile, watching them disappear before turning back to her locker. She zipped her bag, shoved it over her shoulder, and headed for the exit.

As soon as the automatic doors opened, the rain greeted her. It was Cold. Relentless. The wind blew her hood off instantly, soaking her curls within seconds.

Of course.

Her car was parked three blocks away. Her phone was dead. Her body wanted nothing more than to collapse…but she had to move.

She pulled her hoodie tight around her shoulders and stepped into the storm.

She didn’t know it yet, but this night wasn’t going to end with her in bed.

It was going to end with her in blood.

By the time Isadora reached her car, she was drenched to the bone. Her hoodie clung to her skin, her shoes were soaked, and her fingers were trembling as she fumbled for her keys.

She dropped them. Of course. She cursed under her breath, bent down, picked them up, shoved them into the lock, and yanked the door open.

The storm howled louder now, beating against the windshield like it was trying to shatter it. She threw her bag onto the passenger seat and climbed in, slamming the door shut behind her. Her breath fogged the glass instantly.

She shoved the key into the ignition.

Turned it.

Click.

Nothing.

She tried again. Harder.

Click. Click. Nothing.

Her brows furrowed. “No. No, no, no…don’t you fucking do this to me now…

She frowned. Tried again and again. Hoping the heavens would smile on her and her car would start working.

Click. Click.

Her heart sank.

“No. No, don’t do this. Not now.”

She turned the key again. Harder. More desperate.

Nothing.

“DAMMIT!” She slammed her fists against the steering wheel. “FUCK!”

The engine was dead. Probably soaked. The entire hood felt like it was crying with her.

She grabbed her phone, hands shaking, and turned it on. It flickered. The battery was nearly dead. One bar. One single, miserable bar of signal.

She tapped Ethan’s name without hesitation.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Then…

“Bell?” Ethan’s voice came through, warm and groggy. “Jesus, Dora, it’s almost midnight. Are you okay?”

Her voice cracked, half laughing, half furious. “No, I’m fucking not, Ethan. I’m freezing. I just got off a double. It’s pouring like the world’s ending and now my piece..of..shit car won’t start.”

“Where are you?” he asked, instantly alert. “You want me to come get you?”

“I’m still by the hospital but..fuck…” She looked out the windshield. The storm looked even worse now. “There’s no cabs. I tried waving a few down, none of them even slowed. I swear, this city’s got no soul left.”

“Okay, okay, relax. We’ll figure it out. You’re safe, yeah?”

“I’m safe,” she said softly, eyes darting across the dark, empty street. “Just soaked and pissed and tired.”

“Alright. I’m getting up. Send me your location…”

“I was thinking I might take the shortcut,” she muttered, already regretting the words. “You know the one behind that factory near Westburn? It’s quicker. I just…”

Silence.

“Ethan?” she said.

No response.

She pulled the phone back. Call dropped.

“No. No, no, no…FUCKING HELL!” she screamed, slamming her fist against the dash. “FUCKING SERVICE!”

Her phone blinked red. One percent battery.

She dropped it in her lap and sat there, breathing hard, staring out the window like the storm might somehow give her an answer.

But there was nothing. Just wind, rain, and darkness.

She reached for her hoodie, tugging it tighter around her shoulders like armor, and stared down the long, cold road ahead.

“Fine. Fuck it. Let’s go,” she muttered.

She stepped out of the car, the rain hitting her like a wall. Her shoes splashed into a rising puddle. Water rushed down the street in violent rivers. And all she could think was how far she had to go.

There was only one option.

The shortcut.

She stood at the edge of the street, staring down the narrow alley that cut behind the abandoned textile factory. It was dark. Empty. The kind of place people crossed the street to avoid.

But she didn’t have time. She didn’t have a choice.

“I’ll be home in fifteen minutes,” she whispered to herself. “Just fifteen minutes.”

She started walking.

She had no idea that fifteen minutes was all it would take to change everything.

Because on the other side of that shortcut…

Was blood.

Was power.

Was him.

***

She walked as fast as she could, her footsteps echoed softly in the narrow alley, splashing through cold puddles that reached her ankles. Her jeans were heavy. Her hoodie clung to her skin. And her breath fogged with every shaky exhale.

She pulled her arms tighter around her chest, trying to focus, trying to walk faster.

“You can do this, Dora,” she whispered to herself, teeth chattering. “You can. You’ve done worse. It’s just a shortcut. Just a stupid, dark, creepy-ass shortcut.”

She swallowed, eyes darting around the alley.

“Nothing’s going to happen. You’re fine. You’re going home. You’ll warm up, shower, maybe FaceTime Ethan and laugh about this. You’re good.”

But then she stopped.

Her breath caught.

Something wasn’t right.

There was a sound. Low. Muffled. Wet.

Like someone choking.

Then a voice. A man’s voice. Deep. Sharp. Angry. Speaking a language she didn’t fully understand. But it wasn’t just the words. It was the tone.

It was violent.

“Fuck…” What was that” she whispered.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. She looked around, searching for somewhere to hide. She spotted a stack of broken crates near the corner of the building and rushed behind them, crouching low, her back pressed against the wall, her breath coming in short, shallow gasps.

She couldn’t breathe.

Her body was shaking. Her hands trembled.

She made the holy sign with weak fingers. “Oh Lord… please protect me. Please. I don’t want to die tonight.”

Her whisper cracked. Her voice was barely there.

She clutched the edge of her hoodie, pulling it forward like it would shield her from the danger that felt way too close.

Her thighs trembled as she crouched. She felt it. That overwhelming pressure in her lower belly. She was so scared she could feel herself almost peeing. Her bladder pulsed painfully with the fear crawling through her.

She covered her mouth.

The voice came again.

Louder. Angrier.

She didn’t want to look.

But something pulled her.

Curiosity. Instinct. Fate.

She leaned forward, just enough to peek through the broken slats between the crates.

And there he was.

A man knelt in the center of the alley.

Tall. Immovable. His presence didn’t feel human.

He was soaked, just like her, but he didn’t seem to feel the rain. It ran down his face, washing blood from his knuckles. He held a gun in his right hand like it belonged there.

And in front of him…