Chapter 5 - The Locked BathroomThey dragged me down the corridor like a sack of grain.
Despite my thrashing and screaming, my strength was completely gone from the oxygen deprivation and the sheer terror of the realization. Ethan shoved me hard across the polished marble floor of the master suite, sending me sprawling into the adjoining master bathroom.
Click.
The heavy oak door slammed shut, and the deadbolt slid into place with a definitive, chilling finality.
"Claire, just be quiet and cooperate," Ethan’s voice muffled through the wood. "It will be much less painful if you don't fight it."
Footsteps retreated down the hall, fading into silence.
I picked myself up off the cold tile floor. My wrists throbbed where Ethan had grabbed them, and my throat felt like it was lined with broken glass. I looked around the massive, luxurious bathroom. Dual marble sinks, a sunken jacuzzi tub, a gold-plated vanity mirror—and not a single window.
The air vent near the ceiling was a tiny, grated square secured with four metal screws. There was no escape here. It was a tomb disguised as a spa.
Think, Claire, think, I told myself, pressing my palms against my face, trying to stop the hysterical shaking in my limbs. You are not going to die in this room. You are not going to end up like Chloe.
I surveyed the bathroom frantically. What did I have?
A glass soap dispenser. A heavy porcelain toothbrush holder. A marble tray holding expensive French soaps.
None of it was enough to break the solid oak door or the brass deadbolt.
Then, my eyes landed on a small chrome fixture near the base of the marble vanity: the plumbing access panel.
I dropped to my knees, grabbed a heavy metal nail file from my purse (which Ethan had carelessly tossed onto the bathroom counter earlier), and began frantically unscrewing the small flathead screws holding the metal panel in place.
My fingers slipped twice, scraping skin off my knuckles, but adrenaline fueled my hands.
Screws out. Panel off.
I yanked the metal plate away. Behind it was a dark, cramped cavity housing the copper drainage pipes and PVC junctions that led down through the walls to the ground floor. It wasn't big enough for a person to crawl through, but inside the cavity, running parallel to the drainpipe, was something else:
A heavy grey cable.
The security system control line.
In older historic mansions like this one, the master suite often housed the master junction box for the entire estate's wiring, including the emergency backup landline and the panic alarm system that the previous owners had installed in the eighties.
I reached my arm deep into the dark cavity, scraping my forearm against rough concrete and insulation, until my fingers brushed against a thick cluster of wires.
I didn't know which one was the alarm line.
Eenie, meenie, miny, moe...
I grabbed a thick, braided cable with a red stripe and pulled with all my might.
Snap.
Outside the bathroom door, the master suite's smart lighting instantly flickered and died. A high-pitched, warbling alarm tone began to pulse through the walls—a low, rhythmic electronic shriek that signaled a hardwired security fault in the main junction.
BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway outside.
"What the hell did she do?" Ethan’s voice shouted from the bedroom.
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"Get the master key! Now!" Margaret shrieked, her aristocratic composure completely shattered.
I scrambled backward from the plumbing panel, pulling a heavy marble soap dispenser off the counter and holding it over my head with both hands, waiting in the absolute darkness for the door to open.
