Then, absolute, suffocating silence.
I turned around slowly, my breath already pluming into a thick white cloud in front of my face. High on the sterile, metallic wall, a digital display glowed with a harsh, unforgiving red light that read negative fifty degrees Fahrenheit.
I stood frozen in place, my hands resting instinctively on the massive swell of my belly. I was thirty two weeks pregnant with twins. I was wearing nothing but a thin maternity dress and a light, cream colored cardigan. The cold did not simply surround me; it attacked me. It sliced through the flimsy fabric, biting into my skin, sinking its teeth directly into my bones.
“Quentin?” I called out, my voice sounding thin and small in the cavernous space of the storage facility. I pressed both of my bare hands against the frosted steel of the door. “Quentin, this is not funny at all. Open the door right now.”
A burst of static crackled from the small, grated intercom mounted near the frame. Then, my husband’s voice filtered through the speaker. It was not panicked. It was not frantic. It was perfectly, terrifyingly calm. It sounded almost bored.
“I am sorry, Isabella. I really am,” he said.
My stomach dropped into a dark abyss as I pressed my face against the freezing metal. “Let me out of here,” I whispered. “Please, Quentin. Think about the babies.”
“The life insurance policy pays triple for an accidental workplace death,” he interrupted, his tone as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “And no one knows you are here. You left your phone in the glove compartment of the car. Remember?”
I felt my knees buckle slightly as I recalled the late night call asking me to bring him a file for an emergency inventory check at Oakhaven Logistics. His suggestion that I wear something comfortable had been a trap. His casual reminder not to bring my phone into the storage bay because the extreme temperatures would kill the battery had been the final piece of the plan.
It had all been meticulously planned.
“You did this on purpose,” I said, my voice shaking so violently my teeth chattered.
Quentin sighed, and he almost sounded proud of himself. “The narrative is perfect, Isabella. You came to help me. You got disoriented. You wandered into the wrong high capacity storage unit. By morning, no one will question it.”
I pressed my hands harder over my belly as the twins kicked frantically inside me. “Quentin,” I sobbed, tears instantly freezing on my cheeks. “Please. Think about your children.”
“I am thinking about them,” he replied coldly. “Two million dollars thinks very, very well.”
The intercom clicked. Then, it went dead.
I was alone.
At first, the sheer adrenaline of panic took over. I fought the door. I threw my weight against it. I pounded my fists until my knuckles split and bled, smearing bright red arcs across the frosted steel. I kicked it with my bare feet until my toes went numb.
Nothing moved. It was a vault built to keep the world out, and now, it was my tomb.
I forced myself to stop, gasping for air that felt like swallowing shattered glass. Think, Isabella. Think. The industrial freezer was about twelve feet square. Towering metal shelves lined the walls, stacked high with sealed boxes. There were no blankets. No tools. No way out.
Suddenly, the lights flickered and went dark.
I screamed as the darkness threatened to swallow me whole. The lights were motion activated, so if I stopped moving, if I surrendered to the exhaustion, absolute darkness would win.
So, I began to pace. I walked in small, stiff circles. I swung my arms and stomped my feet, trying desperately to keep my blood circulating.
Another violent kick from inside my belly stopped me in my tracks.
