Chapter Two: Trouble Brewing
1009 Words
The hallway stretched like a tunnel of ghosts—each step Betty took echoed with the silent scream she couldn't let out.
One arm held her daughter tight against her chest; the other trembled at her side, fingers still warm from brushing Lucifer’s. His signal still flashed behind her eyes.
Three blinks. Go. Don’t stop. Proceed as planned. Survive.
A low voice crackled through the guard’s comms.
“Let her go. She’s got clearance.”
The guard by the hallway stepped aside. Betty kept moving. Down the narrow staircase, soft as a whisper. The baby squirmed, sensing the tension pulsing off her mother’s skin. Betty gently rocked her.
“Shh, little star… we’re going to be safe.”
As she reached the living room, she paused. One of Daemon’s men stood by the front door, back turned. He was on a call. Distracted.
She gritted her teeth and slid quietly into the side corridor that led to the basement instead.
The Cellar. I have to get to the Cellar, she thought, clutching the baby tighter.
The stairs creaked beneath her weight—wood now brittle with age. She held her breath, desperately praying that the soldier hadn’t heard.
He hadn’t.
The basement was musty, thick with the scent of motor oil and cedar. Lucifer’s emergency kit still sat where he’d hidden it years ago—under a false floorboard behind the water heater. She pried it open with a screwdriver from the shelf. And It came off smoothly.
Inside:
A Glock with two loaded mags and a silencer attached
A burner phone
A roll of cash
Keys to the black 1968 Mustang stashed a block away
Two passports with fake ids
A dog tag inscribed with: “Run. Don’t look back.”
She stuffed everything hurriedly into her coat pocket, leaving one car key behind.
“What the hell are you doing there?” a sharp voice barked from behind.
She froze. The guard from earlier.
“s**t,” she whispered.
“Did you not hear me?” he asked, stepping slowly down the stairs, which creaked loudly now under his heavy weight.
“D-Daemon said we could leave,” she stammered.
He narrowed his eyes, hand already lifting toward his comms.
“He gave clearance for you to leave, not to raid the basement. Put the baby down and come out quietly.”
"Try to understand. I was actually meaning to go out... I-I missed my way... I swear..."
"I said drop the baby and f*****g come forward with your hands visibly in the air!" he snapped, cutting her short.
He grabbed the comms, but before he could press it, Betty’s hand slipped into her coat. The baby shielded the movement. One shot. Clean. The silencer hissed.
The guard crumpled like a rag doll.
“Phew. That was too damn close,” she muttered, the baby snuggling instinctively against her chest.
She slipped the gun back into her coat.
“On second thought… we’re taking both keys,” she said and snatched the other one from the kit.
She lay the baby gently on an old couch in the cellar, after dragging the dead guard right into the middle of the cellar, she locked the door.
Betty picked up her baby and strapped her tightly around her as she slipped out through the storm hatch behind the boiler. The metal groaned like a wounded animal, scraping against her nerves.
The night outside felt colder now. Hungrier.
Her breath puffed clouds as she hurried down the back alley. Rain slicked the pavement, turning her boots into skates, but she never stopped. The ground was so slippery that she nearly slipped. She steadied herself by quickly holding on to a pole beside her. One slip could mean a bullet.
She drew in two quick sharp breaths to calm herself as she continued towards the far back of the house, making sure she concealed herself in the night shadows.
Behind her, somewhere in the distance, she heard a window shatter—Lucifer’s signal that hell had just broken loose upstairs, followed by Daemon's enraged scream, ordering his guards to go after Lucifer.
He’s buying time. Don’t waste it.
“Come on, baby… we can do this,” she whispered to her baby, patting her reassuringly.
She reached the side street, heart pounding, and spotted the two black Mustangs under a tarp behind the neighbor’s long-abandoned garage. They looked like beasts lying in wait. From afar, they aren't really visible, not until you take a closer look.
Your father sure did a good job of stashing them away, Elsa.
She said as she unlocked one and slid inside. Secured the baby in the backseat using tension belts and a rolled-up blanket. Every move was frantic but precise.
Then she dashed to the second Mustang, popped the hood, yanked out the engine’s core starter, and hid it in the ruined dog kennel nearby. A backup decoy, in case someone was watching.
She ran back to her car and fired the ignition.
The engine coughed once. Then roared like a beast unleashed.
Headlights off, she backed out into the alley and turned onto Winston Avenue, tires hissing across the wet asphalt. In the rearview, red and blue sirens painted the night like the devil’s fireworks.
She didn’t look back.
Instead, she whispered to her daughter.
“You’re safe. I promise, you’re safe. Your father… he’ll find us. He always does.”
But even as she said it, her chest cracked with doubt. She wanted to believe. But there was no room for certainty in a world like theirs.
She didn’t know where they were going. Only that they had to vanish. Become smoke. Become no one.
And somewhere in another corner of the city, her daughter’s twin was in the arms of the man who had just damned himself to save them.
The baby let out a soft, broken cry.
“I’m sorry, baby… Mummy is so, so sorry,” Betty murmured as she turned sharply into a narrow alley, disappearing into the night.
- Writer
