Chapter 5 - THE LOGBOOK
“Look out!” I screamed, shoving my mother back against the cold concrete wall.
I threw my body over hers just as the heavy red fire extinguisher plummeted past us.
It smashed into the metal handrail inches from my shoulder with a deafening CLANG, denting the thick steel pipe before bouncing down the remaining stairs and crashing violently onto the basement floor below.
White chemical foam exploded upward, filling the stairwell with a thick, choking cloud.
My mother coughed violently into her shoulder.
“Keep moving!” I yelled, pulling her through the blinding white dust.
We reached the bottom landing, my boots slipping slightly on the chemical foam. Emily was already at the heavy wooden door leading into the basement corridors, holding it open for Mrs. Alvarez.
We burst through the door, slamming it shut behind us to block the foam.
The basement was a labyrinth of exposed pipes, flickering fluorescent lights, and locked storage cages. It smelled like bleach and damp earth.
“The delivery tunnel is at the end of the main hall,” Emily coughed, pointing down a long, dimly lit corridor.
We started moving. My mother was limping heavily now, the pain in her hip clearly becoming unbearable. Every step drew a sharp hiss of breath through her teeth.
“I’m sorry, Mom,” I whispered, practically carrying her. “Just a little further.”
We passed a row of administrative storage rooms. One of the doors was propped open with a wedge of cardboard.
As we hurried past, I caught sight of something sitting on a metal folding table inside.
It was a massive, leather-bound ledger book. The word PHARMACY DISPENSARY was stamped on the spine.
I stopped.
“Daniel, we have to go!” my mother pleaded.
“Wait here,” I said, gently leaning her against the concrete wall.
I stepped into the small storage room. This was the facility’s hard-copy record room, the place where they kept the paper trails required by state law.
I opened the heavy ledger.
Answer One. The pages were filled with columns of resident names, dates, and medication dosages.
I flipped to the current month and scanned for the names of the residents transferred to the memory wing.
There it was. Arthur Pendelton. Sylvia Vance. Helen Cross.
Next to each of their names was a prescription log for heavy anti-psychotic sedatives. But the signature approving the medications didn’t belong to a doctor.
Every single prescription was signed by R. Coleman — Administrative Override.
Richard wasn't even using a corrupt doctor. He was exploiting a loophole in the state’s emergency restraint laws to personally authorize the chemical lobotomies of his own residents.
But as I ran my finger down the page, I froze.
Reversal.
There, near the bottom of the page, was my mother’s name.
Dorothy Harris.
But the medication authorized next to her name wasn't a sedative.
It was Insulin - 100 Units.
My mother wasn't diabetic. 100 units of insulin given to a non-diabetic elderly woman wouldn't just sedate her. It would induce a massive, fatal hypoglycemic coma.
They weren't taking her to the memory wing to silence her. They were taking her there to kill her tonight and write it off as a medical accident.
A cold, paralyzing horror washed over me. I had brought her to this place. I had trusted them.
I ripped the page out of the ledger and shoved it into my pocket next to Maya’s drawing.
I ran back into the hallway.
“They’re not trying to sedate you, Mom,” I said, my voice shaking. “They’re trying to—”
Before I could finish the sentence, the lights in the basement hallway completely shut off.
We were plunged into absolute pitch-black darkness.
“Daniel?!” my mother cried out in panic.
Then, the heavy sound of combat boots hitting the concrete echoed from the far end of the hallway.
May you like
A blindingly bright tactical flashlight clicked on, shining directly into my eyes.
“End of the line, Harris,” the paramedic’s deep voice echoed in the dark.
