Chapter 4 - The Midnight Courthouse-4
The rain began to fall in heavy, rhythmic sheets against the windshield of Rowan’s SUV as he sped down 2nd Avenue North toward the historic district of downtown Nashville.
Against Detective Miller's strict orders, Rowan had slipped out of the hospital through the basement ambulance bay while the police were coordinating a SWAT perimeter around the Cumberland River industrial park. He couldn't risk Victor discovering the police presence and executing Delaney before he got to her.
The Old County Courthouse sat like a dark, granite monolith against the stormy night sky. The building had been decommissioned three years prior, its massive arched entrance boarded up with thick plywood while awaiting historical restoration.
Rowan pulled his vehicle into the rear alleyway, grabbing a heavy steel crowbar from his trunk. He moved quickly through the shadows, his heart hammering against his ribs.
He reached the basement utility door, noticing the heavy brass padlock had been cleanly sheared off with bolt cutters.
Rowan pushed the door open, stepping into a pitch-black corridor that smelled of damp concrete, mildew, and decaying paper.
"Delaney?" Rowan called out in a sharp whisper, his flashlight beam slicing through the thick dust hanging in the air.
Silence answered him, save for the steady drip of rainwater echoing from an overhead pipe.
He moved cautiously through the subterranean archives, passing rows of rusted metal shelves stacked high with yellowed court dockets, land deeds, and property records dating back to the mid-20th century.
As he rounded a corner into the central evidence vault, a shadow stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.
A heavy iron bar slammed across Rowan’s right shoulder!
"AGH!" Rowan cried out, dropping his flashlight as he hit the slick concrete floor, pain exploding through his arm.
A heavy boot stepped onto Rowan’s chest, pinning him to the ground. Above him stood the man from the mugshot—Victor Vance. His face was gaunt, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, but the grip he held on the iron pipe was steady and lethal.
"You're not Arthur," Victor hissed, his voice sounding like two dry stones grinding together. "You're the soft husband who builds pretty houses."
"Where... where is she?" Rowan gasped, clutching his bruised shoulder as he struggled for air under the weight of Victor's boot.
"She's right where her thief of a father left her," Victor snarled, pointing his flashlight into the dark recess of the vault.
Tied to an old iron pillar in the center of the room was Delaney. Her face was bruised, her clothes torn, but her eyes snapped open when she saw Rowan on the floor.
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"Rowan!" Delaney sobbed through her duct-tape gag. "Mmmph!"
"She thought she could play dumb," Victor sneered, pressing his boot harder into Rowan’s chest. "She told me her father was an honest man. But Arthur didn't just guard my cell for fifteen years... he made a deal with me. He promised to keep my crew quiet while I was locked up, in exchange for twenty percent of the take."
