Chapter 4 - The Ghost in the Closet
The LincolnContinental sat idling in the alley behind Marin’s Pilsen apartment building.
This time, Dorian Vance stepped out of the car beside her.
He wore a long dark overcoat, his towering presence drawing curious, guarded looks from a few neighbors standing on their porches. Frank remained by the car, his hand tucked casually inside his coat where his shoulder holster sat.
Titan walked closely behind Marin as she navigated the narrow, dark stairwell up to the third floor.
Every step was agony for her leg, but the physical pain was completely overshadowed by the cold terror blooming in her chest.
She unlocked the door to her apartment.
The small space felt different now—no longer just a quiet sanctuary of grief, but a crime scene that had remained untouched for two years.
"It's in the bedroom closet," Marin whispered, leading Dorian down the narrow hallway.
She opened the door to the bedroom. The room was small, neatly made up with a simple floral quilt. She walked over to the closet, pulled aside a row of Daniel’s faded flannel shirts, and reached into the dark, dusty corner behind his old steel-toed work boots.
Her fingers touched coarse leather.
She pulled out a worn brown canvas-and-leather satchel. It was covered in a thin layer of grey dust.
Dorian stood in the doorway, his eyes sharp and vigilant. Titan entered the room, walked straight to the bag, and pressed his wet nose against the rusted brass buckle.
Titan gave a single, distinct, low whine.
"He smells the casing," Dorian said quietly. "Iron-core military storage. Custom build."
Marin’s hands trembled violently as she sat on the edge of the bed with the bag on her lap. She unbuckled the leather strap and opened the main compartment.
Inside were ordinary items that made her heart ache: a half-empty box of mints, two dried-out permanent markers, a worn tape measure, and a pocket notebook filled with Daniel’s neat, technical handwriting.
At the very bottom, wrapped in a microfiber cleaning cloth, was a heavy, rectangular piece of matte-black metal no larger than a deck of playing cards. It had no brand markings, no buttons, and only a single high-density data port on its side.
Marin lifted it out, holding it in her palm. It felt unnaturally heavy for its size—cold, dark, and pregnant with dangerous secrets.
"Is this it?" she asked.
Dorian walked into the room, kneeling beside her bed just as he had on the marble floor of the eighteenth floor. He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers as he took the drive.
"This is it," Dorian said softly. "This is what Daniel died to protect."
Suddenly, the glass in the bedroom window shattered into a thousand flying shards.
A deafening THUMP-THUMP echoed through the alley outside—the distinctive, suppressed sound of automatic gunfire.
"DOWN!" Dorian roared.
Before Marin could even process the sound of breaking glass, Dorian slammed his body over hers, throwing her flat onto the mattress and covering her head with his broad frame.
Titan let out a fierce, guttural bark, hurling his ninety-pound body against the foot of the bed, positioning himself between the window and the room.
Plaster exploded from the bedroom wall as a stream of suppressed high-caliber rounds chewed through the drywall, showering them in white dust and insulation.
"Frank!" Dorian shouted into his lapel microphone, his voice dead calm despite the storm of lead ripping through the room. "AMBUSH! Rear alley, third floor!"
Through the deafening noise, Frank’s voice crackled through the comms speaker: "Two shooters on the fire escape across the alley! I'm engaging!"
A series of louder, unsuppressed gunshots echoed from the street below as Frank returned fire.
Dorian shifted his weight, pulling a sleek black semi-automatic pistol from his shoulder holster. He reached down, grabbed Marin by the back of her sweater, and dragged her off the bed onto the floor between the bedframe and the interior wall.
"Stay down!" he ordered, his eyes blazing with a terrifying, primal fury. "Keep your head covered!"
Marin pressed her face against the rug, her fingers clutching Daniel’s canvas bag. Her heart was beating so fast she felt like she was drowning.
Dorian rose to his knees, backed against the wall beside the broken window. With terrifying speed and accuracy, he leaned around the wooden frame and fired three quick shots into the alley.
A wet, choking scream echoed from the building across the street, followed by the heavy sound of a body plunging down the iron stairs of the fire escape and crashing into the metal dumpsters below.
"One down!" Dorian yelled into his mic. "Frank, move the vehicle to the front entrance! We are coming out through the interior stairwell now!"
"Moving now, boss!"
Dorian spun around, grabbing Marin by her arm. He lifted her to her feet, ignoring her gasp of pain as her leg buckled beneath her.
"Can you move?" he demanded, looking straight into her eyes.
"Yes!" she gasped, her knuckles white as she held the drive tightly in her pocket.
"Titan, lead!" Dorian commanded.
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The giant dog charged out of the bedroom into the hallway, his ears back, his fangs bared, clearing the path toward the front door.
Dorian kept one arm clamped tightly around Marin’s waist, carrying half her weight as they hurried down the hallway, leaving behind the ruined apartment, the shattered glass, and the ghosts of her old life forever.
