The $450 Manhattan Room Mystery: Why Was a Famous Surgeon Performing Midnight Blood Rituals Behind My Wardrobe Wall?
👉 Previous Decision: You chose Option A – Record video evidence through the hole with your phone and prepare to expose Finch.
I pressed my phone against the tiny opening in the plaster. My thumb hovered over the record button, my breath catching in my throat. Dr. Helen Vance, pale and unconscious, lay on the operating table, illuminated by a sickly red glow.
I hit record.
A high-frequency whine pierced the air, not from the ritual room, but directly from my phone. The screen flickered violently, then went black. A faint smell of ozone hung in the small room.
My heart hammered against my ribs. The phone was dead, a useless block of plastic and glass.
Then, a soft click echoed from my door. I tried the handle. Locked. The automated deadbolt had engaged, trapping me inside.
I backed away from the wall. A low thrum vibrated through the floorboards.
Dr. Finch’s eye appeared in the dime-sized hole, magnified and steady. He had walked over from the operating table. He looked directly into my eye.
“A rather aggressive electromagnetic pulse,” his voice, calm and even, came from the wall speaker. “A necessary precaution for sensitive work.”
My hands balled into fists at my sides.
“The rental terms,” he continued, “are now adjusted. One hundred dollars a month.”
I could only stare, my throat tight.
“You will sign a non-disclosure agreement by morning,” Finch said, his gaze unwavering. “Or your tenancy will be terminated. Along with other… arrangements.”
The eye vanished. The thrumming subsided, leaving the brownstone silent once more.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 3 to continue the story
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