Chapter 3 - Blood on the Island
The denial of system access sent a shiver through Clara's chest that had nothing to do with the temperature of the house. Ethan hadn't simply complied with his mother's nagging; he had logged into the smart-home application and systematically revoked Clara’s administrative privileges before walking out the door. The master user status meant that every automated aperture in the residence—from the heavy rolling shutters to the thermal ventilation dampers—was locked down under holiday mode.
A fresh spasm tore through her abdomen, forcing a ragged scream from her throat that echoed against the double-height ceiling. When she lowered her head to the floor, her vision blurred. On the white floor beside her knee, a small, dark droplet of fluid glistened against the lacquer. It was not amniotic fluid alone; it was laced with the pale, ominous pink of an active hemorrhage.
She had to stay conscious. If she passed out now, both she and the child would asphyxiate in the quiet elegance of this tomb. Clara remembered the walk-in pantry behind the kitchen. When the builders had renovated the property eighteen months ago, they had installed a utility access panel near the sub-floor to service the radiant heating manifolds.
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Clara clawed her way around the edge of the island, her knuckles scraping against the unyielding wood. She bypassed the useless designer appliances and pulled open the lower pantry door. In the dim light behind stacked boxes of imported mineral water, the small metal access hatch sat secured by four flat-head machine screws.
Beside the pantry shelves stood a heavy stainless steel cutlery block. Clara reached up, her muscles trembling with exhaustion, and dislodged a thick paring knife. Using the blunt tip as an improvised screwdriver, she knelt in the shadow of the pantry, the knife shaking violently in her grip. As she backed the first screw out of its thread, a strange, persistent vibration began to hum through the sub-floor, vibrating directly into the bones of her knees.
