Chapter 6 - UNLOCKING THE DOOR
My hands were shaking so violently that I nearly dropped the flashlight as I reached the steel keypad door at the end of the corridor.
The digital screen glowed bright red in the dark.
I punched in the numbers with my bloody fingers: 0 - 6 - 1 - 4 - 1 - 6.
The keypad beeped twice, its red light flashing green with a heavy, pneumatic HISSS.
The heavy electronic deadbolts inside the steel door retracted one by one. I threw my weight against the heavy handle and pulled the door open.
The room inside was roughly twelve by twelve feet, illuminated by soft, recessed LED lighting. It was carpeted, furnished with a small twin bed, a wooden desk covered in drawing pads and crayons, a small television, and a pile of pristine, organized toys. It looked like a luxury bedroom—except for the absolute lack of windows, the reinforced concrete walls, and the heavy air lock system near the ceiling.
Standing in the center of the room, wearing an oversized blue sweater and pale jeans, was a little boy.
His hair was longer than I remembered, falling past his shoulders in messy dark waves. He was thinner, his skin pale from a year without natural sunlight, but his bright brown eyes were unmistakably, gloriously his.
He was holding a small wooden train in his hand—a toy I had bought him for his seventh birthday.
"Noah...?" I whispered, my voice breaking completely as I dropped to my knees in the doorway.
The little boy dropped the wooden train. It clattered against the carpeted floor.
"Daddy?" he squeaked, his lower lip beginning to tremble.
"Oh, God, Noah! Baby!"
Noah sprinted across the small room and threw his small arms around my neck with such force that we both tumbled backward onto the carpet.
I pulled him into my chest, wrapping my arms around him so tightly I could feel every beat of his small, frantic heart. I buried my face in his long hair, sobbing so loudly that my entire body shook. I kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his small hands, breathing in his scent, assuring myself that he was real, that he was warm, that he was solid.
"I knew you were coming," Noah whimpered, crying softly against my neck. "I tapped on the ceiling every time I heard footsteps upstairs. Uncle Mark told me you forgot about me, but I knew you were looking!"
"I never stopped looking for you, buddy," I sobbed, holding his head against my chest. "I never, ever stopped looking for you. Mommy is here. Lily is here. We're going home, Noah. We're going home right now."
I lifted him into my arms, holding him close against my hip, and turned toward the open steel door.
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As we stepped into the concrete corridor, the loud, wailing sirens of multiple police cruisers echoed down through the house above us, their red and blue lights flashing wildly through the laundry room windows.
Help had finally arrived.
