Chapter 44

Susan Thompson woke to a searing pain in the back of her neck.

The night outside was pitch black, without a single star. The dim hospital corridor light seeped through the door crack, casting a pale streak across the floor.

She bolted upright, only to find the hospital bed empty.

"Daniel?"

The bathroom door stood wide open, darkness swallowing the space inside. Her heartbeat skyrocketed, fingers trembling uncontrollably.

The hallway clock read 3:00 AM. At this hour, Daniel would never leave the room alone.

The shadowy figure before she lost consciousness flashed in her mind. The throbbing pain confirmed this was no accident.

The monitoring room nurse yawned, "System malfunction. Tonight's footage is inaccessible."

Susan clenched her fists. What kind of coincidence was this?

Her phone vibrated in her palm, an unknown number flashing ominously.

"Your son is with me," a raspy male voice grated like sandpaper. "One million. Before sunset the day after tomorrow."

Her nails dug into her palms. "Why should I believe you?"

Fabric rustled on the other end, followed by Daniel's muffled whimper.

"Mommy..."

"Daniel!" Tears spilled from her eyes. "Don't be afraid, Mommy—"

The call cut off abruptly. A photo arrived—Daniel tied to a chair, mouth taped, eyes brimming with terror.

"One finger per hour you're late," the second text appeared instantly. "Feel free to call the police."

Her vision blurred. She scrolled through her contacts—Ethan Sullivan's number remained unreachable.

Andrew Lucas's voice dripped with impatience when he answered. "What game are you playing now?"

"Daniel's been kidnapped!" Her voice shattered. "They want one million—"

A cold laugh interrupted her. "Susan, your stories keep getting worse."

"It's true! They sent photos—"

"Good Photoshop skills?" Andrew cut in. "If you need money, just say so. No need to use our child."

The line went dead. Staring at the darkened screen, despair churned in her stomach.

Dawn crept across the sky outside. Wiping her face, she began contacting everyone she knew.

Her bank balance read: $23,765.32.

Grabbing her coat, she rushed out. Only one option remained now—to find him.

As the elevator reached the first floor, her phone buzzed again. The new photo showed a gleaming machete beside Daniel.

"41 hours remaining." The caption coiled around her like a venomous snake. "Which finger should we start with?"