Page 27 of When You’re Broken (Finn Wright #11)

Finn moved as quietly as he could along the scuffed linoleum floor of the abandoned police station.

His own breathing sounded embarrassingly loud to his ears, echoing in the deep hush that cloaked the corridors.

In the weak glow of the flashlight he clutched, he saw where chipped paint curled from the walls, revealing water-stained plaster beneath.

The entire place reeked of mold and disuse—a sad testament to a past era of law enforcement that had long since lost relevance.

A step behind him came Amelia, the beam of her own flashlight dancing around the corners.

There on the floor was what looked like a piece of freshly cut rope.

There was blood on it. She paused abruptly, tension lining her posture.

“That’s enough for me,” she whispered, phone in hand. “I need to do something.”

Finn watched her bring up her messaging app, tapping quickly. The faint blue glow lit her face in stark relief, highlighting the set of her jaw and the determination in her eyes.

“You’re texting McNeill?” Finn guessed softly, trying not to let his apprehension creep into his tone.

She nodded. “And Clint. I think we risk it. I can feel I’m right! If they’ve any sense, they’ll come. If I’m wrong about Wendell hiding here, well…” She let out a tiny, humorless laugh. “McNeill will be furious, but I’m past caring. I can’t not warn them, now.”

Finn exhaled, glancing around the hallway.

Every shadow hinted at possible danger; every shift of the rotting structure threatened to make a noise that would give them away.

“It’s risky, but I get it. If we stumble onto Wendell alone…

” He let the thought fade. “All right. Just don’t forget we’re not exactly supposed to be out on our own. ”

Amelia slid her phone back into her jacket pocket, ignoring the faint beep that signaled the message had been sent. “I know. But I’m not waiting like a lamb.” She flicked her flashlight at the gloom ahead.

They pressed on, stepping around the remains of a toppled metal filing cabinet half-blocking the corridor.

One door on their left hung crookedly from its frame, the word “Reception” visible in peeling letters.

Past it, a bigger space yawned—a defunct waiting area, perhaps.

Broken chairs lay in a jumbled heap. Graffiti sprawled over the walls in neon paint, giving the place a surreal note.

The faint stench of stale urine met Finn’s nostrils, making him grimace.

He and Amelia traded a wary glance. The hush felt thick, as though even the insects had abandoned this building. They advanced, their footsteps muffled by dust and debris.

A scuff of footprints caught Finn’s attention near some scattered rubble. He knelt, shining his flashlight carefully. Sure enough, partial prints in the dust. He turned his head, and Amelia came closer, eyes narrowing at the marks. Possibly human shoe prints, leading deeper in.

They followed them to a large doorway with battered double doors, one half torn off the hinges.

Beyond lay a wide area that might once have been a communal office space—desks lined up, telephone lines running, an old radio set.

Now, it was a graveyard of rusted metal and collapsed ceiling tiles.

They halted at the threshold, carefully scanning the gloom.

Finn’s heart thumped. Even though they were both trying to move silently, the building’s emptiness magnified every step, every breath. Amelia whispered, “Should we go in?”

He glanced around. “We can, but I don’t like blind corners like this.” Still, they’d come this far. “Keep our eyes on those corners.”

With Amelia nodding, they slipped inside.

The office space was a shell of what it once was.

A couple of battered desks remained upright, though their surfaces were warped with moisture.

In a corner, a small group of rats scuttled among some decaying file boxes.

Their sudden dart across the floor made Amelia inhale sharply, drawing her flashlight beam onto them.

“Rats,” she muttered, voice taut.

Finn, adrenaline spiking, looked at the scurrying shapes and exhaled. “You’re telling me?” he said softly. “What we need is a massive cat.” A faint attempt at humor to ease the tension, though his own pulse hammered.

A quick sweep revealed no sign of people lurking—just the scattered remains of old station equipment. So with a silent agreement, they moved on, stepping back into the corridor. A dull thud echoed from somewhere above, sending a jolt through both of them. They froze, exchanging alarmed glances.

“That came from upstairs,” Finn whispered.

Amelia nodded sharply. “Yeah.” Her grip on her flashlight tightened.

He swallowed, searching the ceiling for signs of movement, dust coming from the rafters above. “I guess we head up, unless you think it’s a huge rat. But that was a heavy sound. If that’s a rat, it’s a record-breaker.”

She gave a tight, mirthless nod. “We follow it.”

They found the main staircase at the far end of the corridor. The concrete steps remained intact, though bits of plaster had fallen from overhead, littering the corners. The banister felt loose when Finn tested it. “At least the steps are solid,” he murmured, “so it shouldn’t collapse under us.”

With care, they ascended, flashlights sweeping each tread.

At the top, the corridor extended left and right.

Flicks of dust motes floated in their beams. The tang of decaying paper and rotted drywall hung in the air.

Footsteps sounded again, from some direction beyond a set of half-closed doors. Then, they fell silent.

Amelia whispered, “He knows we’re here.”

Finn's mind churned. "We don't even know if it's Wendell. Could be someone else squatting." But deep down, he shared Amelia's suspicion.

They edged forward. The second floor looked more ravaged by time than the ground level: walls pocked with holes, old lockers rusted shut.

A thick layer of dust covered every surface.

Furniture had been pushed aside or smashed.

Where overhead lights once hung, only wires dangled.

The atmosphere crackled with dread— some malevolent presence lurking.

A jagged section of floor drew their attention—an entire panel had crumbled away, revealing a hazard of broken boards and twisted metal below. Amelia froze, swallowing hard. “I’ve fallen through a floor once before, thanks to chasing Wendell. I’d prefer not to repeat that.”

Finn’s chest tightened at the memory: that near-tragedy in an old building some time back. “Let’s be careful,” he said, shining his flashlight along the exposed beams. “We’ll walk on these beams—should hold our weight.”

They tiptoed across the precarious gap, each step a small act of faith. Dust drifted through the flashlight beams at every shift. Reaching the other side, they paused again, hearing a faint shuffle ahead. Then silence.

Amelia exhaled shakily. “It’s this way.”

Finn nodded, scanning the gloom. “Whoever it is, I think they are trying to spook us.” He advanced, stepping carefully. “Stay close.”

They traversed another short corridor, both doorways on either side wide open. The sense of foreboding mounted. Finn approached the first threshold, peering into a room. He saw only overturned chairs and some battered filing cabinets. No sign of life. He turned to glance back at Amelia.

Before he could speak, a figure sprang from the opposite doorway—tall, feral, with savage momentum.

Wendell. Finn recognized the glint of mania in his eyes from photographs, even in that split second.

Wendell lashed out with a vicious kick to Finn’s midsection.

The impact knocked the wind from him, sending him staggering backward.

His shoulder crashed into weak flooring, and the rotted boards gave way under him.

“Finn!” Amelia screamed, voice raw with alarm.

He fell with a crash, his flashlight spinning into the darkness.

For a heart-stopping moment, weightlessness seized him until he thudded onto the lower floor, the jolt ripping a cry from his throat.

Pain lashed through his body. He tried to roll, debris clattering around him, dust filling the air.

Overhead, he heard Amelia’s anguished yell and Wendell’s triumphant roar.

“Now you’re mine, Amelia! No stopping me this time!” Wendell’s voice echoed through the broken building.

Finn pushed himself up, blinking dust from his eyes.

A fierce ache radiated from his leg, and he glanced down in horror at a shard of wood embedded in his calf.

The pain flared anew. Gritting his teeth, he grasped the piece of broken wood and yanked it free in one swift move.

Blood immediately welled, but he had no time to baby it.

He tore a strip from his shirt hem, quickly bound the wound, ignoring the spikes of agony that nearly buckled him.

Amelia’s cry from above rang out again, and Wendell’s mocking laugh reverberated. Finn forced a shaky breath, refusing to let panic overtake him. He’ll kill her, Finn’s mind screamed. On your feet!

A wave of raw determination flooded him.

He pocketed the bloodied shard of wood, a makeshift weapon.

Then he rose to his feet, wincing at the throbbing in his calf.

The gash would hamper him, but he refused to slow down.

Amelia needed him now . Stumbling across the debris, he found a battered side door that led back into the stairwell.

Limping, he ascended as fast as he could, ignoring the swirling rush of dizziness.

Back on the second floor, the corridor was deserted, but he could trace where the fight must have moved—scuff marks in the dust, a shoe print smear near the wall.

Gasping for breath, he clutched the door frame, scanning the adjacent rooms. “Amelia!” he rasped, but no answer came. If Wendell’s got her…

He forced himself onward, checking each door. One room’s door was jammed half shut. He pried it open and shone the beam around. The gloom revealed a figure on the ground. It wasn’t Amelia. It was a man.

Brendan?

Finn recognized the man’s silhouette from their case files—Amelia’s missing brother. He was unconscious, wrists bound with rope, ankles similarly tied.

Finn’s heart leapt. So Wendell must have moved him from the mall to here.

He hurried to the man’s side, dropping to his knees.

The man’s shallow breathing told him he wasn’t dead, just out cold.

Finn used his flashlight beam to check for obvious injuries—a few bruises, possibly needle marks on his neck. Nothing lethal at first glance.

He rummaged for a pocketknife, cursing inwardly that he had no standard kit. “Hang in there,” Finn murmured, even though Brendan was unresponsive. He carefully undid the restraints, tugging the rope free. The man groaned in a faint stirring. Freed, his arms slumped to the dusty floor.

“Brendan? Brendan Wilson?” Finn tried, gently tapping his face. “Can you hear me? I’m with the police.”

A moan, then Brendan’s eyes fluttered open, watery and disoriented. “Police…? Thank God…” His voice was cracked, parched. He coughed. “He kept me… I’ve been… Where’s Wendell?”

Finn exhaled relief. “He’s here somewhere. My partner’s chasing him now.” Or being chased, a dark voice in his head corrected. “We need to get you out.”

Brendan sat up with Finn’s help, grimacing in pain. “I can stand,” he muttered, though he looked shaky. “I… I think I can walk.”

Finn took a moment, forcing calm as his own leg screamed in protest. “We don’t have time for a full explanation, but I’m Finn Wright. Wendell took my partner, Amelia. I have to save her.”

A flicker of confusion crossed Brendan’s face. “Amelia…”

Finn clenched his jaw, realizing he might have just dropped a bombshell.

“I know this sounds crazy. But she… She’s your estranged sister.

We discovered you were siblings. It’s a long story.

But right now, you must get out of this building.

The police should be arriving soon—Amelia has messaged for backup. They’ll help you.”

Brendan’s eyes widened. “Wait, Amelia—she’s my sister? Are you sure?” He sounded incredulous, but the faint glimmer of something, maybe hope or shock, lit his eyes.

Finn stood, ignoring the searing pain in his calf.

“We’ll explain everything once we’re safe.

Right now, Wendell might kill her. I can’t let that happen.

” He paused, adjusting his stance to keep from collapsing.

“You have to leave, Brendan. I can’t take you with me to face Wendell.

I need to move quickly. Go downstairs, there’s a door that leads outside—someone from the police will be near. ”

Brendan steadied himself, rising unsteadily on limbs that threatened to give out. “No. You’re bleeding… And I… I can’t just run away if my sister’s in danger.” He swallowed thickly, pressing a palm to the wall for balance. “Let me help you.”

“We don’t have time to argue,” Finn said, though relief flickered in him.

This is Amelia’s brother, all right—a dash of that same stubbornness, and courage.

“If you’re sure you can manage, I won’t stop you.

But trust me, I’m barely on my feet as it is.

” He gestured to his bandaged leg. “We have to move carefully.”

Brendan nodded, inhaling sharply. “Just lead the way.”

Finn gave him a grim smile. “All right.” He offered his hand, and Brendan clasped it. Together, they shuffled to the broken threshold. “We need to be quiet,” Finn added. “He might still be on this floor, or the next. Watch your step—some sections are caving.”

They slipped out into the corridor. It was eerily silent again, no sign of Wendell or Amelia, no echo of a struggle. The hush set Finn’s nerves on edge. He signaled Brendan to keep behind him, the improvised wooden shard tucked in Finn’s belt.

With that, they edged away from the room, each footstep a muted thump in the dusty corridor. Somewhere in the distance, a rattle of shifting debris might have been the wind or might have been Wendell. Finn couldn’t dwell on it—Amelia’s life hung in the balance, and they had to move.

Wendell was near, and time was short. Amelia was alone with a killer who’d sworn to break her. They had to hurry. The dust swirled around them as they moved. Finn paused, steeling himself for the battle to come.

He pressed a finger to his lips, motioning Brendan to stay silent. Then, together, they stepped further into the bleak darkness.