June 24th, 1897 arrived with the kind of perfect summer weather that feels obscene when you're planning something terrible and necessary. Harrison and Marcus met at 3:00 p.m. in a rented room 2 mi from Brightwater, going through the plan one final time, checking equipment, timing each step. They would approach the facility at 7:30 using the cover of dusk. They would wait near the east service entrance until 8:15 when Elizabeth triggered the alarm. Then they would move.
At 8:00 p.m., they were in position, hidden in the tree line near Brightwater's eastern wall. Harrison could hear his own heartbeat, loud and irregular. He'd never done anything remotely like this, never broken a law more serious than overdue library books. Now he was preparing to break into a private facility, remove a child against state authority, flee across state lines. Every instinct of his ordered academic life screamed that this was wrong, illegal, career-ending, and yet sitting in those trees, watching the sun sink behind Brightwater's stone walls, he knew with absolute certainty that it was right.
At 8:14, Marcus checked his pocket watch. One minute. You remember the route? East entrance, second floor, service stairs, third floor, left corridor, fifth door. If anything goes wrong, if we get separated, you run.
Don't wait for me. Get the girl and run. I'm not leaving without her. I know. That's what worries me.
"You're a good man, Professor, but good men aren't always good at the kind of ugly necessities..." The fire alarm exploded into sound, bells clanging throughout Brightwater, the noise carrying across the grounds. Marcus moved immediately, running low toward the service entrance. Harrison followed, his breath harsh in his throat, his legs clumsy with adrenaline. Marcus reached the service door and opened the simple lock quickly, every second feeling like an hour. They were inside.
The interior was chaos, exactly as hoped. Staff running toward the alarm, guards shouting questions, patients in some rooms crying out in confusion or fear. Harrison and Marcus moved against the flow, heading for the service stairs while everyone else converged on the supposed fire. Up the stairs, legs burning, lungs aching. Second floor.
Keep going. Third floor. The corridor stretched ahead, dim and institutional. Doors on both sides. Fifth door on the left.
Harrison counted, his vision narrowing to that single objective. There, room 307, he tried the handle. Locked the keys, he gasped. Nurse's station. Marcus was already moving 20 ft down the corridor, reaching the cabinet Elizabeth had described.
He opened the cabinet, grabbed a ring of keys, and ran back, tried the first key, wrong. Second key, wrong. Third key. The lock turned, the door opened, and Harrison Webb saw what had become of Lydia Johnson. She sat on the bed, curled into herself, her arms wrapped around her knees.
She was thinner than when he'd last seen her, her face hollow, her eyes too large. She wore a plain institutional gown, gray and shapeless. When the door opened, she flinched, pressing herself against the wall, her expression showing pure terror before recognition slowly filtered through. Professor Webb. Her voice was as if she hadn't used it properly in weeks.
Lydia, we're getting you out right now. Can you walk? I I don't understand. How are you? No time to explain.
We have perhaps 3 minutes before they realize the alarm is false and start searching. Can you walk? She nodded, standing unsteadily. Harrison moved to her, supporting her weight as they moved toward the door. Marcus was already in the corridor, checking both directions.
Clear. Move. They half walked, half carried Lydia toward the service stairs. Behind them, Harrison heard shouting, someone yelling that there was no fire, that it was a false alarm, that everyone should return to their stations. They reached the stairs and started down.
Second floor, keep moving. First floor. The service entrance was ahead. The door they'd come through still unlocked. Almost there.
Almost. A guard appeared at the end of the corridor, confused at first, then alarmed. Hey, what are you doing with that patient? Marcus moved immediately, intercepting the guard and knocking him down long enough to stop the alarm from being raised at once. "Go!" Marcus shouted.
"I'll hold them here. Get her out!" Harrison ran, supporting Lydia, bursting through the service entrance into the evening air. behind them. Whistles were blowing, voices shouting, the facility waking to the realization that someone had breached their security. He ran for the wall, pulling Lydia with him. She was gasping, her legs weak, but she kept moving, kept pushing herself.