Chapter 4 - Behind the Queens Door
An hour later, the Maybach crossed the Queensboro Bridge, leaving behind the glittering glass towers of Manhattan and descending into the worn, brick-and-mortar labyrinth of Long Island City.
The rain had started again, tapping a restless rhythm against the tinted glass.
We pulled up in front of a decaying four-story apartment building with peeling paint, dim overhead hallway lights, and rusted fire escapes crisscrossing the facade.
“She lives on the third floor. Apartment 3B,” Marcus said, turning off the engine. “And according to our preliminary check, the mother hasn't left the apartment in three days. Neighbors say she’s been sick. Very sick.”
I didn't wait for Marcus to open the door. I pushed it open myself, stepping out into the damp evening air and climbing the concrete steps two at a time, my heart giving an uncomfortable, heavy thump against my ribs.
Take it easy, Dr. Kaplan’s voice echoed in my head. Your heart is a fragile engine right now.
I didn't care.
I reached the third floor, walking down the narrow, linoleum-lined hallway until I found apartment 3B. The door was slightly ajar, a thin ribbon of yellow light spilling out onto the floor, accompanied by the sound of a soft, ragged cough.
I raised my hand and knocked twice.
The coughing inside stopped abruptly. A small, cautious voice called out from behind the wood.
“Who is it?”
I froze. It was the same voice I had heard on the 911 recording—clear, quiet, and brave.
“Lily?” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “Open the door, please. It’s... it’s the man from the sidewalk.”
Silence hung in the hallway for three agonizing seconds. Then the mechanical click of a chain lock sliding open echoed in the quiet.
The door creaked wide.
Lily stood there in the doorway. She wasn't wearing the yellow dress anymore; instead, she wore an oversized gray t-shirt that dragged down to her knees. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She stared up at me with those wide, unmistakable amber-green eyes, recognition flashing instantly across her small face.
“You’re the man who fell down,” she whispered.
“I am,” I said, kneeling down so I was eye-level with her. My knees ached, but I ignored the pain. “You saved my life, Lily. I came to say thank you.”
Before she could answer, a weak, breathless voice drifted from the dark bedroom down the hall.
May you like
“Lily? Who’s... who’s at the door, sweetie?”
Lily turned her head toward the hallway. “Mommy, it’s the man from the street. The one who fell.”
