What do we do now?” I whispered, feeling utterly lost. “We can’t go back to the mansion.”
Rachel nodded, her expression a mix of determination and fear. “We’ll find a place around here,” she said. “Somewhere close enough to keep an eye on him, but hidden from Mr. Blackwood’s reach.”
The next day, we set out early, the crisp morning air biting at our cheeks. We drove through winding country roads, searching for a new place to call home. Each house and apartment we passed seemed to hold the promise of a new beginning, a life free from the mansion’s dark secrets. But every time Rachel slowed down, my heart raced, fearing we’d be found out.
Finally, we stumbled upon a quaint cottage, nestled in a grove of trees just outside of town. It was small, but it had a cozy charm that felt welcoming. Rachel pulled over, and we approached the landlady, a plump woman with a kind smile and a no-nonsense attitude. She took one look at us, huddled together with our suitcases, and her expression softened. “Looking for a place to stay?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
Rachel nodded, her voice firm. “Just for a little while,” she said. “We’re in a bit of a situation.” The woman nodded, a knowing look in her eye. It was clear she’d seen her fair share of trouble come and go. “You can have it,” she said, handing over the keys with a wink. “Just don’t make too much noise.”
We moved in quickly, the cottage feeling both foreign and comforting at the same time. Rachel took charge, organizing the space while I made the calls to the clinic, checking on Harrison’s condition. Each update brought a mix of relief and anxiety. He was holding on, but we couldn’t stay hidden forever.
Ethan, too, felt the tension in the air. He was restless, his cries piercing the quiet evening. I held him tight, his warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread that had settled in my chest. His tiny fingers clutched at my shirt, and his eyes searched mine, looking for answers I didn’t have. I rocked him back and forth, whispering soothing words that seemed to hang in the air without landing.
The days blurred together, a haze of fear and hope. Rachel and I took turns watching over Harrison at the clinic, her eyes never straying from his sleeping form. The doctor had been true to his word, keeping him safe and out of sight. But the price was steep-our constant vigilance. We spoke in whispers, our eyes always scanning the horizon for any sign of trouble.
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I made my way to the clinic with Ethan in tow. His tiny hand was clutched in mine, his eyes wide with curiosity at the unfamiliar surroundings. The quiet of the cottage was a stark contrast to the sterile hum of the medical equipment. Rachel looked up from her chair, her eyes weary but relieved to see us.
“How is he?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Rachel’s grip on my arm tightened. “No change,” she murmured, her gaze flicking back to Harrison. “But the doctor said that’s a good thing. It means he’s fighting.”
I took a deep breath and stepped closer to the bed, my heart aching at the sight of him. His hand was cold, but I laced my fingers through his, willing him to feel my warmth. “Harrison,” I breathed, my voice trembling. “Please wake up.” Ethan squirmed in my arms, his tiny hand reaching out to touch his father’s face.
Suddenly, Harrison’s eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at us, confusion clouding his gaze. Rachel rushed to his side, her eyes shining with tears. “You’re okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with relief. “You’re going to be okay.”
He tried to speak, but his voice was hoarse. “Emma,” he croaked, his eyes finding mine. “Is it.. where am i?”
I leaned closer, my heart swelling with hope. “You’re at a private clinic,” I said softly. “You’re safe. You were shot, but the doctor says you’re going to be okay.”
His gaze searched the room before settling on Rachel. “What happened?” he asked, his voice a raspy whisper. Rachel took a deep breath, her hand hovering over his forehead. “. You got shot,” she said, her voice tight with anger. “But we got out. We’re not at the mansion anymore.”
The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken accusations. Rachel’s eyes darted to the door, as if expecting Mr. Blackwood to burst in at any moment. “But who?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Who shot you?”
Harrison’s gaze grew distant, his hand tightening around mine. “It was Adrianne,” he murmured. “.” The revelation hit me like a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of me. Rachel’s face was a mask of anger, her fists clenched at her sides.