Chapter 8 - The Clearing of the House
Two days later, Hannah was discharged from Elmhurst General.
Her vitals were stable, the minor esophageal trauma had healed completely, and Dr. Vance gave us the green light to return home—under strict instructions of absolute rest and zero visitors.
When we pulled up to 414 Maple Street, the afternoon sun was warm, bathing the front porch in a golden, peaceful light. The house looked the same from the outside, but stepping through the front door felt entirely different.
The air didn't smell like lemon polish and trapped dust anymore. It smelled like safety.
While Hannah settled onto the living room sofa with a plush fleece blanket and a cup of warm chamomile tea, I walked through every room of the house carrying a specialized electronic sweep-wand David Vance’s investigator had loaned us.
Room by room, I scanned the moldings, the smoke detectors, the electrical outlets, and the back of the picture frames.
In the master bedroom, behind a decorative wall-hanging of a mountain landscape my mother had gifted us for our wedding, the wand beeped frantically.
I lifted the frame off the wall. Taped to the back was a second pinhole camera, identical to the one in the dining room, wired directly into the wall’s electrical junction box.
I didn't yell. I didn't curse. I simply took a pair of wire cutters from my toolbox, snipped the wires at the base, and dropped the camera into the metal trash can by my desk. Then I carried the trash can out to the curbside bin, closed the lid firmly, and walked back inside.
When I returned to the living room, Hannah was looking up at me, her dark eyes filled with a quiet, heartbreaking tenderness.
"Did you find another one?" she asked softly.
"In the master bedroom," I said, sitting down on the edge of the sofa and taking her hand. "It’s gone now. The house is completely clean. Vance's investigator is coming by tomorrow with a professional frequency jammer just to be double sure, but I can promise you, nobody is watching us anymore."
Hannah let out a long, shuddering breath, laying her head against my shoulder. "I was so scared, Gideon. For months, every time I walked down that hallway, I felt like someone was standing right behind me. I thought I was losing my mind."
"You weren't losing your mind," I said, wrapping my arm tightly around her shoulders, resting my hand gently over her 33-week pregnant belly, where a tiny foot gave a reassuring kick against my palm. "You were just trapped in a trap set by people who didn't know how to love without controlling."
"What happens next?" she whispered. "With your family?"
May you like
"With my relatives," I corrected gently. "Margaret is still sitting in the county jail waiting for her bail hearing—which nobody is paying, because her lawyer realized she tried to wire-transfer her remaining assets to an offshore account while under criminal investigation. Mason posted bail yesterday using his girlfriend's savings, but he’s facing five felony counts and a mandatory prison sentence if convicted. The rest of them have blocked our numbers and deleted their social media accounts."
Hannah closed her eyes, a peaceful smile finally touching the corners of her lips. "Good."
