Chapter 6 - The Fortress in the Pines
Wyatt’s farm sat four miles down an unpaved gravel road, surrounded by dense stands of white pine and black walnut trees. The house was an old two-story farmhouse with a wraparound porch, surrounded by a high timber fence and gated entry.
Wyatt’s mother, Evelyn, was waiting on the porch when we pulled up in his heavy pickup truck.
She was a woman in her late sixties with silver hair tied back in a braid, wearing work boots and a thick flannel shirt. The moment Wyatt helped me down from the truck cab, Evelyn didn't ask questions. She walked up, wrapped her arms around my shoulders, and pulled me into a hug that smelled of lavender and woodsmoke.
“You’re safe here, child,” Evelyn whispered into my hair. “We’ve been keeping a light on for you for seven long years.”
They set me up in a sunlit bedroom on the ground floor, overlooking the back garden. The room was warm, filled with handmade quilts and fresh flowers. For the first time in three years, I wasn't walking on eggshells. I didn't have to audit my speech. I didn't have to fear the sound of leather dress shoes stepping through the front door.
That evening, as the sun dipped behind the pines, setting the sky ablaze in red and orange, Wyatt sat at the kitchen table cleaning an old 12-gauge shotgun.
“Wyatt,” I said softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Do you really think he’ll track us here?”
Wyatt looked up from the table, oiling the steel barrel with methodical care. “David is a narcissist, Sarah. Narcissists don't run when they get exposed—they try to destroy the evidence. You are the primary evidence of his attempted murder. As long as you and that baby are alive, he faces life in prison.”
Before I could answer, a high-pitched electronic chime echoed from a monitor sitting on the kitchen counter.
Wyatt froze. He looked at the screen, which showed a live feed from a motion-activated camera mounted at the main farm gate half a mile down the driveway.
A black Mercedes sedan was parked in the gravel turn-off.
The driver’s side door opened. A man stepped out into the twilight rain. He was wearing a dark raincoat, holding a heavy iron crowbar in his right hand.
David.
May you like
His face on the monitor screen was distorted by fury. He walked up to the iron gate, looked directly into the hidden camera lens, and raised a sleek silver cell phone to his ear.
A second later, the landline phone on Evelyn’s kitchen wall began to ring.
