Chapter 6 - Narrow Escapes
"Who’s down there?"
Mark’s sharp, startled voice cut through the darkness from the top of the stairs. Heavy, urgent footfalls began descending the staircase, two steps at a time.
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. There was no time to reach the basement door. The study had only one entrance and a set of heavy floor-to-ceiling French windows leading to the rear terrace.
I darted toward the French windows, thumbing the brass latch. It was painted shut—stuck from the summer humidity.
"Hey! Who's in the study?!" Mark shouted, his shadow stretching long across the entryway floor just outside the study door.
With all the strength my pregnant body could muster, I slammed my shoulder against the window frame. The wood groaned, cracking slightly, but gave way just enough for me to slip through the gap into the freezing night air.
As I tumbled onto the brick patio, the study light flooded the room behind me.
"Clara?!" Mark’s voice cracked with disbelief and sudden fury.
I didn't look back. I gripped the trust documents and the thumb drive to my chest and ran into the darkness of the garden. My slippers tore through the wet grass, the cold mud biting at my ankles.
Behind me, I heard the terrace doors fly wide open. "Clara! Stop! What the hell are you doing?!"
He gave chase. I could hear his bare feet slapping against the wet flagstones, gaining on me. At seven months pregnant, I couldn't outrun a grown man in an open sprint. My breath came in ragged, burning gasps, a sharp cramp seizing my lower abdomen.
*No, please, not now,* I prayed silently, desperate to protect the life kicking inside me.
Ahead lay the garden shed and the old wooden gate leading to the adjacent woods. Instead of running for the gate where he would easily corner me, I ducked abruptly behind the bulky stone composting bins, pulling a heavy tarp over my body and pressing myself flat against the cold, damp earth.
Seconds later, Mark sprinted past. "Clara!" he hissed into the tree line, his voice ragged with panic. "I know you're out here! You don't know what you're doing!"
He lingered near the fence, panting, looking out toward the dark woods. Brenda appeared at the terrace edge, wrapped in a blanket, her voice sharp. "Mark! Did she take anything?! Check the safe!"
Mark cursed violently, spat into the grass, and turned back toward the house. "If she saw the drive, we're finished!" he yelled back.
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The moment their patio doors slammed shut, I crawled from beneath the tarp. Trembling from head to toe, covered in damp earth and dead leaves, I slipped through the garden gate and melted into the shadows of the woods, heading straight for Arthur’s house.
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