Chapter 4 - Escape into the Fog
I didn't sleep a single second. I sat in the darkness of the guest room with my arm wrapped tightly around Leo, watching the hands of the bedside clock tick agonizingly slowly toward 4:30 AM.
The house was cold, wrapped in a thick, wet mountain fog that pressed against the windowpanes like a white curtain. This was my only window of opportunity. At 5:00 AM, the estate servants would wake up to prepare breakfast, and Richard’s guards would be posted at the front gates.
"Leo," I whispered softly, shaking his shoulder gently. "Sweetheart, wake up. We have to go."
Leo rubbed his eyes, confused and groggy. "Mom? Is Grandpa okay? Are we going home?"
"We're going on an adventure, baby," I murmured, keeping my voice calm and light despite the terror knotting my stomach. "We have to be very, very quiet. Like ninjas. Put your shoes on, but don't tie the laces yet. Keep your coat on."
Leo, trusting me implicitly, nodded and zipped up his jacket without a word. I slung the heavy tote bag containing the brass box over my shoulder, grabbed our small overnight duffel, and took Leo’s hand.
We crept out into the hallway. The mansion was dead quiet, but every shadow felt hostile. Instead of heading toward the grand front entrance, which was monitored by security cameras Richard had installed around the porch, I led Leo toward the kitchen at the rear of the house. From my childhood visits to similar estates, I knew old country homes always had a cellar exit or a pantry service door leading to the gardens.
We snuck past the dark dining room, where the long table sat empty, awaiting the breakfast trap Richard had planned for us.
As we reached the kitchen, I caught a glimpse of a shadow moving outside the window. Someone was pacing near the back driveway. Richard hadn't relied solely on front-gate security—he had hired men to watch the perimeter.
"This way," I whispered, pulling Leo toward the walk-in pantry.
Inside the pantry, behind shelf units lined with canned goods, sat a small, half-height delivery door used by local dairy vendors decades ago. It was secured by a rust-crusted latch. I worked the latch back slowly, wincing as the iron squeaked against the metal strike plate.
I pushed the small door open. It opened directly into a hedgerow at the edge of the east lawn, shrouded in impenetrable grey fog.
"Crawling time, Leo," I whispered. "Stay low and don't make a sound."
We squeezed through the narrow opening, dropping down onto the damp, cold grass. The mountain air hit my face like an icy splash of water. The visibility was less than twenty feet; the fog was so dense that the main house behind us was already reduced to a looming, dark silhouette.
Holding Leo's hand tightly, we darted from tree to tree along the edge of the stone boundary wall. My feet sank into the soggy soil, and my coat soaked up the damp moisture of the high grass, but I didn't care. Every step away from that house was a victory.
We reached the southern boundary wall, where an ancient wooden gate led out toward the old logging trail that wound down to the river. The gate was secured with a rusty chain wrapped around a wooden post.
I leaned against the wood, putting my whole weight into pulling the chain over the top of the post. The iron clinked loudly in the quiet morning air.
"Who's there?!" a harsh male voice barked from fifty yards behind us in the fog.
It was one of Richard’s security men.
"Run, Leo!" I screamed.
I grabbed Leo by the waist, hauled him over the low stone wall, and tumbled over after him, hitting the muddy slope on the other side.
"Hey! Stop!" shouting echoed behind us, followed by the crunching of heavy boots on gravel.
I grabbed Leo's hand and tore down the slippery forest path into the fog-drenched woods. The branches whipped against my face, tearing at my clothes, but I didn't feel the pain. My heart was pounding like a war drum.
Behind us, flashlight beams cut through the mist, sweeping frantically back and forth across the pine trunks.
"Mom, I'm scared!" Leo sobbed as he ran alongside me, his small legs working as fast as they could.
"I've got you, Leo! Just keep running!" I yelled, pulling him forward.
We scrambled down a steep, rocky ravine, the roar of rushing water growing louder in the distance. The river. The old mill was just ahead.
Suddenly, a tall figure emerged from the thick fog right in front of us.
I shrieked, pulling Leo behind my back, raising my heavy tote bag like a weapon, ready to strike.
"Clara! Stop! It's me!"
The man raised his hands, stepping into a patch of clear morning light. It was the stranger from the bus. Up close, his face was drawn and weathered, with tired eyes framed by dark circles and a sharp, scarred jawline. He was wearing a faded canvas jacket, wet from the mist.
"Gabriel?" I gasped, trembling uncontrollably.
"Yes," he said, his voice steady and calm. "Arthur sent you?"
"I have the brass box," I panted, pointing to my bag. "Richard's men are right behind us!"
Gabriel's eyes hardened. "Get behind me. Follow the path to the old stone shed by the riverbank. My car is hidden under the pine boughs behind it. Take these keys."
He thrust a ring of car keys into my hand.
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"What about you?" I asked.
Gabriel pulled a heavy metal flashlight from his pocket, a grim smile touching his lips. "I’ve been waiting three years to deliver a message to Richard’s thugs. Now go! Move!"
