Chapter 4 - The Silent Ally
The silence that settled over the bedroom after Wallace left was heavier than wet lead.
I waited fifteen agonizing minutes until the front gates hummed shut, signaling the doctor’s luxury sedan had departed.
The moment the coast was clear, I pulled back the sheets and unhooked the contaminated bedding.
The mattress was soaked with the bitter-smelling chemical that was meant to end Raymond's life.
Raymond’s eye opened, clearer this time than before, though his jaw muscles twitched from the trace amount that had slipped through.
"Good girl," he managed to rasp, his voice slightly more audible than an hour ago.
"You saved my life today, Nora."
"We only bought time, Mr. Winslow," I replied, wiping the sweat from his forehead.
"Christopher won't stop until you stop breathing."
"We need outside help."
"The police?"
"No," Raymond countered firmly, moving his head an inch to the left.
"Police Chief Henderson plays poker at Christopher's private club every Thursday night."
"Christopher bought this town years ago using company slush funds."
"Then who?" I asked, desperation creeping back into my throat.
"Arthur Vance," Raymond commanded, his eyes blazing with renewed fire.
"My personal attorney for thirty years."
"Christopher told him I died of an acute stroke two weeks ago and had already been placed in private palliative hospice."
"Vance was banned from the property by Christopher's forged power of attorney."
"Where can I find him?"
"His office is on Fourth Street, near the old shipping yards."
"You cannot use your cell phone or the mansion landline; Christopher monitors all outbound traffic through the router."
Raymond directed his gaze toward the heavy oak dresser across the room.
"Bottom drawer... beneath the winter socks... there is a burner phone I bought six months ago when I first suspected treason."
I moved across the room on silent feet, my heart pounding in my ears.
I pulled open the heavy drawer, digging beneath stacks of wool and cashmere until my fingers brushed against cold plastic.
It was an old prepaid flip phone, untouched and completely disconnected from the house network.
I brought it back to Raymond’s bedside, flipping it open to reveal a half-charged battery.
"Dial the number from memory," Raymond instructed, reciting ten digits with razor-sharp precision.
I dialed the number, pressed the green call button, and held the speaker to Raymond's ear.
The phone rang once, twice, three times.
"Vance here," a gruff, weathered voice answered on the fourth ring.
"Arthur," Raymond whispered into the receiver with every ounce of strength remaining in his lungs.
"The wolf is inside the gate, and I am still breathing."
There was a five-second pause on the other end of the line, followed by the sound of a chair crashing to the floor.
"Raymond? By God... where are you?"
"Bellevue Crest," Raymond said, his voice dropping as footsteps suddenly echoed on the back staircase.
May you like
"Bring federal marshals."
"And hurry."
