Chapter 4 - The Safehouse
By nightfall, Walter had arranged for them to relocate to a secure, unlisted property in the rolling hills outside the city—a stone cabin belonging to a retired federal judge who was currently wintering in Florida.
The drive took two hours through winding country roads blanketed in thick fog. Leo fell asleep in the backseat of Clara’s sedan, his head resting against her coat, his small fingers still curled protectively around the silver locket. Every few minutes he would twitch or mutter unintelligibly in his sleep, chasing ghosts from a childhood no child should ever have known.
Clara kept her eyes on the road, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. Every shadow cast by the headlights against the bare winter trees looked like a threat.
When they arrived at the cabin, Walter had already unlocked the heavy timber door and switched on the lamps inside. It was a rustic, comforting place—stone fireplace, woolen rugs, shelves lined with heavy leather-bound books.
"The local police department’s detachment in this county is clean," Walter assured Clara as he set their bags down by the entryway. "I’ve briefed the sheriff personally. He’s stationed a patrol car three miles down the access road. No one gets in here without tripping our perimeter sensors."
"Thank you, Walter," Clara said softly, watching as Leo stirred on the sofa where she had gently laid him down. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"You would have torn the city apart brick by brick," Walter smiled faintly. "That’s what mothers do."
Later that night, after Leo had finally fallen into a deep, dreamless sleep in the small upstairs bedroom, Clara sat by the stone fireplace, staring into the flickering orange flames. The silence of the woods was absolute, broken only by the occasional crack of cooling wood and the distant hoot of an owl.
She pulled the silver locket from her pocket, clicking it open.
Alex.
That was his name. The name she had whispered into his hair every night for seven years, even when everyone else told her to give up hope, to move on, to accept that he was gone.
A soft creak on the wooden stairs made her head snap around.
Leo stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes. He wore the oversized blue sweatshirt, the sleeves rolled up past his knuckles.
"Can't sleep?" Clara asked gently, setting the locket down on the side table and holding her arms open.
Leo walked over silently and crawled into her lap, burying his face in her shoulder just like he had on the sidewalk. He was too old for it, perhaps—eleven years old was an age of independence and bicycles and schoolyard games—but he had missed seven years of being held.
"I had a dream," Leo whispered.
"Tell me."
May you like
"I was back by the brick wall. It was raining. And I had the sign. But every time someone walked past, I looked up... and it wasn't you. It was nobody. Just gray coats and black umbrellas." He clutched her tighter. "I was so scared you weren't real."
"I'm real, baby," Clara murmured, kissing the top of his head, her own tears soaking into his hair. "I'm right here. And I'm never, ever going to let you go."
