Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary in the Woods
The city bus reached its final terminus three miles south, near the abandoned industrial rail yards at the edge of the county line.
Arthur pulled the girls off the bus into the biting wind. The fog was slightly thinner here, replaced by a steady, relentless snowfall that threatened to bury the roads by midnight.
"Arthur, where are we going?" Nell asked softly, her small boots crunching in the deep snow.
"To see an old friend," Arthur said, adjusting his duffel bag over his shoulder. "Someone who lives far away from Harrison Sterling."
Two blocks from the bus stop sat an old, rusting gas station with a glowing phone booth near the edge of the lot. Arthur led the girls into the heated convenience store first, buying three thick wool scarves, two pairs of insulated gloves, and warm meat pies from the warming rack.
While the girls sat on a wooden crate near the radiator eating greedily, Arthur walked out to the payphone. His fingers were stiff as he dialed a ten-digit number he hadn't called in six years.
The phone rang four times.
"Hello?" a sharp, gravelly female voice answered.
"Clara," Arthur said, his voice raspy. "It's Arthur Whitmore."
A long silence stretched over the line, broken only by the crackle of static.
"Arthur? Good God, man, you sound like you're calling from the grave. I thought you died after you resigned from the university."
"I almost did," Arthur admitted softly. "Clara... I need help. I have no one else to turn to."
"What kind of trouble are you in, Professor?" Clara’s tone turned sharp, vigilant. "You sound like you're running from a ghost."
"Not a ghost," Arthur said, looking back through the store window at Nell and Nora, who were laughing softly as Nora accidentally wiped mustard on her nose. "A billionaire. And I have two small children with me who need a place to hide."
Another long pause. Then came the heavy sound of a shotgun bolt racking over the line.
"My cabin in Pine Ridge. Five miles past the old mill bridge. Don't take the main road. I'll leave the lantern on."
Click.
Two hours later, after paying a local snowplow driver two hundred dollars to give them a lift down the unpaved back roads, Arthur, Nell, and Nora stepped out into the deep woods of Pine Ridge.
The air here smelled different—clean, sharp with the scent of pine needles, resin, and deep winter earth. High above them, towering evergreen trees created a dark canopy against the snow-filled sky.
At the end of a long, winding dirt driveway stood a sturdy, two-story cabin constructed of dark logs and river stone. Warm yellow light poured from its thick glass windows, and smoke curled lazily from a massive stone chimney.
Standing on the porch, holding a double-barreled shotgun across her arm, was Clara Vance.
Clara was sixty, built like a mountain, with steel-gray hair pulled back into a tight braid and eyes as sharp as flint. She was a retired investigative journalist who had spent thirty years tearing down corrupt politicians and corporate executive boards before retiring to the solitude of the forest.
As Arthur and the girls approached the steps, Clara lowered her weapon, her eyes widening in shock as she took in the sight of the twin girls.
"My God, Arthur," Clara breathed, stepping down to help him up the stairs. "They look like..."
"They are Julian Sterling’s daughters," Arthur said, his legs giving out slightly as he reached the porch.
Clara caught him by the elbow, her grip like iron, supporting his weight as she steered them all inside the heavy timber door.
The cabin was warm, smelling of burning oak wood, pine oil, and vegetable stew. A massive stone fireplace dominated the living room, throwing amber light across plush leather armchairs and walls lined with filing cabinets, maps, and research boards.
Clara shut the heavy oak door, secured three separate iron deadbolts, and turned to look at the children.
Nell stepped in front of Nora instantly, her small chin held high, her eyes scanning Clara with cautious intensity.
Clara knelt down, setting her shotgun safely against the wall. She looked at the two little girls with a sudden, overwhelming softness that transformed her stern face.
"Hello, little ones," Clara said softly. "I'm Clara. Nobody can hurt you here. These walls are six inches of solid timber, and I've got enough ammunition in the basement to hold off a battalion."
Nora peeked out from behind Nell. "Is there soup?"
Clara let out a booming, joyful laugh that echoed off the high rafters. "Yes, little lady! There is soup. Fresh beef and potato, hot off the stove."
While Clara served the girls huge bowls of stew at the kitchen counter, Arthur collapsed into an armchair near the fire, his body trembling as the built-up tension of the last five hours finally began to break.
Clara walked over, handing him a mug of black coffee spiked with a heavy splash of bourbon.
"Drink," she ordered.
May you like
Arthur took a long sip, feeling the heat spread down his throat and into his chest. "Thank you, Clara."
Clara sat in the chair across from him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Now start talking, Arthur. Start from the beginning. Why is Harrison Sterling hunting two five-year-old girls?"
