Chapter 6 - The Arrival at Pine Ridge
The town car glided smoothly along the winding asphalt road, surrounded by towering pine trees that blocked out the harsh suburban sprawl. In the back seat, Hazel sat in absolute quiet, her beige cardigan wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She held her white ceramic mug in her lap, tracing the smooth rim with her thumb. The driver, a quiet man named Thomas whom she had hired through an independent agency, glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
“We’re about five minutes out, Mrs. Vance,” Thomas said softly, his voice respectful.
Hazel nodded, looking out the window as the dense forest gave way to a picturesque clearing containing a single-story white cottage with dark green shutters. Pine Ridge. It was modest compared to the sprawling suburban nightmare she had just escaped, but every square inch of it belonged to her, free and clear of mortgages, debt, and deceit.
“Thank you, Thomas,” Hazel replied, her voice steady. “Just pull up right by the front porch.”
As the car crunched to a halt on the gravel driveway, Hazel took a deep breath of the crisp, pine-scented air. For the first time in over a decade, her chest did not feel tight with anxiety. She stepped out of the vehicle, the afternoon sun warming her face as she unlocked the heavy oak front door of her new home. Inside, the rooms smelled faintly of fresh paint and cedarwood, completely devoid of history, memories, or betrayal.
Thomas carried her two suitcases inside, setting them neatly by the entryway before bowing politely and heading back out to the car.
“Let me know if you need anything else brought up from town, ma’am.”
“I’ll be fine, Thomas. Thank you.”
Hazel locked the front door behind him, sliding the heavy deadbolt into place with a satisfying, metallic click. She walked into the sunlit kitchen, placing her white mug onto the pristine granite countertop. She opened her leather handbag to retrieve her phone, only to freeze when the screen lit up with twenty-four missed calls and a flood of frantic text messages from Clara.
Mom, please pick up. The bank locked our accounts.
Mark is talking about doing something crazy. Please come back.
Hazel stared at the glowing screen for a long, silent moment before pressing the power button and turning the device completely off. She placed the phone face down on the counter, walked over to the kettle, and filled it with fresh water.
Just as the water began to whistle softly on the stove, a sharp, violent pounding echoed from the front porch.
May you like
Bang, bang, bang.
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