I know you married me for a green card, Maya, and I know you think this marriage is just paper, my 76-year-old husband whispered from his deathbed inside Oakhaven Manor, his skin gray as ash.
The hours dragged on, each minute a slow turn of the screw. I barricaded my door, though I knew it wouldn’t stop Silas if he truly wanted to get in. Sleep was impossible, my mind racing through escape scenarios, each one dead-ending.
Just after midnight, a faint tapping sound came from my window. Not rain, but a distinct, rhythmic rap. I crept closer, my heart pounding.
Outside, a figure was pressed against the glass, barely visible in the stormy darkness. Clara Cobb.
Relief, sharp and sudden, almost buckled my knees. She had made it.
I unlatched the old sash window as quietly as I could, pulling it open. A gust of cold, wet air rushed in, carrying the scent of damp earth and pine.
Clara, her hair plastered to her face, shivered in the driving rain. She held a small, sealed envelope.
“Ms. Lin,” she whispered, her voice strained. “The gate was locked. I had to climb over. It’s a miracle I wasn’t caught.”
Her soaked jacket dripped onto the floorboards. She looked exhausted, her eyes wide with adrenaline.
“Thank you,” I whispered back, genuinely moved by her courage. “You shouldn’t have risked it.”
“I couldn’t live with myself,” she said, her voice firm despite her shivering. “This isn’t right. My grandmother… she taught me to trust my gut. She always said Oakhaven had secrets.”
Clara handed me the envelope. “This is it. Follicles from… Arthur. From the coroner’s vault. I had to distract the night guard. It was pure luck.”
My fingers trembled as I took the package. It felt impossibly light, yet it held the weight of a monumental gamble for both of us. A single strand of hair, proof of identity, or of its absence.
“Thank you, Clara. This could change everything.”
“There’s more,” she said, her gaze darting towards the back of the house, where a light glowed faintly from one of the Pendelton relatives’ rooms. “I’ve made contact with a forensic lab. Dr. Aris Lindqvist at the Savannah State University. She specializes in genetic lineage. She’s expecting a sample first thing in the morning.”
She scribbled a phone number on a damp piece of paper and pressed it into my hand. “It’s an burner phone number. Take it. Tell her it’s from Clara. Tell her it’s urgent. She’s agreed to fast-track it under the radar if possible.”
A burner phone. Clara had thought of everything. She was risking so much, but her determination was unwavering.
“How do I get it there?” I asked, looking out at the dark, flooded gardens, and then up at the locked iron gate.
Clara pointed to a narrow gap in the iron fence, partially hidden by overgrown hydrangeas. “I squeezed through there. It leads to a back road, barely used. You might be able to find a way to Savannah State.”
Her eyes pleaded with me. “You have to get this to Dr. Lindqvist, Ms. Lin. Before they… before they do anything to Arthur’s body, or to you.”
A faint clang echoed from the far side of the manor. Clara stiffened. “I have to go. They’ll be doing rounds soon.”
She squeezed my hand, a silent promise. “Be careful.” Then, with a quiet urgency, she slipped back out the window and disappeared into the rain-swept darkness as silently as she had arrived.
I closed the window, clutching the envelope and the burner phone number. The cold hair follicles felt almost alive in my hand. Proof. Potential proof. Now, I just had to get it out of this fortress.
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