Chapter 4 - Shadows at the Farmhouse
The farmhouse was a sprawling, weathered structure surrounded by overgrown cornfields that rustled ominously in the midnight wind.
When the delivery van finally crunched to a halt in the gravel driveway, the headlights swept across a peeling white porch and a rusted tractor parked near a dilapidated barn. It looked deserted, forgotten by time and civilization.
“Out you go,” the driver said, opening the rear doors and helping Leah lower the bassinet onto the uneven stone walkway. “There’s canned food in the pantry, bottled water in the cellar, and a landline hooked up to an unlisted rural exchange inside. Use it sparingly.”
“Thank you,” Leah said, her voice shaking as she clutched her son. “I won't forget what you and Mae did for us.”
“Just keep your head down, Mrs. Prescott,” the driver muttered, climbing back into the cab. “And whatever you do, don't turn on any lights facing the main road.”
With a cloud of dust and gravel, the van turned around and sped back down the dark country lane, leaving Leah and her newborn in absolute silence.
The cold night air bit through her thin hospital gown and cardigan. She rushed up the steps, pushed open the unlocked front door, and stepped inside. The interior smelled of old cedar, dust, and damp earth. Feeling along the wall, she found a lamp and clicked it on, shielding the shade with a heavy wool blanket to keep the light from spilling out the windows.
In the center of the dusty living room, she parked the bassinet and collapsed into an old rocking chair, her body trembling from exhaustion, cold, and stress.
She needed to figure out her next move. Nathan would soon realize she wasn't hiding in the hospital. The police would be alerted. False amber alerts might even be issued, twisting the narrative to claim that an “unstable, postpartum mother” had abducted her own child.
She reached for the rotary landline sitting on a small wooden table beside the chair.
Before she could lift the receiver, a sharp, metallic knock echoed from the front porch.
Leah froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
How did they find us?
The farmhouse was off the grid, linked to no public GPS registries, located twenty miles outside the city in a dead zone. Even the driver had taken a convoluted route through dirt logging roads to avoid traffic cameras.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound was deliberate, slow, and terrifyingly calm.
Leah stood up, her legs shaking so violently she almost stumbled. She scooped her baby out of the bassinet, cradling him tightly against her chest, and crept toward the darkened hallway that led to the kitchen in the back of the house.
“Leah,” a voice called out through the heavy wooden front door.
It wasn't Nathan. And it wasn't Doreen.
May you like
It was a woman’s voice—smooth, cultured, and carrying a chilling note of familiarity.
“I know you’re in there, Leah. And I know you have the flash drive Mae slipped into your bassinet before you left the pavilion. Open the door. We’re on the same side.”
