Once again waking from a nightmare, James Grant sat up abruptly, surrounded by darkness.
For a long moment, he turned his head to look outside at the deep night; moonlight streaming in through the window illuminated a corner of the room.
He turned on the bedside lamp and sat in bed for a long time, then turned his gaze to the wall directly opposite the bed—
A painting that was not yet finished hung there.
A woman draped in burlap holding a baby sat inside a broken golden birdcage, whose frame was covered with golden yellow plum blossoms in full bloom.
This was painted by Evelyn Clayton, back when he trapped her here five years ago.
Only half the colors were applied, and the woman’s features were merely outlined, impossible to discern her appearance.
Under the dim light, the unfinished painting appeared even more bleak and eerie.
After an indeterminate amount of time, James Grant slowly got up, walked up to the painting, and gently touched the woman and the baby in her arms depicted in the painting.
Five years, over eighteen hundred days and nights, this was how he had been living.
James Grant had hardly ever slept a full night, relying on medication to barely fall asleep, only to be haunted by scenes in his dreams of Evelyn Clayton whispering in pain.
After a while, James Grant took a deep breath, changed his clothes, and left the room.
Downstairs, the living room was brightly lit; James Grant was used to this and never turned off the lights.
As if by doing so he could prove that he was not alone in this empty house. This content belongs to NoveI~Fire.net
Pouring a cup of coffee at the kitchen counter, James Grant dialed Quentin Hale’s number.
It was already three in the morning, yet Quentin Hale answered quickly.
"How’s it going?" James Grant’s voice was indifferent, "Has she talked yet?"
"We’ve interrogated her several times, but she’s said nothing," Quentin Hale replied, hesitantly and cautiously asking, "Director Grant, have you not slept, or did you wake again?"
James Grant ignored Quentin Hale’s question, answering indifferently, "I’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll ask her myself."
He hung up, finished his coffee, and drove out.
Since the incident five years ago, James Grant had been living in this villa steadfastly, even though Harvestide Holdings was far from here, he stubbornly returned here every day after work.
This was the only place where he and Evelyn Clayton had lived together.
Even if only for a few short days, even if during that time everything was absurd beyond measure, he didn’t want to leave here.
Driving to an abandoned factory, James Grant parked at the factory gate and walked straight in.
The abandoned factory was filled with the smell of rust and must, James Grant frowned slightly, went upstairs, and reached a thick iron door.
Pushing the door open, he entered a small workspace.
Quentin Hale saw James Grant come in, promptly stepped forward and nodded quietly, "Director Grant."
In the large room, a woman with a disheveled appearance crouched in the corner, guarded by several bodyguards of the Grant Family.
The woman’s hands were cuffed, locked to the iron bars in the corner of the room, hunched over timidly, curled up in a corner.
James Grant walked slowly forward, standing over her and looking down.
For a long time, James Grant spoke indifferently, "Lift your head."
The woman trembled slightly, took a long time to raise her face, squinting at James Grant.
Against the light in the room, one could see the traces of time etched on her haggard face, and a secretive smile flickered in her cloudy eyes.
James Grant looked at her, undisguised disgust in his eyes.
After a long pause, James Grant spoke, one word at a time, "Charlotte Sterling, no matter how far you run, I’ll bring you back. You should be well aware of what I want to ask."
Pausing, James Grant suppressed the surging turmoil in his eyes.
"Where exactly is Evelyn?"