Chapter 4 - The Escape
""Go! Through the terrace!"" Clara hissed, tearing the towel from her mouth and shoving Mitchell toward the balcony.
Mitchell scrambled over the wrought-iron railing, sliding down the trellis into the darkness of the garden below. Clara slammed the French doors shut, clicked the damaged latch into place, and drew the heavy curtains.
A key violently twisted in the bedroom lock. Julian burst into the room, a heavy brass desk ornament clutched in his hand, his eyes wild. Eleanor was right behind him, wrapping her silk robe tightly around her chest, her diamond rings flashing under the hallway chandelier.
""What was that noise?"" Julian barked, glaring around the bedroom.
Clara sat on the floor beside the ruined bed, holding her head, pretending to heave with dry sobs. The fresh white gauze around her scalp was already seeping red spots.
""I fell,"" she stammered, making her voice crack. ""I tried to get water... my head spun. Julian, please, it hurts. Everything hurts.""
Eleanor pushed past Julian, sniffing the air suspiciously. ""It smells like antiseptic in here. Why does it smell like hospital alcohol?""
Her sharp eyes darted across the floor, landing near the vanity. She walked over, her slipper heels clicking on the wood. Clara’s heart stopped. Mitchell had been careful, but on the mahogany surface sat a single, discarded metallic thread of surgical nylon.
Eleanor reached out to touch it.
""Eleanor!"" Clara screamed, throwing herself forward and grabbing the hem of Julian's trousers. ""Please tell him to forgive me! I’ll wear the scarf! I’ll smile at the partners! Just don’t let him lock me away!""
Julian looked down at her with pure disgust. The sight of Clara groveling on the floor stroked his swollen ego just enough to override Eleanor's suspicion.
""Leave her, Mother,"" Julian sneered, pulling his pant leg from Clara’s grip. ""She’s completely broken. Look at her. She’s pathetic.""
Eleanor frowned, lingering by the vanity for another second, but the sight of Clara crawling on her knees seemed to satisfy her cruelty. ""Take the keys with you, Julian. Don’t let her near the breakfast room until the guests are seated. I won't have a stray dog ruining our multimillion-dollar contract.""
Julian shoved Clara back onto the bed, stepped outside, and locked the heavy door once more. Their footsteps receded down the corridor, followed by the distant murmur of Eleanor’s petty gossip.
Clara slowly pushed herself up from the floor. The tears vanished in a fraction of a second.
She walked over to the vanity, picked up the stray piece of nylon, and pocketed it. Then she looked down at the courtyard below the window. Hidden behind the weeping willow tree, Dr. Mitchell flicked a faint penlight twice.
He was clear. The photographic evidence was safely in the trunk of his car.
Clara checked the grandfather clock in the corner of the master room: 4:15 AM.
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She had less than eight hours before the final takeover meeting. Opening the bottom drawer of her vanity, she pulled out a pair of black shears and approached the mirror. The uneven patches of stubble Julian left were a badge of their cruelty.
With steady hands, Clara began shaving the rest of her hair completely bald.
