Chapter 16 - THE RETIREMENT SANCTUARY IN THE WOODS
The Catskills highway was a blur of blinding sleet and black ice. Naomi drove our rented all-wheel-drive SUV with white-knuckled precision, the heavy tires churning through the gathering slush while Eleanor sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead into the darkness.
“Two miles,” I said from the back seat, tracking the GPS satellite signal on my tablet. “Saint Jude’s Rest is at the end of an unpaved service road off Old Mountain Route. It’s registered as a private memory care sanctuary, funded entirely through an anonymous charitable endowment based in the Cayman Islands.”
“Another shell,” Eleanor said, her voice cold and hollowed out. “He paid for my sister’s prison using the dividends from her own stolen trust.”
We hit the iron gates of Saint Jude’s at 8:45 p.m. The gates were swinging open, their heavy chains sheared off with bolt cutters. Tire tracks from two heavy commercial vehicles cut deep ruts into the pristine snow leading up the winding gravel driveway.
The main building was an imposing Victorian estate constructed of gray fieldstone, its windows mostly dark, surrounded by dense pines that swallowed the sound of the wind.
Naomi killed the headlights and rolled the SUV into the shadow of an overgrown hemlock grove. “We don't know who’s inside. We should wait for the state troopers. I called the dispatch ten minutes ago.”
“We don't have ten minutes,” Eleanor said, already unbuckling her seatbelt. She pulled a heavy steel tire iron from beneath the passenger seat and stepped out into the biting wind.
I followed immediately, grabbing a heavy tactical flashlight. Naomi swore under her breath, grabbed her radio, and trailed close behind us.
The front oak doors of the facility were unlocked. Inside, the air smelled of floor wax, boiled cabbage, and industrial disinfectant. The reception desk was abandoned; a desk phone was dangling off its cord, emitting a steady, hollow off-hook tone.
“Clara!” Eleanor called out, her voice echoing down the institutional hallway. “Clara!”
From the far end of the eastern wing, a loud crash shattered the silence—the sound of shattering glass and heavy furniture overturning.
We ran down the corridor, our boots squeaking against the linoleum. We burst into Room 114.
An elderly woman with long, silver hair, dressed in a faded flannel robe, was backed against an overturned nightstand, clutching a broken lamp neck like a dagger. Standing over her were two men in dark tactical jackets.
One of them was Ethan.
“Ethan!” I screamed.
He spun around, his face pale and drenched in sweat. In his hand, he held a manila folder filled with weathered yellow legal documents.
“Claire!” he stammered, stepping back, his eyes darting between me and Eleanor. “I—I’m trying to help her! You don't understand!”
“Get away from my sister, you coward!” Eleanor snarled, raising the iron bar with a fury that transformed her entirely.
The second man, a hired private security contractor, reached for his hip holster.
“State Police are already at the bottom of the drive!” Naomi yelled from the doorway, raising her phone with its screen flashing a live emergency broadcast connection. “Every patrol car in Ulster County has this perimeter cordoned off! Draw that weapon and you’ll leave here in a body bag!”
The contractor hesitated, his hand freezing on the grip. He looked at Ethan. “Kid, you said this was a clean transfer. You didn't say the feds were tracking the plates.”
“Shut up!” Ethan yelled, his voice cracking with hysteria. “Just take the box and get to the car!”
“There is no car, Ethan,” I said, stepping into the room, holding his wild gaze. “Look out the window.”
Through the frosted glass, red and blue emergency beacons illuminated the pines. The low wail of multiple sirens tore through the mountain quiet.
Clara dropped the broken lamp. She looked at Eleanor, tears cutting through the deep wrinkles of her weathered, aristocratic face.
“You took your time, Ellie,” the old woman whispered.
May you like
Eleanor dropped the iron bar. She crossed the room in two strides, dropped to her knees on the linoleum, and wrapped her arms around her sister for the first time in thirty years.
***
