Chapter 3 Safe Haven, New Storm

Molly's POV

I burst out of the store, lungs pulling in cold air like fire. The man's footsteps followed me, methodical, tenacious, closing in. I turned around not looking back. Turning back lost time.

I rushed.

Underfoot the parking lot blurring from past drizzles, slippery. In the corner of my eye flashed headlights. I ran toward the curb and waved wildly at a yellow cab arriving into the station loop.

It came to a stop screaming.

"Wait!!" I pulled the door open and jumped in almost losing my backpack.

"Where to?" asks the motorist turned to check her mirror. His accent had a thick, tone bland quality.

Breathlessly, I murmured, "Anywhere away from here". "Just walk." Tell me please.

He asked once. Twice is not something he did. As he drew away, the tires screeched, the streetlights whirled by like fireflies caught behind foggy glass.

My body heaving into the seat collapsed. Trying to steady the tremor under my skin, I grabbed my coat.

Outside the station entrance, the man emerged with surgical accuracy surveying the street. His gaze flew over too slow, too cautious passing cars.

"Something wrong, miss?," said The driver asked, looking once more toward the rearview.

I silently said nothing.

Could not.

My voice hung in my throat.

The engine produced a low whistle. "You fleeing something?"

The query fell squarely. Basic. rather sharp. Too knowing.

I looked back in the mirror at his eyes. "I'm rushing from everything."

He didn't reply. He nodded once and stepped on the accelerator more forcefully. We were swallowed entirely by the metropolis.

Buildings faded. Traffic thickened. The lights went weak and strange. Pulling the window down a bit, I let the air slap my face. It proved helpful. Not enough but just a bit.

My head got clearer as we walked further. I went over my stuff once more, looking at ticket stub, bogus IDs, burner phone, cash envelope. Still in place everything.

I inhaled slowly now and deeper.

After many more miles, he inquired, "Where am I taking you exactly?"

"Beverly Hills," I said, sitting straight forwardly. "Rodeo drive." Not far from the former Sycamore Club. You already know?

Every LA driver is aware of the street.

Positive.

It was just enough. Silent enough. Most significantly, though, Eleanor was present.

Someone I could have faith in.

Someone who has not yet lied to me.

There was nothing else the driver said. Just kept moving, lightly tapping the steering wheel to a song on his radio. For a time I closed my eyes, but I did not fall asleep.

The cab became a cobblestone driveway with huge stone lions on either side draped with roses. Under the tires, the wheels ground gently. The estate loomed ahead, broad, sophisticated, definitely rich. A place that wore its riches like second skin.

Eleanor's address.

With fingers tightly grasping the door handle, I leaned forward as the gates softly moaned open.

From arched windows, golden rays shimmered to create pleasant shadows across walls covered with ivy. Marble sculptures watched over the great fountain as water danced under moonlight like silver thread.

Guard. That was the appearance of it.

My body would not accept it yet though.

The taxi slowed right next to the front steps. Finger numb from too tightly held for too long, I groped for my bag.

The driver softly said, looking back, "I'll wait here."

Not. Simply walk. My voice fractured. " kindly."

He nodded without asking questions or gathering fares. He turned away just before I arrived at the gate.

Heart a tempest inside my breast, I ascended the steps. Both at once, my legs moved too rapidly and too slowly. Even as my body slanted into the illusion of safety, every instinct screamed to keep moving.

I pressed the bell.

Not anything.

I ringed once more, louder this time.

The door sprang open quickly.

Polly? Eleanor had her hair falling down her shoulders and stood barefoot in a silk robe. Startled, lovely, half-asleep she looked like a painting. "God, what,"

I went forward collapsed.

She caught me.

"Molly!",

My knees went under, and the bag dropped from my shoulder. I hung on her like the globe had at last stopped whirling. Her perfume enveloped me in vanilla, sandalwood, recall.

I stammered, choked on my breath, not knowing wherever else to go.

Her arms closed around me more tightly. "Come indoors."

She stayed with me across the doorway. Warmth consumed me entirely. The flooring in marble. The expansive stairway. Chandelier gleaming above. Nothing of it counted.

Just her arms. She speaks. Her existence is real.

"You're freezing," she murmured. "What happened to you?"

I went to try to respond. Nothing happened.

Her gaze lowered to my sleeve. She reached gently and drew it back.

Gasps seized in between us.

My wrist was bruised, the skin rough from Jack's too firm grasp.

Her face got dark right away. Not frightish.

rage.

Eyes never leaving the mark, she murmured, "Molly," "who did this to you?"

She bent in front of me with hands softly resting on my knees.

Speak with me, she advised. Tell me everything, please.

Stuck in my throat were the words. I looked down at my hands, scrubbed knuckles, shined fingers, dirt still clinging to my cuffs. Where on earth should I start? Everything seemed disorganized. Overindulgent. too quickly.

I said, "I heard them," softly.

Her eyebrows drew in. "Who?"

"John." Jack.) As I said the names burned. "They have been organizing it for months." The participation, the inheritance... It's control, not only a marriage they desire. Over me. Across all my parents left behind.

Eleanor's teeth tightened. She stood suddenly, pacing the room in a manner I had not seen since we were teenagers, back when she had punched lockers for me following a nasty comment from a classmate.

" They tried to own you." Her voice now was like fire. You also ran. Great. You behaved appropriately.

I gave my head a shake. They'll find me.

Not will.

"They will, louder now," I said. "They started already. Jack's man noticed me at the bus stop. He trailed me half-distance through a rest stop. Knowledgeable.

Her attitude changed from not fear but from not worry. Rage.

She said, "That bastard," beneath her breath. "And John; that parasite has always been waiting to sink his claws into something he didn't build."

It dawned on me that I was crying till she knelt next to me once more and used her sleeve to dab at the tears from my cheeks. She remained silent this time. She simply held my face softly in her palms, thumb touching the edge of my temple as though she were savoring the moment.

"You're safe right now," she murmured gently. "At least for tonight. Still, we have to be forward looking.

I nodded and sucked the lump from my throat.

She stood once more and pulled her phone from the robe pocket. "I have someone I have to call."

"Who?"

She hesitated, fingers dancing over the screen.

"A friend," she answered. Someone who does not lose battles.

I squinted narrowing. Eleanor:

She turned away to gaze at another. Just tapped the name and carried the phone to her ear.

From the other side, a man responded.

Little voice. Quantified. Cool.

She just gave a weak smile. "Charles... I am in need of a favor.

As Eleanor crossed the room opening the door, her heels clicked on the floor. I stayed motionless on the brink of the chaise, blanket slung from my shoulders slithering underfoot. My fingers clutched the upholstery's edge.

She got it opened.

Then he went inside.

Tower. Specific. Like a sword, polished.

Charles Lightoller moved as the world separated for him, not walking. His black coat, with its sharp tailing and clean lines down his shoulders, was Underneath it, his body was all sinew and stone, as if he had been fashioned from stillness. Steel-blue eyes calculated everything and everyone in one glance as they swicked across the room.

"Eleanor," he continued, tone controlled, polished, lacking of politeness.

She answered, kissing his cheek as though it were not a war.

He fixed his eyes on me.

Every object in my vicinity disappeared. I missed the coziness of the fire, the wrist soreness, the dull ringing in my ears from several long days. In that one instant, I felt disfigured, as though he were compiling every scar under my skin without even attempting.

Still not knowing why, I stood. Possibly reflex.

His gaze stayed constant.

"This is her??" His voice hardly raised, but it permeated the room like smoke.

"Molly," Eleanor said, walking toward me. "This is Charles Lightoller," says

I nodded and had a dry mouth. "Thank you for showing up."

His eyes narrowed just a little. "I came not to chat friendly-wise."

Eleanor cast a cautionary glance at him. She has gone through hell.

"She carried it with her," he mumbled. "And right now it's at my front door."

Before I could stop myself, "I didn't ask for any of this," I said.

His head slanted slightly, startled I had responded. Nothing. Still, it comes with you nevertheless.

His tone did not convey hatred. Just vague confidence. Like he wasn't accusing me, only repeating facts already etched in stone.

Eleanor went between us; her voice shrill now. She is not your adversary.

"That still has to be seen," he answered squarely.

Something inside erupted.

And for a split second I stopped fearing.

I got furious.

He fixed his eyes. Not on my face this time; instead, my hands. On my wrist, there were bruises. In my eyes, the wear is Something unintelligible flashed across his face, a change hardly perceptible before it could settle.

"I'm staying," I murmured, my voice more calm than I would have like.

He said, "I did not invite you."

Nevertheless, I am here.

Eleanor brought him a scotch glass. He grabbed it without gratitude, fingers around the crystal tumbler, eyes still fixed on me across the room.

I looked away.

It had little effect.

He was watching, learning, weighing, evaluating.

I occupied myself close to the mantel, posing as though I was looking at the bronze candels. Above them, my mirror reflection fluttered. I hated that he had seen the crimson glow of wrath from earlier still. My cheeks still bore it. That he had pulled it out of me with such little effort.

"You're staring again," Eleanor replied, sounding just slightly sarcastic.

"Observation isn't staring," he said austerely.

I heard him approach closer but ignored him. Two slow times. Not enough to reach me, but sufficient to compress the distance between us.

"You don't trust readily," I remarked, still staring at the glass.

" Nobody worthies of survival does."

His comments have more impact than they ought to have.

I turned softly. His blue, relentless, too clear gaze locked once again with mine. Still, they possessed something within of them. Something inaccessible. As though he were seeing more than only me.

"You don't know me," I said softly.

Still.

His tone stayed the same. Still, the weight of that one word rooted something deep in my chest.

I moved back, seeking some air. demanding distance.

More to myself than him, you think I am a menace.

No, he responded. " You seem to be a fuse. And the people hunting you already set the stage for the duel.

He lacked blinking. He remained unsoftening.

Still, I noticed one flutter in his eye. not pity. Not bothered.

Question.

I turned to get out of the room. His voice trailed along with me.

"Be aware of where you walk, Molly."