The next day Clara left the house after breakfast to go to the dance studio. Cecelia was delighted to see her. "Come here, girl!" She said, clearing a spot on the bench in the dressing room. She was dying to know how her date was. Clara told her about the dinner and how wonderful she thought it was to talk to him. "Talking to him was effortless; there weren't many pauses, and no part of the evening was bad. I enjoyed all of it." She then went on to describe what happened after dinner. "Of course, you were there when I brought Edward, Linus, and Greg backstage. She looked at her. "Okay.. okay, you know," Cecelia said. "I surprisingly hit it off with Greg..." "You took him home, didn't you..." "Ehh... we never really made it that far." "What do you mean?" "Um, well, we went and spent time in my dressing room." "Ooooh." "So, what did you two do after you left?" Cecelia asked. "Edward and I drove home in his gorgeous car, and it was sort of weird because, I mean, usually, when I go on a date, the guy will walk me to my front door then leave, but we sort of live together." "Well, you don't live in the same room, so it's sort of like you both live in the same apartment building." "Oh, yeah, that's true. That makes it feel less weird. So, we went inside and stayed dressed up while we chatted in the sitting room. I started to yawn, and I stood up to go to bed, and he stood up too and kissed me hard. We were both facing each other. My hair was a mess from dancing. He pushed some of the strands back and held his hand on my cheek. Our lips met, and it turned from a gentle gesture to something more. He held my head with both hands." Clara blushed. "I went to bed after that, and of course, I couldn't sleep."

You know if you ever feel uncomfortable in the house you can stay with me. Clara smiled. Thanks, I think I'm okay right now. Jana sat down across from them on the bench. Hey girls. Hey, Jana." Clara said. "Oh, that reminds me, how's the farm going?" Jana and her sister bought a farm together in Namur, not far from town. Jana kept her job as a dancer but spent all of her other time farming. "Well, I'm glad we bought after the harvest season so we can build things up and get ready for the huge task of planting. "Oh yeah, I understand that." cc said. "My great aunt owned a farm, and when I was young, I would visit sometimes, and there was a lot of work." "Yeah, we are going to hire some workers once spring comes around." "That's good. I couldn't imagine just trying to run it with two people." "Yeah, we aren't going to drown in this; we know when we need help." They laughed. "You two should come to see it sometime; well, first, let me fix it up a bit more: I'm almost done with the main house repairs." "How bad was the house when you bought it?" "Honestly, not terrible I mean, it looked daunting, but my sister set me straight, and it turned out she was right, and the big hole in the wall wasn't a big deal. The only struggle now is clearing the inside of all the crap animals brought in. I'm hoping Alice has it all. Don't mess before I get home." Clara laughed. "Hey, look, you got her to laugh." "Shut up, CeCe. I laugh sometimes." Jana smiled. "Some days, I'd bet against it," she said. Clara smiled. "I know I don't laugh a lot, but I smile. That's close." Clara was very quiet, most definitely an introvert among the outgoing.

"It's okay, Clara," Jana said, patting her shoulder. "You will get used to it eventually." "Yeah, maybe another ten years should do it." She said sarcastically. "Oh my goodness, that was so good." Cc and Jana laughed until they cried.

Cecelia went back to the estate with Clara. She made sure she looked extra appealing; she hoped to run into Greg. When they got to Clara's home, they were both reminded that a murder investigation was still ongoing. They put men aside for a bit to talk about the case. Clara told her all of the events and findings of the day. "I don't know who did it. If the gun Sarah had isn't the murder weapon, then we are at square one." I have an idea." Cecelia said, trying to suppress her excitement. "Yeah?" Clara inquired. "We should go to the alley." "You mean where he died?" She said, "Do you think that's a good idea? I don't know if I could face that." "Do you mind if I go alone then?" "Go for it." She said, laughing at Cecelia's sick enthusiasm. Clara noticed Carl had returned. He left the day before when Sarah was arrested. He looked like he hadn't slept at all. She wanted to know what happened but didn't want to ask. He approached her and apologized for Sarah's behavior. She accepted his sentiment, knowing it was not his fault. Clara introduced Cecelia to him, and they all sat together in the sitting room.

It started snowing heavily; the flakes were large and stuck to the ground. The curtains usually wholly covered the windows in winter, but that day, they were half drawn. A lot of cold air slithered inside. She stood up and opened the curtains the whole way so she could admire the beautiful snow. Carl held a cup of hot tea close to his face letting the steam soothe his tired eyes. "You look beat; why don't you head up to one of the guest rooms and take a nap?" "I will eventually; I'm just too tired to walk up there." They laughed. As dancers, they knew the pain of walking upstairs after a challenging workout. Clara opened a book and leafed through it while they all chatted casually. She stopped at a poem.

I set Rome on fire; I ran through the streets, bringing it to life with amazing flames and embers.

Tearing apart the fabric of life and stagnant non-existence

I stood above and watched as everything danced in a horrid warm glow.

Like a sunset, rising from the ground.

The crimson hues bled through the alley, creating cuttable lusting heat. It clung to my body as I tried to fight.

Its smothering fingers urged me that my clothes were too overbearing, and layer by layer, I freed myself.

The ritual signaled the coming of relief.

Nature obeyed.

Tap, tap, simple raindrops.

Streaming slowly,

distorting the view.

I closed my eyes and reached out.

The droplets tickled my skin,

leaving a cool hand in its place.

I sat on the edge, closely and carefully examining the water in front of me.

I took a deep breath and slowly extended my leg, allowing my toes to touch the water.

I jolted back when the icy hand of a lingering winter grabbed onto me.

It was quickly soothed by the shining spring sun.

I daringly approached the water again.

This time more forcefully, allowing tiny droplets

to lightly feather the parts of my legs not completely engulfed in water.

My hands gripped the dirt as I leaned forward.

The water, clear like a summer's sky.

I could see the slow movements of the plants below the surface.

I grazed on with my foot, it tickled, and its strands curled themselves around me.

I sat still, letting the water become motionless.

I looked at the flawless, smooth surface; it was admirable.

While she was occupied reading the poem, Greg entered the room. Greg, Cecelia, and Carl started a game of cards. Greg and Cecilia made The game unbearable for Carl because of their constant flirting.

Carl left a few hands in to lie down. Cecelia nudged Clara with her elbow, and she left the room too.

A while back, Clara and Cecelia created a system. If one of them was in a situation where someone is a third wheel, there are two gestures they use, if one of them grabs the other's wrist, it means that they don't want them to leave, and if they nudge the other, that means they want to be alone. Clara was glad to escape them. After reading the poem, all she wanted to do was read some more. She sat down in the dining room and laid the book flat.

She turned to the next page of the book.

The booth was cold; unlike the humid air of the old carriage house, the icy wind was funneled through the window.

The windows were, of course, old and no longer protective of the elements like they should have been.

The tiny cracks in the corners were widened year by year, succumbing to some kind of rot that left dusty finely ground remains in the sill itself.

The room had one wall entirely made of glass.

He used to stand there and look down from it.

The vision was beautiful; past the cables and cords, there was a freshly sealed stage. The simple piece of ground was held under the brightest of lights.

It was solid but a bit bumpy from the warping of the wood. No one noticed the flaws; to the viewers, it was the mouthpiece for the beautiful acts that spanned years and years.

Each foot that stepped onto that stage was a cog in the larger machine, whether they were memorable or easily forgotten.

The heat had started to make its way back; the cold air kowtowed to its sticky tongue-like fingers as they oozed from the vents.

There was rarely silence when more than one person was lurking about. Each footstep and movement was recorded on any available ears.

The sounds were comforting, knowing where another person was.

The singular venture there held a haunting air that slithered through the floors.

There were four floors, and the higher the climb, the darker and creepier the scene.

Then the stage was empty; the show was finally over.

In the span of action, the scene only lasted a few minutes. The stage was never left for too long.

The addiction and desire to return never died.

They all returned.

When the silence was broken, it did not rest until the stage was empty again.

It was tedious, very tedious newcomers ask why those veterans keep returning.

He always chuckled when presented with that question—never moving his gaze from beyond the glass.

"I'm drawn in." He would say.

"She magically lures me here,

the thrill, the power. It is intoxicating."

Like a hypnotized sailor before a harpy, he spoke then returned to his silence

Edward entered the room. "Hello. How are you doing?" He asked. "Oh, I'm sorry, you're reading; I'll leave." She looked up. "No, no, it's fine; let's go into the green room."

They started talking about literature. The book Clara was reading was a collection of poems by her favorite author. Edward sat next to her on the couch. "Read to me." He said. She smiled and obeyed.

They both sat with their hips touching while she read snipers from the book.

I stood like a board in the sand, tall and stiff.

The breeze coming from the ocean danced around my body playfully as I remained motionless, staring out at the water.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Each wave convulsed inward and shuttered back out to the shore. I watched.

The slippery, thin hand of the water slithered across the sand, meeting me at my feet. I closed my eyes.

I could hear it now, sloshing through its foaming remnants, lightly spewing flecks of salty water against my face.

I held back a smile as my cheeks continued to be tickled by the spray.

I only stood there to soothe my soul from the tumultuous world behind me. For that brief second,

I was able to forget my pain and enjoy the fickle reality of nature.

The thin harsh grass stood valiantly in the bright sun.

Tall knights of their time-shifted back and forth, barely quaking in the cool breeze.

To the touch, they bite the skin but are feeble if attacked the right way.

A hand plunged into the soft, fresh dirt like a young child into a cool pond after a long winter.

Determination, grasping everything enveloping the space within the palm.

The simplicity was quickly destroyed by its ally, chaos. The hand flung the roots and plant carcasses into the sky in a natural ritualistic celebration that danced down in celebration like the rain after a horrid drought. The remains return to the ground and meld into themselves.

They started off just joking around, but as she uttered each word, he fell for her further.

Clara finished the poem, and Edward kissed her. Their lips met. She could feel their soft texture as he pulled her in closer.

On the other side of the hall, Cecelia and Greg were in the office and began to take off their clothes. Greg pushed the desk to the side; Cecelia was attracted to his raw strength. She jumped onto him, and they made their way to the floor. About an hour later, they were putting their clothes back on and trying to get the black soot stains off of their skin from getting too close to the fireplace. Cecelia and Greg tussled the carpet, and as she lifted up one side to straighten it, she saw a piece of paper under the rug. In her rush, she shoved it into her pocket as they cleaned up. They awkwardly parted, and Cecelia ran off to find Clara.

Cecelia found Clara in her bedroom. She laughed when she saw her covered in soot. "You are not subtle." "You know you love me." She said; she sat down and realized she still had the paper in her pocket. She pulled it out, unfolded it, and read it. Her face changed from cheerful to concerned. "Clara." She said seriously. "What's wrong?" She asked, noticing her sudden change in demeanor. "I think I found something important." "This was under the rug in the study; it's an extortion letter. "Oh my goodness, this is huge!" Clara said. "Really?" She asked, "I mean, I thought it might be, but I wasn't sure how." "This is the writing of the person extorting Elizabeth, so that might mean we have the killer's handwriting here."

The snow that fell aggressively the night before had almost wholly disappeared. The only remnants were small patches in the shade, mostly under bushes that didn't lose their needles in the winter. After breakfast, Clara and Cecelia went to the police station. It was around thirty degrees but felt a lot warmer. Cecelia's car wasn't anything fancy, and it wasn't her car. The car belonged to the dance studio. They owned two cars, which were for the dancers to use whenever they needed one. Clara never noticed how lowbrow the car was until she saw Edwards Copan. Her car was hard to drive, and the accelerator didn't work well. It always felt like the bottom of the car was dragging against the pavement. They made it to the station and showed the detective the page they found.

Clara sat in the games room. The fire roared in the hearth as she snuggled under a blanket in an oversized lounge chair. Greg, Edward, Linus, and John were playing pool. Clara liked being in the room with them. She loved being surrounded by people a lot of the time. It was comforting, like she had a family. Something she didn't think much about was how being Michael's daughter meant she was technically related to John and Sarah. She wasn't particularly fond of Sarah, but she thought John was a nice regular man. She didn't hate anything about him, but she didn't know him that well.

They took a break, and three of them went to get food. John stayed and sat in the chair next to Clara. So we're half-siblings. He said. She laughed, I guess so. If there's anything you would like to know about me, feel free to ask. Thank you, that's very nice of you. I do know you've moved once or twice; where was the most exciting place you lived?" "Cape Town in South Africa, he said England and the USA are both lovely places, but my time in The Southern Hemisphere was very memorable. Sounds interesting, I haven't been out of the country, but I don't plan on leaving anyway. Have you lived in Butler your whole life? She nodded. Yes.

The men returned, and they went back to playing. She watched them; more specifically, she watched Edward. His brown hair was slicked back lightly; he was wearing slacks and a button-up sweater with an ascot. She missed Michael. He wore an ascot often. She loved how they looked.

Detective Frede was mailed some records, and he finally received them; he called in Detective Jones. I remember you mentioning Greta and that it was the precursor to Village? He nodded. Did you say it was founded in South Africa a few years ago? "yes." He handed Jones a paper. Read this. He looked over it. "Oh my goodness." The handwriting matches too. "

The detective took two officers to the estate. Lucy led them to the games room. "Detective, John said, want to join us for around?" No, sorry, I'm here on business. John Vallow, you are under arrest for the extortion of Elizabeth Vallow." Clara turned around quickly. Everyone else watched the scene unfold, completely shocked. "John?" John walked over to Frede casually. "don't worry everyone, just a silly mistake, you know how city police never get it right." he was seemingly amused as they walked him out.

John was utterly cooperative the whole trip to the station; he was calm and collected until they entered the bullpen. He saw Carl sitting in front of an officer's desk, and as he passed to the cells, he jumped over and started strangeling Carl with his handcuffs. The sudden action threw everyone off, and before they could get John to let go, he had killed Carl. Carl's body slipped off the chair and collapsed on the ground.

John took the second of chaos to grab a gun and take an officer hostage. Everyone froze, he yelled. There were three officers and the detective in the bullpen with John. Clara walked into the station as this was happening. She tried to back out, but Kohn saw her. I didn't want you to see this, he said. I liked you. What? She said; she put her hands up. "I'm not here to assert judgments." He smiled. "Alright, get into the detective's office. You will be safe there. She thanked him and ran behind him. She ducked behind the partition and slowly crawled under the desk. The office was its own room where the top half of the walls were glass and the bottom half wood. Crawling allowed her to remain unseen. She opened a drawer and pulled out a gun. She loaded the gun; a skill Michael taught her. A skill she didn't want to learn, but she went along with it to amuse him one day. She was grateful.

John was talking to the detective, and he was standing in between the two officers. He made the officers drop their weapons.

John walked to the entrance with the officer he captured. Stay back, he yelled. I'm not ducking around. He was about to escape; he let go of the officer and shoved him forward. That was when Clara stood and shot John. The moment the sound hit their ears, John looked directly at her. They locked eyes as the bullet struck him. The bullet hit his shoulder, and he hit the floor. Frede jumped up and realized what had happened. Clara was frozen with the gun still aimed at where John was standing. Frede ordered the two officers to get John and call a medic. He ran over to Clara and gently took the gun from her, and lowered her arms. Clara, are you alright? He asked. She shook herself awake and responded. Yes, I'm fine, she said.

Unfortunately, John survived.

When he was bandaged, he was returned to the station, where he was placed in a cell. Clara received the call letting her know this, and she was finally able to relax. She hung up the phone and smiled. She couldn't wait to get the whole ordeal behind her. She ran up to Edward's room and knocked on the door. There wasn't an answer. She paused and knocked again. She was disappointed that he wasn't there, but she decided to go to the sitting room.

She stood at the window, which looked out onto the front roundabout in front of the house. She liked the cold emitting inches from the glass as a contrast to the rest of the room, which was filled with the warm waves of heat from the fireplace.

Even though there was constant heat that permitted throughout all of the house, there were many days that the cold made its way into her bones. She shivered. She was about to leave the room when her eyes were drawn to the driveway. The driveway was a half-circle that covered the front of the building. It could be seen by every window on the front side of the house. What caught her eye was a car pulling through. It was black and very notably shiny. She watched the vehicle, the car stopped by the front steps, and a man got out of the vehicle. He was very spry and probably in his mid-thirties. When she saw his face, she was startled. He looked very familiar, familiar in a way that made her uncomfortable. Unfortunately, she couldn't pinpoint where she had seen him before

He walked up to the door. Clara could hear him knocking from where she was standing. Lucy ran to the door. "Good afternoon." She said, "How can I help you?" "I'm here to see Miss Vallow." He said. His voice had a hint of uncertainty coating it lightly. "Ms. Vallow?" She asked. "Yes, I have an appointment with Ms. Vallow." "There isn't a Ms. Vallow here." She said; he pulled out a piece of paper and looked at it. "Um...Ms. Clara Vallow?" "Oh, Clara!" She said, glad that things were cleared up. "I think she is in the study, hold on, I'll get her."

Panic vibrated through Clara's body. She knew something wasn't right. Part of her brain knew where she had seen him before, it wasn't a detailed knowledge, but she very obviously equated his visage to danger. Sadly, she couldn't accurately manifest her feelings into a cohesive thought to interpret. She moved from the window.

Lucy walked quickly to the study as Clara slipped into the kitchen. There she peered into the main hallway, where she could get a better look at the man's face. He was looking up the staircase. "Hold on, sir," Lucy yelled back to him. "She's not in the study; give me one moment. "No problem," he said. "Is there anyone else here?" He paused, then quickly added…" that I could speak with?" "Not at the moment; it's just Clara and me here." She said; he did not let the staircase leave his gaze during their conversation. Lucy ran up the stairs to see if Clara was in her bedroom. After a minute, the man yelled up the stairs. "I'm sorry I'm causing you too much trouble; I'll come back later." Lucy stepped out of the bedroom. "Are you sure? I know she's here somewhere." "Yeah, tell her to be ready; I'll be back this evening." Lucy continued looking in each room on the second floor as she talked. "Okay, sorry about this." She said,

Clara watched from the crack by the hinges of the kitchen door. She watched him as he shut the door, and to her horror, he remained on the wrong side. She couldn't believe that the man had just boldly walked into her house. He looked up the stairs to make sure Lucy hadn't seen him. When he realized Lucy went off to do something else, he let his gaze wander from the landing to the hall before him. He slipped through the first door closest to him, the living room.

Clara moved into the hallway and escaped up the back staircase. She found Lucy in her room tending to her clean clothes. She carefully shut the door behind her and waved for Lucy to come closer to her "Lucy," Lucy noticed Clara's panicked expression. "What's wrong?" "That man, who came to the door. He's creeping around the house." Lucy ran to the window. "Really? Where?" No, shh, he's not outside. He's inside." She said, keeping her voice quiet but loud enough to project her concern. "What!" "I thought he left; I heard him shut the door; how did he get in? The door is set to lock from the outside when it's closed."

"The door did shut; you heard that correctly, but he was inside when he shut it." Lucy looked around, a bit panicked. "Where is he now?" "After he shut the door, I watched him walk into the living room, then I ran to find you; that's the last I saw of him." She reached over and picked up the phone receiver. She was happy Michael insisted she had her own phone in her room. She called the police station.

She reached the man who ran the front desk, and she felt very relieved, but then she noticed when she quickly said what happened, he seemed distracted. She asked to talk to Detective Frede, but he informed her he wasn't around. She asked to speak to anyone else. "I'm sorry...everyone here is currently busy, and mostly everyone is away from the station." "This is an emergency." She said, very frustrated. The man brushed her off a bit but eventually said he would leave a note on the detective's door for when he returned. She thanked him, despite his gesture being pretty much pointless since her situation was time-sensitive.

"What are we going to do?" Lucy asked. "...I wonder why he said he was meeting with me?" Clara said, not listening to Lucy. "Wait, shush!" Lucy said in a fervent whisper while putting out her arm. "I hear something." They were standing close to the inside of her bedroom door. On the other side, they could hear footsteps. "What is he doing?" "I have no idea." She heard him pass the door." "Get into my closet," Clara ordered. "Don't move." She turned around." "You're not going out there, are you?" "Yes, I have an idea." She opened the bedroom door. The man was a few feet down the hallway; his back was to her until he heard the door creak, then he turned around in a bit of a panic.

"Can I help you?" she asked a bit aggressively. He greeted her with a huge grin. At that moment she remembered who he was. He was friends with John. She immediately regretted her decision.

"I am looking for Clara?" He said. She knew he was playing with her; he knew who she was. "What do you want with her?" She asked, trying to play along. She knew approaching him was a mistake. She took a step back, and he lunged at her. His hand grabbed around her upper arm. "What are you doing?" She yelled. "I'm under orders to bring you back with me." She tried to fight him off, but he was much stronger. He wrapped his arm around her torso and lifted her up. She kept struggling until he got annoyed and threw her to the ground. She hit the floor hard, but she knew she didn't have time to deal with that. The man pulled out some rope, and she threw herself forward. She tumbled down the stairs. He stood still for a moment and watched her, sort of impressed by her determination, but that only lasted a second, and he ran down the stairs after her.

She was bleeding, but she didn't care. She jumped up and ran to the study. She closed the doors just as he reached her, and he yanked it open before she was able to latch it.

She screamed as he pinned her against the wall with her face forward. He tied up her wrists behind her back. She tried to pull away, but he pinned her then covered her mouth. She kept struggling nonstop; she was determined not to leave the house.

He regretted not bringing his gun with him. He assumed he didn't need it.

He lifted her onto his shoulder and carried her to the front door. She continued to fight him, but she was partially convinced he might successfully get her to his car. He opened the front door. He was shocked to see Frede and the sergeant parking below. Frede and the sergeant quickly got out of the car.

Sergeant Hawthorne drew his gun and ran at the man; he was filled with pure rage. The man holding Clara saw the Burley pugilist of a sergeant barrel towards him; he dropped her and ran. The sergeant whipped off his suit jacket and ran after him. It was an awe-inspiring sight, the highly trained lawman man wearing a vest, white dress shirt, and dress pants bolting through the grass with precision. An athlete clearly trained in the army, which allowed him to catch up with the man very quickly.

The grass was damp from the moist cold air. The man had trouble running on the slippery wet terrain with his loafers on, and the sergeant tackled him straight into some mud.

Clara was bleeding. When the intruder dropped her to flee, she landed on her knees and was trying her best not to fall on her face. Frede ran to her, untied her wrists, and helped her up. She wasn't very distressed since the police were there and she knew she was safe. "Are you all right?" He asked. "Yes, I think so," she said, looking over her lower body. Her stockings were torn at the knees, and blood filtered through. She brushed off the chunks of gravel that were embedded and then wiped her hands on the skirt of her dress.

Frede led her into the house; she sat on the sitting room couch while he ran to get her some water and a cloth. When he returned, Hawthorne entered the room from the hall. He announced t5hat the man was locked in the car. "We need you to come back to the station with us," he said.

The detective, along with the sergeant, sat with Clara at the station. The air was somber, and she couldn't imagine why she was there. Clara thought shooting John saved an officer's life and was very brave. It has put you in a perilous situation. Oh, so you need to arrest me?" She asked. I guess that would be reasonable." "Oh goodness no, the sergeant said, there is an issue. John is the head of a company called Village Values, formerly Greta Snaol, and he's essentially a powerful man with many underlings. What he's trying to say is that even though John is behind bars, there will always be someone after you. You aren't safe anymore." She was silent. That had never occurred to her. What should I do? She asked