Chapter 10: Crossing the Estate Perimeter
The rented sedan's tires crunched softly on the wet gravel shoulder of Old Mill Road. I switched off the headlights, plunging the dashboard into total darkness except for the faint, greenish glow of the digital clock reading 11:42 PM. Outside, a steady, chilling autumn rain sheeted across the windshield, blurring the distant amber security lights of the sprawling residential estate through the wipers' lazy arc. My fingers were stiff and cold against the steering wheel, damp with nervous sweat. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the folded slip of receipt paper where Marta had scribbled the numbers in pencil during our hurried meeting at the diner. The shift change happened at midnight. Twenty minutes. That was the only window of opportunity before the roving golf carts made another pass along the lower perimeter fence.
I opened the car door, and the damp chill hit me instantly, smelling of wet asphalt, decaying oak leaves, and distant pine. Stepping out, I pulled the hood of my dark navy raincoat tight around my face, burying my chin in the collar. The gravel crunched too loudly under my sneakers, so I stepped off onto the soggy grass verge, my shoes sinking immediately into the cold mud.
The service gate was tucked fifty yards down the tree-line, half-hidden behind an overgrown screen of boxwood hedges that the estate landscapers had apparently neglected on this side of the property. I approached it with my head down, keeping my silhouette low against the dark bulk of the stone wall. The keypad sat on a rusted metal post, glowing with a dull blue LED. My breath came in shallow, ragged puffs as I punched in the six-digit code Marta had memorized and given me.
The mechanism clicked with a dull, heavy thud. The iron gate swung inward an inch, groaning slightly on its hinges. I slipped through the narrow gap, pulling it shut behind me until the latch caught with a soft metallic click.
I was inside the grounds now. The private parkland stretched out before me in rolling swells of manicured lawn, dark shapes of weeping willows, and shadowy flower beds. A hundred yards ahead, the main house loomed against the cloudy night sky—a massive stone-and-timber manor with tall Gothic windows, most of them dark except for a few amber squares of light glowing from the second-floor service wing.
Before I could cross the open lawn toward the western terrace, twin beams of harsh white light swept across the grass from the private access road. A black security cart rounded the corner of the greenhouse, its tires hissing on the wet pavement.
Panic seized my chest. There was nowhere to run, no time to reach the deeper woods.
To my left, a massive thicket of rhododendron bushes formed a dense, leafy wall. Without hesitating, I dived headfirst into the dripping foliage. The sharp branches whipped against my face and tore at my raincoat, cold rainwater soaking through my clothes instantly as I squeezed deep into the muddy center of the root system. I curled into a tight ball, pressing my forehead against the damp earth, holding my breath so hard my ribs ached.
The security cart slowed down. I heard the crunch of gravel as it stopped no more than twenty feet from my hiding spot. The engine idled with a low, heavy rumble that vibrated through the soil beneath me. A heavy car door slammed shut. Footsteps crunched on the wet path—slow, heavy, deliberate. A beam of a high-powered flashlight cut through the dark, sweeping amber fingers across the leaves inches above my head, turning the raindrops into floating diamonds.
"Check the latch on the service gate," a man's voice called out from near the path. It was close enough that I could hear the crackle of a static-laden walkie-talkie.
"Already checked it," a second voice replied from the cart. "It's secure. Rain's making the sensors act up again, probably just a leaf or a branch on the ground."
"Let's make another loop. Mr. Sterling's lawyers have been calling down from the city all evening. He's in a foul mood after that gala downtown, and nobody wants to be on the receiving end if he decides to do a property check tonight."
"Alright, let's move."
The footsteps retreated. The car door opened, the engine revved, and the cart rolled away down the asphalt loop, its tail lights fading into the dark curtain of the rain.
I waited another two minutes, listening to the steady drip of water from the leaves onto my shoulders until my muscles stopped trembling. Slowly, I untangled myself from the branches, brushed a stray twig out of my hair, and stepped back out onto the lawn. My knees were coated in wet black soil, and my hands were scraped raw, but the open expanse between me and the mansion was clear.
May you like
I broke into a low, desperate jog, keeping to the shadows of the stone terrace until I reached the heavy oak back service door. I tried the brass handle. It gave way with a soft, internal latch-slide. Marta had left it unbolted, exactly as she promised.
I slipped inside, pulling the heavy door shut behind me, and found myself standing in the warm, silent dimness of the mansion's lower hallway.
