Chapter 5: Vanishing Down the Great Ocean

Valkyrie's POV

You have ten seconds to get out of my way, Kaelen.

My hand didn't shake. Although the small pocket knife appeared to be light in my hand, the steel was real and reflected the sickly green glow of the door handle behind him.

Kaelen remained in his present position and stood at the threshold like an iron monument, the rain glistening on the dark wool of his coat.

His silver eyes moved slowly from the blade in my hand down to the thin, damp mattress upon which the black court folder was placed, and then back up to my face.

He quietly stated that he was aware of the hospital records, that he knew his mother had gone to St. Jude’s and that she had looked at Chloe's medical files.

I wasn't able to stop myself and instead let out a hollow, bitter laugh.

"Do you really think that makes any difference? Do you really think that because you've found a paper trail you now have the right to act as the hero?"

I took a step forward, the knife still aimed at his chest.

"Your mother is using my sister's life as leverage by means of a switch which is situated at a remote location, Kaelen. Every second that you stay in this room and every second that you try to 'fix' the situation, you are putting a target on Chloe's back."

"I can protect her"

"Never at all were my actions protected by your arrogance!"

I replied, the words bursting forcefully from me, sharp and piercing after having endured four hours of suppressed suffering.

"When a screen told you that I was a traitor, you threw me into a thunderstorm without thinking about it. You didn't ask any questions and you didn't delay; you just got rid of me."

His jaw clenched tightly and a genuine pain appeared for a moment on his face.

For a moment, the wealthy billionaire investor seemed entirely bare. "Valkyrie..."

"If you really had ever loved me," I whispered, my voice breaking into a thin and fragile one, "if even a small part of our marriage had been genuine with you... then let me go. Because if Victoria finds us together, Chloe will die. Isn't that really what you want? For your hands to be stained with my sister's blood?"

He froze in place.

The silence between us became longer, heavier and more suffocating because of the dreadful weight of the truth.

He looked at me, really looked at me, at the dark circles under my eyes, my wet hair, and the great, terrified desperation evident in my posture.

Kaelen retreated slowly and with great suffering; he passed through the doorway, gripping the cold doorframe so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Should I leave," said Kaelen, and he dropped his voice to a dangerous and dark tone. "I'll destroy her entire network.

I'll find out who cloned your signature.

And once I discovered that..." He looked directly at me, his silver eyes flashing with a quiet yet terrifying promise.

"I'll come for you, Valkyrie."

No, I said, and stepped out into the rain without turning around.

Let me never have been born.

When it was six in the morning the sky above Melbourne was purple, just like a bruise.

I was in a poorly lit alley behind a pawn shop in Footscray, watching a dirty man who was wearing a leather jacket counting out a heap of tattered hundred-dollar bills.

On the counter were the luxury items that I had kept: a pair of diamond earrings which Kaelen had bought me on our first anniversary, a designer handbag, and a Swiss watch that I had never worn.

The man grunted and said, "Three grand for the whole thing," then put the money down on the wooden counter. "Take it or leave it."

It accounted for only a small portion of the jewelry's value, but I didn't have any spare time.

"Hand it over to me," I said in a cold tone.

I got a 2005 Ford Falcon station wagon that was rusted from a backlot dealer, and this dealer didn't ask for a verified residential address.

The exhaust sounded like that of a tin full of nails and the heater gave out only lukewarm air, but the engine could be started. That was the only point that was important.

I placed my single suitcase in the worn seat at the back and inserted the key before steering the creaking wagon south on the Great Ocean Road.

The trip was a hypnotic combination of gray asphalt, steep coastal cliffs, and the vast, turbulent expanse of the Southern Ocean; while Melbourne vanished into the distance behind my rearview mirror, the strong grip of the Vance empire began to lessen and was replaced by a quiet, hollow numbness.

I pressed my right hand against my lower abdomen through my coat.

What had originally been a feeling of nausea had now become a dull, constant pain, a persistent physical sign of the baby developing inside me.

I told myself that we should go completely unseen as I watched the waves crash violently against the limestone stacks over there, with no past, no Vance name, and no targets following us.

Port Campbell was located in a remote part of the harsh coastal area, comprising a small settlement of weather-beaten cottages, tiny fishing boats, and salty winds.

People went there to disappear; the ocean roared so loudly that it overwhelmed their memories.

I pulled the rusty wagon along to a gravel track that ran to a remote weatherboard cottage located near the edge of the cliff; the rent was cheap and I paid three months' rent in cash ahead of time to an old landlady who hardly lifted his eyes from his newspaper.

I got out of the car and breathed in the cold, sharp sea air.

The wind blew my black hair across my face, making it sting my cheeks.

I took my first breath since the previous forty-eight hours.

I climbed the wobbly wooden steps, unlocked the front door and took my suitcase into the cottage.

It had a scent of salt and dried wood.

The place was empty, very sparsely furnished and completely disconnected from the dazzling and dangerous world of Melbourne high society.

It was a sanctuary, a place in which I could raise my child in peace and establish a ghost life.

I walked over to the small kitchen counter and put my laptop down there, after which I opened the screen in order to delete the remaining tracking cookies from the local drive.

My heart stopped beating at that moment.

The laptop screen wasn't black; as soon as the device picked up the local coastal cell tower, a window for an automated network connection appeared.

Displayed in bold, red letters across the screen was an encrypted system alert:

The route has been recorded at the Port Campbell Relay Station 04.

There was also a notification under the alert, in the form of a real-time data ping that had been sent three seconds earlier to a private, high-level corporate IP address.

When I saw the destination IP address, I ceased breathing completely; it wasn't part of Victoria's network but rather Kaelen's private server at Vance Global.

I hadn't yet managed to shut the lid of the laptop when my phone gave a buzz on the one beside it.

A text message from an unknown local number flashed onto the glass screen:

Welcome to the coast, Valkyrie. I've been looking forward to your arrival.