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Penulis: Thekla Jackiv
last update Terakhir Diperbarui: 2025-07-10 21:21:30

The old, mended Toyota sedan looked like a remnant of a better and younger car. It sat idling outside the house gates, paint flaking like old lies, and an engine hum that sounded a bit nervous about the road ahead. Dutsy sat behind the wheel, thin hands clenching the steering wheel like it might bolt if he blinked. His shoulders were up around his ears and his eyes never stopped checking the mirror.

I slid into the passenger seat without asking. Just a short hi would do for what was ahead of us. The leatherette felt cold against my arm. I wasn’t sure this thing would make it out of town.

“Nice wheels,” I muttered. “What’s it run on? Paranoia and rust?”

“Mostly duct tape and prayers,” Dutsy said, eyes flicking sideways just long enough to confirm I was still there. “And a couple of wires I really shouldn’t have spliced.”

I nodded. It was too late. I was fully committed to the journey. We pulled away from the house like we were stealing something. Which, technically, I guess we were. M
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  • The Vision She Hid   66

    The greenhouse smelled like dried manure and rot. Humid air was sick with stuffy perfume, vine leaves dripped overhead as if they’d rather dry out than reveal what grew beneath them.Andros Jennings, Elky’s older brother, leaned against the orchid bench like a man leaning on the edge of a noose, dressed in fine linen suite. That Jennings was a bit shorter, still handsome, polite, and had a particularly strong hands capable of turning a handshake into a confession.Marta faced him, calm and indifferent as usual. Between them, the orchids nodded in silent applause, petals slick with humidity and eavesdropping.His smile was slow and measured. “You’ve built something here,” he said, voice caressing each word as if it was his favorite whiskey. “I am impressed, lady. Your intelligence, your survival instincts, your loyalty for God’s sake!” He shouted out each word like a keen auctioneer, then paused. “But when a man falters, when knives come out—where will you land, huh?” He asked, playin

  • The Vision She Hid   65

    The morning crept in like a guilty wife—slow, quiet, full of excuses no one wanted to hear. The light slid across my sheets like it didn’t have intention to wake me up. But something else had already done that. The silence. The kind that hangs on the edge of your bed like a guilty verdict. The kind that says: You’re alone, but not unsupervised.I blinked at the ceiling like it owed me an explanation. The room was still heavy with last night—Elky’s cologne on the pillow, his tension still cooling in the corners like the last cigarette. I reached toward the other side of the bed. It felt empty and cold. Just the imprint of a man who knew how to vanish without a sound.His jacket was gone. But his phone wasn’t. Which meant he was somewhere close.I slipped out of bed with all the grace of a crime suspect. My ankle cracked though my pride didn’t. I padded to the bathroom. No one was there. No steam, no water, no razor whispers of movement. Just marble that had seen too many bad hair days

  • The Vision She Hid   64

    The lock clicked like a bad idea. I slipped inside with the grace of a cat burglar—quiet, smooth, hoping no one noticed how close I was to running away. The house swallowed the noise behind me, but the man inside wasn’t fooled. He stood by the window, back half turned away, still dressed like an assassin who liked his job.“You’re late,” he said. Not angry, just curious. The kind of curiosity that didn’t have to ask questions to carve them into your skin and let your blood answer.I dropped my Prada coat onto the chaise like I wasn’t hiding a weapon under the collar. “Late?” I smiled, lips dry. “It’s still today somewhere.” He didn’t smile back. That’s when I knew the storm had arrived and was deciding where to hit.The silence between us didn’t feel like silence any longer. It was a thousand unasked questions wearing mufflers and waiting for the right temperature to strike. Elky Jennings turned slowly, staring at me, and I felt the floor leaning toward him. I just realised my husba

  • The Vision She Hid   63

    We stood facing each other with decades of emptiness humming underfoot. I broke the silence first, voice flat as limestone tile.“Nice to see you didn’t become a myth,” I said. “You ghost better than I did.”He let a half-smile pull at the corner of his mouth. His fist rose in a slow, familiar arc—a gentle knock of kinship. A handshake would’ve felt like a contract. A hug like a confession. The fist bump was our middle ground.“You’re early,” he said, voice smelling like regret.“I drove,” I said. That was half truth. Dutsy drove. I steered things my way.Moonlight slanted off the broken trunk we used as meeting bench. I sat, heels resting on fractured stone. He didn’t sit down. There was a power in the man who waited standing when ruin offered a seat.“So,” I began. Silence. Then louder: “What are you doing in an old orchard pretending the world isn’t trying to kill you?”He studied me, wide silhouette carved in moonlight, eyes in shadow. “I’ve built something you might like—people

  • The Vision She Hid   62

    The old, mended Toyota sedan looked like a remnant of a better and younger car. It sat idling outside the house gates, paint flaking like old lies, and an engine hum that sounded a bit nervous about the road ahead. Dutsy sat behind the wheel, thin hands clenching the steering wheel like it might bolt if he blinked. His shoulders were up around his ears and his eyes never stopped checking the mirror.I slid into the passenger seat without asking. Just a short hi would do for what was ahead of us. The leatherette felt cold against my arm. I wasn’t sure this thing would make it out of town.“Nice wheels,” I muttered. “What’s it run on? Paranoia and rust?”“Mostly duct tape and prayers,” Dutsy said, eyes flicking sideways just long enough to confirm I was still there. “And a couple of wires I really shouldn’t have spliced.”I nodded. It was too late. I was fully committed to the journey. We pulled away from the house like we were stealing something. Which, technically, I guess we were. M

  • The Vision She Hid   61

    She found him waiting in the morning hush of my dressing room, the one where perfume fights daylight and confidence goes to recharge. He stood by the mirror, polished shoes and posture whispering he wasn’t here to unpack shoes or nag about posture. Ballet master? Maybe. Sleeper agent? Feels that way now.I came in wincing, towel pressed to my jaw, pajamas streaked with war stains. He didn’t flinch. His face gave no clue taught, no sign of curiosity or compassion.“Let me see that,” he said, as though checking your tie after you’ve killed someone well. He took the towel, pressed hard, eyes steady but tired.“I wouldn’t do more bleeding if I can help it,” he said, voice low, even. No dramatics, no pity party. Just medical attention and implicit threat.I shrugged sideways. “You haven’t helped me yet, did you?”He paused, then whipped out first‑aid kit from God‑knows‑where. Sterile pads, antiseptic, cut tape. Surgeon’s layout for trauma stage set.I let him deal with it, I wasn’t in the

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