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The Vision She Hid 67
Marta’s room didn’t believe in luxury. It was the kind of place where modesty felt compulsory and comfort was an afterthought. The beige linen curtains were drawn. No frills, no lies you couldn’t hear coming. The kind of space where truth might take off its shoes, sit down and relax for a change.I had to talk to her. Our encounter in the greenhouse was too surreal for honest talk. It assumed continuation, and Marta was aware of that. She didn’t look up when I walked into her humble quarters. Just reached for the teapot like we were about to discuss the weather, not the possibility that she’d sold us all out to the highest bidder.“Tea?” she said.“Only if it’s not poisoned,” I said.She smiled like someone who knew the arsenic dosage but wouldn’t waste it on me. “Lemon verbena. Best served with suspicion,” she shrugged.I was still standing. She poured tea for two anyway. Her hands were steady, which was unsettling enough. Traitors’ hands usually shook pretty well.“How long,” I said
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
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