Sarah Shinbi House Novels & Stories

* Just like what she ordered, the four men that Shin had met on her way out of the airport had brought her home – to the house that she brought three years ago because for some reason that she already chooses to forget because she have already moved on from it since it is already done. She has already accomplished her goal three years ago and there are no more remnants left so there is nothing that wouldn’t keep her from moving on. The car entered the automatic gate and Sebastian immediately parked it in the free parking space of the lot where the house was built. Shin immediately got out of the car and the moment that she was able to set her eyes on her surroundings, she honestly cannot bel

She looked at Shin with a worried look. "I — I'm okay, Mrs." Shin replied with a smile. Then his gaze shifted to the busy street. The old woman smiled and said, "Thank God. Oh yeah, where are you going?" "Do not know." "What?" "I don't have a goal." "Where is your house?" "I don't have a home." "Where is your parents?" "My biological parents have abandoned me. And my stepparent died a year ago." There was a moment's silence. The old woman seemed to think. The breeze hit Shin's bangs, covering part of his face. Then without lingering, the old woman immediately corrected Shin's bangs so that Shin's entire face was again visible.

she asked. “That is what he was paying for, I will go and get a carpenter” Mama Sarah replied. And left the house, the moment she came out of the house, people in the street craned their heads in her direction. They all looked at her with profound gazes. She didn't realize that the news that the house she is staying in, is a haunted house had spread, Shane Lin and his bodyguard's actions of running out of the house like demented fools have intensified the rumours.

I asked, knowing Sharon could change her appearance. "Tall, slim, black hair cut in a bob." "Did she have the body of Sharon?" "I guess, but I don't want to sound paranoid." "I'll check it out in the morning. I believe she's close by too. Lets go back to bed." _____________________ The next morning, I gathered some of my security and we went to The Heights, an area with residences on a flat top hill, hence the name. There was a particular house that had been vacant for years— the previous owners had moved away and no one else moved into it. I knew Sharon loved that house; she always said so whenever we drove past it. But she would have to be a fool to occupy a house so close.

The safe house was a squat brick building on the far south side of Chicago, tucked behind a shuttered auto-body shop and a row of overgrown lots. No sign. No mailbox. Just a rusted side door Mara unlocked with a key she wore on a chain around her neck. Inside smelled of old coffee and cedar oil someone had tried to make it livable. Solar panels on the flat roof fed a bank of batteries in the corner. Thick blackout curtains over every window. A single landline bolted to the wall, no internet, no Wi-Fi. Off-grid in the truest sense.

she whispers, her voice small in the cavernous space. "Private medical wing," Gabriel explains smoothly, his stride matching the wheelchair’s pace. "Affiliated with Mount Sinai but independently managed for patients requiring enhanced privacy." Enhanced privacy. That's what we're calling this? A woman appears immediately. Mid-thirties, wearing scrubs that somehow look designer, with a welcoming smile that actually reaches her eyes. "Mrs. Bennett. I'm Sarah. Welcome to Hunt Medical Suites." My stomach twists. Not "the medical wing." Not "private care facility."

Enough to disappear and rebuild without touching LexNova at all. The Portland house: purchased three years ago under SB Ventures, a four-bedroom property in a neighborhood with good schools and a pediatric cardiology center at OHSU within seven minutes. She had furnished it in stages, adding things gradually, the way you furnish a house you are actually going to live in rather than a staging project. It had been waiting for her with the patient reliability of something built to last.