Chapter 8 - The Safe House
Clara stared at the lead detective in absolute, paralyzing disbelief.
"I didn't kidnap anyone, and I definitely didn't hurt Vivian!" Clara protested desperately.
The detective scoffed, pulling a pair of heavy steel handcuffs from his tactical belt.
"We found Vivian bleeding in her car exactly one mile down the road, and she explicitly named you as her attacker."
Edward stepped firmly in front of Clara, acting like the perfectly protective, outraged billionaire husband.
"This is completely absurd, officer, my wife has been securely locked inside our home all morning," Edward lied smoothly.
"We also received an anonymous tip that she dropped her son down a dangerous laundry chute," the detective argued.
Clara felt a sickening wave of absolute dread wash over her entirely.
The only person who knew about the laundry chute was Edward himself.
Edward had intentionally staged the attack on Vivian and called the police to completely discredit Clara's sanity.
"My wife is suffering from severe psychiatric delusions and dangerous sleepwalking episodes," Edward explained with fake, heartbreaking sadness.
"I will personally take full responsibility for her intense medical care starting right now."
The detective hesitated, completely intimidated by the sheer wealth and massive political power Edward possessed.
Edward handed the detective a thick envelope filled with what Clara assumed was thousands of dollars in bribe money.
The police officers lowered their weapons, silently accepting the corrupt deal, and walked right out the front doors.
Edward slowly turned to face Clara, his fake, loving smile instantly transforming into a cruel, triumphant sneer.
"You are officially a documented danger to society, my love," Edward whispered darkly.
He grabbed her aggressively by the hair, ignoring her painful screams as he dragged her toward the basement stairs.
He forcefully threw her down the wooden steps, sending her tumbling violently onto the cold concrete floor below.
Clara gasped for air, her entire body aching as she looked up at the dimly lit basement room.
The room was heavily soundproofed, filled with strange medical equipment and a single, terrifying hospital bed.
It looked exactly like the horrific, burning room from her fractured, terrifying nightmares.
Edward slowly walked down the stairs, locking the heavy steel door securely behind him.
May you like
"This is exactly where you died last year, Clara," Edward smiled, pulling a sharp surgical scalpel from a metal tray.
"And this is exactly where we are going to fix your memory permanently."
