In the woods
1605 Words
The paper hadn’t changed.
It was still folded in half, still crisp, still sitting quietly on the table where Marco had left it two days ago. But Heather had read it again and again. She had even copied it out by hand on another sheet hoping that maybe, just maybe, understanding it more deeply might change what it said.
Five years.
No job title.
No salary.
No description.
Just: “In exchange for the full clearance of Luca Langley’s debts, the undersigned agrees to enter a binding five-year term of service to the Rizzo Estate.”
Heather had searched for hidden clauses, fine print, a loophole…anything.
But there was nothing.
Just her name… waiting to be written.
*****
She didn’t sleep. Barely ate. But in the morning, she signed it.
Because no one else was going to save them.
Billy noticed before she even said a word.
“You’re going somewhere” he said, arms folded.
He was sitting in the corner of the living room, sketching again, legs swinging beneath the chair.
Heather crouched beside him.
“I have to go for a little while” she said, her voice low.
“But it’s not forever okay?”
He blinked slowly. “Where?”
“To work” she said gently.
“To help Dad. To help us”
“I don’t want you to go” His lip trembled.
“You’re going with the tall man?”
“I don’t like him… he looks scary.”
“I know” she whispered.
“I don’t like him either. But who knows? He might not be that bad.”
She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. They sounded fake. Even to her.
“But I need you to do something for me. Will you?”
Billy nodded, eyes shining.
“Every time you miss me, I want you to paint something. Anything. Even if it’s just a single dot or a cloud-tree, okay?”
“I can” he said.
“Will I see you again?”
Heather pulled him close, burying her face in his soft hair. “Of course you will.”
She didn’t mention how long it might be.
***
Two days later, the knock came.
Firm. Heavy. Just like before. Like a reminder of who held the power now.
Heather was ready. Her small bag sat by the door, packed with a toothbrush, a sketchbook, and a few of her favorite paintings. She had even tucked in Emelda’s unfinished piece that she was working on. Emelda was even a better painter but she never finished that particular painting of herself. Back then, Heather had always wondered why her mother was painting a portrait of herself.
The necklace on the painting looked off with a weird symbol. Heather had always avoided that painting cause it reminded her of how they were abandoned.
Emelda was alive and well out there and they know because many have seen her outside Folktale. And some even said she remarried.
When Marco stepped in, her pulse kicked hard.
Luca was wheeled in after him. Worn out, but breathing.
“Heather” Luca called weakly.
She rushed to him, crouching to hug him tightly.
“Are you okay?”
He gave a faint nod. “I’m sorry”
“It’s okay, papa. We’ll be fine”
She turned to Marco and handed him the signed paper.
“Five years is too long for the amount you cleared,” she said, voice steady even though her chest pounded.
“But I’ll go with you… only if you promise me something.”
Marco plucked the contract from her hand slowly, looking down at it before lifting his eyes to hers.
“I want to know they’ll be taken care of. Billy. My father. I don’t care how rich you are. if anything happens to them…”
“They’ll be fine” Marco said coolly, folding the paper like it was just a receipt.
“I’ve arranged for a caregiver. Someone will check in every day.”
“And if they don’t?”
“They will.”
His voice was cold. No warmth. No comfort. Just facts.
“Please don’t take my sister,” Billy whimpered suddenly, stepping forward to grab Marco’s hand but a guard stopped him immediately.
“Come here” Heather pulled Billy back into her arms, hugging him tight.
“I’ll be back before you know it. I promise.”
Marco scoffed. “Why lie to the boy and give him false hope?”
“Five years is a long time.”
Heather ignored him.
“What if I come up with the money before then?” Luca asked suddenly.
“You bring my money, you get your daughter,” Marco replied, blankly.
Then he nodded to the guards. “Car’s in front.”
“Do we have to leave now?” Heather asked, looking at Marco directly.
“What do you think I’m here for? A f*****g picnic?” he snapped and turned around, already walking out the door. His guards stayed behind, pointing toward the exit.
Heather kissed her father and Billy’s foreheads. A tear slipped down her cheek.
“I’ll visit,” she whispered and left.
She slid into the car. Marco was seated at the far end, legs crossed, looking out the window. He didn’t say a word. Neither did she.
The silence hung thick as the car moved forward.
Heather stared out at the trees. They blurred past like ghosts.
Marco tapped at his phone, one hand resting lazily on his lap.
Then, the phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen. One second. Two. Then picked up.
“What is it?” His voice changed instantly sharp, alert.
Heather turned slowly, sensing a shift in the air.
“How many?” Marco said.
Pause.
“Where are they now?”
Another pause. His voice dropped, but the urgency was still there.
“Turn around” he said to the man on the wheel.
The car swerved suddenly.
Heather’s heart jolted.
“What’s going on?” she asked, looking out the window and then back at Marco.
The other cars stayed on the road, but theirs veered off onto a narrower path.
“Tell Pierre to check on the rest of them” Marco ordered.
The driver got on the phone immediately.
Then Marco reached into a hidden panel beside him and threw something into Heather’s lap.
A bulletproof vest.
“I…I don’t know how to wear this…” her hands trembled.
“Too slow for my liking,” he muttered and grabbed her by the arm.
He twisted her gently, pulling the vest over her shoulders and fastening the straps himself.
“I don’t want to have to deal with your corpse,” he said bluntly and shoved her back toward her seat.
Heather adjusted the vest awkwardly on her chest, her breath uneven. She was still clutching her bag like it was a shield. Marco glanced down and something shifted in his face.
“That” he said suddenly, pointing to the bag. “Let me see it.”
She blinked. “What?”
“The painting. The one you tucked in.”
Heather’s spine straightened.
“How do you know what I packed?”
He didn’t answer. Just held out his hand.
Reluctantly, she unzipped the bag and pulled out Emelda’s last unfinished piece that she was working on before she took off.
He took it carefully, eyes scanning the canvas like he was looking for a message she didn’t understand.
“This wasn’t on display” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
“Why did you paint her like this?”
“I didn’t. It’s not mine” Heather replied, confused.
“It was a gift. From someone I used to know.”
Marco’s brow furrowed.
“What is it?” she asked.
He handed it back, but his fingers lingered a second too long.
“Nothing” he said, though his tone betrayed the word.
She stared at him, unsettled.
“You looked like you recognized it,” she said slowly.
“Back in Folktale too. You held one of my paintings”
Marco didn’t respond.
Instead, he turned back to the window. “Buckle up. We’re not going where we planned anymore.”
“Just stop at the mouth of that tunnel. I’ll take it from there. Come back tomorrow, same time. I’ll be here” Marco instructed his driver.
He turned to her. “Grab your bag”
Heather nodded, still feeling a bit dazed. Marco opened the door and pulled her out, his hand gripping her arm like a vice. They sprinted into the tunnel and in no time, they were out of it and into the woods.
As they caught their breath, Heather looked up at Marco, her eyes searching for answers. "What's going on?" she asked again.
He let go of her hand without anything but kept walking ahead while she trailed behind him.
Suddenly, Marco stopped, his head c****d to one side. "Do you hear that?" he whispered.
Heather listened, and soon she heard the sound of footsteps echoing through the alleyway. Marco's eyes locked onto hers, and he pulled her close, his hand on her mouth.
"Shh" he whispered. "Don't make a sound."
As the footsteps drew closer, Heather's heart pounded in her chest. She knew they had to get out of there, fast. But as she looked up at Marco, her eyes met his and in that moment she saw something in his eyes that made her blood run cold.
A glint of recognition.
- Writer
