Chapter 6 – The House With No Clocks
1131 Words
The drive was quiet.
Isaac didn’t speak, hands tight on the wheel, eyes fixed on the road like he was at war with the dark. Sabrina sat beside him, arms wrapped around herself—not from cold, but from the familiar weight pressing against her chest.
Fear. Not of him. But of everything else.
Linarez’s voice still rang in her ears, polished and venomous. She could almost feel his breath on the back of her neck—soft, professional, inescapable.
“Just like the old days.”
Her hands tightened in her lap.
“Sabrina,” Isaac said, breaking the silence. “We’re almost there.”
She blinked, then glanced out the window.
Winding roads. Trees. No streetlights.
“Where is ‘there’ exactly?”
“Safehouse,” he muttered. “No surveillance. No ears. No footsteps except ours.”
She swallowed. “And no clocks?”
He gave a faint smile. “No clocks.”
“Why?”
“Because time doesn’t move the same when you’re hiding.”
She didn’t know if that was poetic or just tragic.
Ten minutes later, they pulled into a secluded driveway. The house was two stories, surrounded by pine trees, wrapped in fog and silence. Not a light in sight. It felt like the world had forgotten this place.
Isaac stepped out first and walked around to open her door. His hand brushed hers—firm, grounding.
She didn’t pull away.
Inside, the air was warm, scented faintly with cedar and something older—dust, maybe. The kind of place that remembered everything said inside its walls.
He led her to a guest room upstairs.
“You can rest here,” he said. “The windows are shatterproof. No cameras. No phones unless encrypted.”
“You’ve done this before,” she said quietly.
Isaac nodded once. “Too many times.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, exhaling slowly. “Do you… do you have safehouses like this all over the city?”
“No,” he said. “Just this one.”
She looked up.
“Why?”
He met her eyes. “Because this is the only one I’ve never brought anyone else to.”
Her breath caught.
It wasn’t what he said—it was the *way* he said it. Like it cost him something to offer her this piece of himself.
She nodded once and looked away, the weight of unspoken things sitting heavy in the room.
She didn’t sleep that night.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling in a bed that smelled like pine and distance. Somewhere downstairs, Isaac was still awake too. She could feel it.
She slipped out of bed.
Found him in the study.
Reading.
He looked up. “Couldn’t sleep?”
“No.”
“Me either.”
She hesitated by the door. “Do you… want company?”
He didn’t answer.
Just moved the second glass across the table and poured her a drink.
She took a seat beside him.
They sat in silence again.
But this time, it wasn’t tense.
It was… still.
“I used to dream of burning,” she said softly.
Isaac turned toward her.
Sabrina’s eyes were on the fire crackling in the hearth.
“After the court hearings. After the psychologists. After the therapy sessions that weren’t therapy at all. I’d wake up gasping for air. My skin felt hot. Like I’d been set on fire from the inside.”
Isaac didn’t speak. Didn’t interrupt.
“I thought it was my fault. That I was sick. My mother told me not to talk about it. The relatives just stared. But the fire kept coming.”
She took a shaky breath.
“I still feel it sometimes. Not like before. But like it’s waiting.”
Isaac reached out slowly, brushing his fingers along hers on the armrest.
And she let him.
“I’ve never said that out loud,” she whispered.
He didn’t say thank you or I’m sorry.
He said, “Do you still feel like you’re burning now?”
She looked at him.
“No,” she murmured. “Now I just feel… seen.”
His thumb traced over her knuckles gently. “That’s more dangerous than fire, you know.”
“What is?”
“Being seen.”
She turned her hand to hold his fully.
“Then you’re dangerous too.”
Hours later, after they both fell asleep on the couch, tangled in soft blankets and long breaths, Isaac woke first.
He stood slowly, careful not to disturb her.
Then he walked into the hallway, phone in hand.
“Status?” he said.
Luca’s voice came through low and sharp. “Linarez is meeting with DOJ contacts. He’s digging for leverage—he already knows about you and the girl.”
Isaac’s jaw tightened. “Does he know where she is?”
“No. But he’s asking the right people.”
“I need insurance,” Isaac said. “Anyone he’s ever blackmailed, threatened, erased. I want names, evidence, everything.”
“You planning to bury him?”
“No,” Isaac said. “I’m planning to expose him.”
“You don’t usually do that.”
“I don’t usually meet someone worth changing for.”
Luca was silent for a moment.
“Understood.”
The next morning, Sabrina found Isaac in the kitchen, cooking breakfast like he’d always belonged there.
“You cook now?” she asked with a raised brow.
He shrugged. “I eat. So, yes.”
She smiled, faintly. “You’re full of surprises.”
“I hope that’s a good thing.”
She picked up a fork and stole a bite of scrambled egg. “Ask me again in a week.”
He turned toward her. “I’ll still be here.”
And something in her chest warmed—quietly, cautiously.
“Isaac,” she said, voice more serious now. “Why are you really doing this? Not the Linarez stuff. Me.”
He looked at her for a long moment.
“I’ve lived my whole life building walls to keep people out. You’re the first person who made me want to open a door.”
Her eyes softened. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not,” he said. “But it is real.”
She nodded.
“I’ll try,” she whispered.
“That’s all I’ve ever needed.”
And this time, when he reached for her…
…she didn’t hesitate.
But far across the city, in a white office with black floors, Dr. Emilio Linarez placed a call.
A man answered. Low voice. Unknown name.
“She’s remembering,” Linarez said simply.
“And?”
“Move up the timeline.”
“Understood.”
Linarez hung up.
And smiled.
- Writer
