CHAPTER TWO: ISABEL
1101 Words
ISABEL
The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the sterile white ceiling and the faint, steady beep beside me. My head throbbed like it was being split in two, and when I reached up to touch it, my fingers brushed against a thick bandage. I was in a hospital.
A nurse stepped in just then, her shoes squeaking softly against the tiled floor.
“How are you feeling?” she asked kindly.
“My head is killing me,” I muttered, struggling to sit up. “But I need to go home now.”
She didn’t even try to stop me. She simply gave me a small, polite smile.
“Who brought me here? And… how much will this cost?” I asked, dread curling in my stomach.
“Mr. Dashinmore brought you here,” she said, her voice carefully neutral. “He covered all the bills. Said he ran into you with his car. He also asked me to give you this.”
She handed me a slip of paper. My hands trembled as I looked down at it — a check for a thousand dollars. My pulse quickened.
Mr. Dashinmore.
“Which of the Dashinmores?” I asked quickly. “The president? His son? One of the extended family?”
Her lips pressed into a thin line. “I’ve been told to keep that information confidential.”
Before I could question further, she turned and walked out, leaving me staring at the check.
My thoughts spiraled. Did they already find out I met with Baker? The rich always had spies. And I’d somehow stumbled into their mess.
Shoving the check into my bag, I left the hospital. I wanted to call someone — anyone — but who would I even trust with this?
Lacie came to mind first. My best friend. My partner in every stupid decision. But I couldn’t drag her into this. And I couldn’t tell Mum either — she’d panic, and stress wasn’t good for her heart.
By the time I reached home, my phone started buzzing. Lacie.
“Where the hell did you go, Bell? Your mum called me. I had to lie for you!”
“Thanks, Lacie,” I said softly. “I had to… do something.”
“Something?” she repeated. “You’re keeping secrets from me again, aren’t you?”
I sighed. “I just got home. I’ll call you in ten, promise.”
“You’d better,” she muttered before I hung up.
Inside, the smell of spaghetti hit me — Mum’s cooking. She was already in the kitchen when she noticed me.
“Hey, baby girl… what happened to your head?” she asked, eyes widening at the bandage.
“Nothing serious,” I said quickly. “Bumped my head on a wall.”
“Oh, my poor baby,” she said, rushing closer. “You look so pale, Isa. Did you lose blood? Are you sick?”
I forced a tired smile and grabbed my plate. “I’m fine, Mum. Just exhausted. I’ll eat in my room, okay?”
She sighed, worry lining her face. “I know finding a good college that’s cheap is hard, but I promise, sweetie — once I get better, I’ll find a job, and you’ll go to the best one. You’ll see.”
Her words melted something inside me. “Just take care of yourself, Mum,” I whispered, then slipped into my room and locked the door.
Leaning against it, I exhaled shakily. My mind was chaos.
What now?
I had until tomorrow morning to decide — to help Baker and risk my life, or to refuse and risk losing everything anyway. There was no real choice. If it meant saving my mother, I’d face anything. Even death.
I picked at my spaghetti and tried to focus on happier times, but the thought of dying at nineteen kept circling back like a shadow that wouldn’t let go.
Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.
Then — bang!
I jolted awake, heart hammering. Someone was knocking at the door — hard. My clock glowed 2:00 a.m.
“Mum?” I whispered.
The door creaked open. Mum stood there, trembling. Her face was pale.
“Call the cops, Isa,” she whispered urgently.
But before I could grab my phone, the front door slammed open downstairs.
We both froze.
“Mum…”
She grabbed my hand and pushed me behind her. Heavy footsteps echoed — multiple men. Four, maybe five. The sound drew closer until my bedroom door burst open.
They were dressed head to toe in black, faces covered.
“Please,” Mum begged, raising her hands. “We don’t have any money. Spare us.”
Two of them grabbed her, and the others seized me. My feet left the floor.
“Do we look like thieves?” one hissed. “We’ve come to take you.”
Take me? My brain couldn’t process it. They had guns. They looked exactly like thieves.
“Take us where?” Mum cried, struggling.
“Quiet, woman!” one barked, yanking her forward.
“Mum’s sick! Please don’t—”
“Shut up,” another snapped, squeezing my arms until I whimpered.
This had to be Baker’s doing. It had to be. No one had ever come for us before.
Outside, a large black van waited. They shoved us in like luggage, two men sitting opposite us to keep watch.
Mum’s hand found mine. Her grip was tight, trembling.
Her eyes said what her lips couldn’t: don’t be scared.
But I was terrified.
“Please… where are you—”
“Not a word,” one growled, pointing his gun at her forehead.
Tears stung my eyes. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned everything else. Was this the end?
If Baker wasn’t behind this… could it be the President himself?
By the time the van stopped, I couldn’t feel my fingers. They dragged us out and into what looked like the driveway of a mansion — sprawling, glittering, expensive.
“We haven’t done anything wrong! We’re innocent!” Mum shouted as they pushed us through the door.
“Quiet,” one snapped again.
The automatic doors slid open, revealing a house so beautiful it almost didn’t feel real. Marble floors. Paintings that looked like they belonged in museums. A chandelier that could buy our entire neighborhood.
They shoved us into the sitting room — luxurious sofas, but we didn’t dare sit. It was three in the morning.
And then… a deep voice echoed through the hall.
“Welcome, Isabel Beckers.”
- Writer
