Chapter 6 - Shadows of the Desert
The desert played tricks on the mind. The moonlight turned saguaros into reaching hands, and the wind whipped through the canyon like a human whisper. My blistered heel was agony, a constant, sharp reminder of my vulnerability, but I forced myself to keep moving.
We had been trekking for three hours when I found it—a weather-beaten wooden sign: Old Prospector’s Cabin. My heart sank. This was where she had taken us as children to "hide" when the real world became too loud.
"She’s heading there," I realized. "She thinks we’re going to follow her to get the car keys, but she’s actually setting an ambush."
I pulled the journals from my bag. By the dim light of my phone, I scanned the pages I hadn't read yet. I found a note from fifteen years ago: “The doctors trust the charts, not the children. If you write the symptoms down in a way that mimics a rare autoimmune disorder, they will never look for the poison in the tea.”
There it was. She had been falsifying medical records using the names of local doctors, creating a paper trail that made her "care" look like expert intervention. If I could get to a satellite phone or a signal strong enough to reach the authorities, I wouldn't just have an accusation—I would have a blueprint of her crimes.
Suddenly, a flashlight beam cut through the darkness, sweeping across our hiding spot. Sarah was close.
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"Emily!" her voice echoed, calm and terrifyingly maternal. "Come out, dear. I have the antidote for Ethan. He’s going to stop breathing in an hour if you don't help me administer it."
It was a lie. A lure. And yet, the sheer possibility that she might be telling the truth paralyzed me. Brittany gripped my hand so hard her knuckles turned white. "She's trying to make us panic, Emily. She wants us to make a mistake."
