Chapter 8: The Secret Calls

Leonardo sighed slowly as he grabbed the pistol on the bed. And he remained motionless. "Get out now," Leonardo said, his voice low and deep. "I don't want you to be a part of my death." "Leave."

Angela couldn't move; she was still as still as a stone, and she couldn't lift her legs to leave the room. Her heart was pounding.

"Get the hell out." He shouted.

"Wait!" she screamed.

"I'll give you a few moments to flee."

Angela was already on her way out the door when she remembered their conversation with Mrs. Vera. Angela, please help me. Assist me in reconnecting with my son's life. He is the only source of happiness in my life. And if Leonardo dies, everything is lost. Angela took a breather as if her heart had been twisted. She returned her attention to Leonardo.

"What are you waiting for, Angela?! Leave now! "Out!" Leonardo drew the pistol and aimed it at his head.

Angela jumped up and snatched the pistol from Leonardo's grasp, taking it from him like a cat snatching its prey.

"Angela, what are you doing?" Leonardo astounded.

Angela gripped the pistol. She shook. What she did shocked her. Leonardo deserved to die. But why did she intervene?

Leonardo was already yelling in frustration. "Return that pistol to me! I must die! Return it! "

"No!" Angela exclaimed as she exited Leonardo's room, leaning against the door. She burst out crying.

"Angela, give me back that pistol!" Leonardo's voice echoed, “I want to die!"

Mrs. Vera approached Angela, who was crying and leaning against the door. "What happened?"

Angela quickly hid the pistol. "Your son wishes to die, Mrs. Vera."

"What?" Mrs. Vera asked as she entered the room. "Leonardo, what are you doing? Don't be silly. Please don't leave me. What will I do if you die?" Mrs. Vera sobbed.

Angela couldn't stop crying. She pitied Mrs. Vera. And she remembered her mother. She knew how much a good mother would love her child.

"Take pity on me, Leonardo. Don't commit suicide. "

Angela stumbled out of Leonardo's room, her eyes blurry with tears. She stumbled back to her room, collapsing onto the bed in a heap. She buried her face in the pillow, muffling her sobs.

"Why did I do that?" she whispered to herself, her voice choked with emotion. "Why did I stop him?" She felt like a failure. She had come here with a mission - to take down a dangerous criminal. And yet, at that moment, she had done the opposite. She had saved his life.

She pounded her fists against the bed, rage and frustration boiling inside her. "What have I done?" she cried out, her voice echoing in the empty room. "What have I become?"

She knew that what she had done was right, deep down. But it didn't feel right. She had betrayed herself, her beliefs, and everything she had stood for. She was supposed to be a hardened avenger, unshakeable in the face of the enemy. And yet, here she was a mess of emotions and doubts.

She took a deep breath, wiping away the tears with the back of her hand. She knew she had to focus. She couldn't let her emotions get the best of her. She had a job to do.

But as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling, she couldn't shake the feeling that everything had changed. Nothing would ever be the same again.

As the night gave way to dawn, Angela rose from her bed and glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She felt a sense of weariness settling in, like a heavy shroud draped over her shoulders. Her carefully crafted plan had taken an unexpected turn, and she couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that gnawed at her insides.

With a sigh, she dressed herself in her crisp white uniform, the symbol of her profession as a nurse. She took extra care to pin her hair back neatly, hoping to regain some semblance of control over her day.

As she stepped out of her room, she noticed the eerie silence that enveloped the house. It was as if the walls themselves were holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. Angela shivered, partly from the cold morning air that seeped through her skin, and partly from the foreboding sense of isolation.

Before heading to Leonardo's room, she decided to take a walk on the lawn to clear her mind. As she breathed in the fresh air, she felt a fleeting moment of tranquillity. But then, she heard a murmur of voices coming from the back of the house. Curiosity getting the better of her, she followed the sound until she reached Mrs. Gale and a man she didn't recognize.

Mrs. Gale noticed her presence and greeted her with a cordial smile, but Angela couldn't help but feel a twinge of suspicion. Who was this man, and why was he here so early in the morning?

The man introduced himself as Anton, the new gardener, and Angela nodded in polite acknowledgment. But something about his demeanor made her uneasy as if he was hiding something beneath his affable facade.

As they chatted, the phone rang shrilly in the living room, jolting them all out of their conversation. Angela hesitated for a moment, unsure if she should answer it, but then she decided to investigate.

As she walked towards the living room, she couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. The air seemed charged with an unspoken tension, and Angela braced herself for whatever was to come.

"Can you answer the phone, Angela?" Mrs. Gale asked, her voice tinged with a note of urgency.

Angela nodded, feeling a sense of apprehension building up inside her. She picked up the phone and answered softly, bracing herself for whatever was to come.

"Hello?" Angela said tentatively.

"Angela?" The man on the other end of the line asked, his voice familiar.

"Yes, it's me. Who's this, please?" Angela tried to keep her tone neutral, but her heart was pounding in her chest.

"Frederick," the man replied, his voice low and urgent.

Angela's mind raced, trying to place the name. She had heard it before: "Oh, yeah, he was Leonardo’s best friend?

"You know we've got Leonardo's paintings, don't you?" Frederick said, his voice rising with excitement.

Angela felt a shiver run down her spine. She knew what he was talking about, but she couldn't believe he was so brazen as to talk about it over the phone.

"Yes, everyone knows," Angela replied, trying to keep her tone steady.

"I just have something to ask you for," Frederick continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Could you please return to Leonardo's studio and see if there is anything else he painted that we missed?"

Angela's mind raced. She knew she shouldn't get involved, but she also knew that Frederick wouldn't take no for an answer.

"All right," Angela replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She hung up the phone, feeling a sense of dread settle over her like a dark cloud. She knew that she was walking into a forbidden situation, but she didn't know how to escape it.

As Angela stepped into the dark studio, she felt a sense of unease wash over her. She fumbled for the light switch, but her hand found nothing but the same filthy place.

The darkness seemed to press in on her from all sides, and for a moment, she thought she heard someone breathing behind her. She spun around, her heart racing, but there was no one there.

Shaking off her fear, she quickly double-checked the studio, scanning every inch of the room for any signs of a hidden painting. But she didn't see anything out of the ordinary, so she closed the door and made her way back to the main house.

As she entered the living room, the phone rang again, it's piercing ring cutting through the silence. She hesitated for a moment, wondering if she should answer it. But then she picked up the receiver and spoke softly, and the moment she heard the voice, she knew it was him again.

"I don't see any paintings left in the studio, Sir Frederick," Angela said, her voice barely above a whisper.

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the line, and then Frederick spoke, his voice low and measured.

"Is that so? Okay, thanks. But, if you happen to see another painting in there or anywhere in the house, please call me. Thanks again."

And then the other line went dead, leaving Angela feeling more unsettled than ever. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was not right, that there was more going on than she could see.