Protection from an Enemy

My gaze fell on the disposable cell phone screen in my hand, where my brother's number shone with a faint light in the growing darkness that loomed over the asphalt road that cut through the forest. The tall, black trees loomed over us, like silent witnesses to the scene unfolding. I took a deep breath and answered the call.

"What's going on?" I asked, trying to keep my calm. A sigh resonated on the other end of the line.

"Lian, listen carefully. You have to let that woman go. She's not our sister's killer." I paused for a moment, processing the words. The street was deserted and silent, broken only by the sound of crickets and the creaking of tree branches. The darkness seemed to close in around me, and my heart beat with a sense of fear and confusion.

"What are you talking about?" I asked finally, trying to keep my voice firm. The explanation he gave was clear and concise, and I listened in silence, trying to process it. The moon began to rise above the trees, casting a silver light over the scene.

"How do you know?" I asked, trying to make sense of his words. "I just saw the news," he replied immediately. "They say the writer committed suicide this morning, leaving a note confessing to being our sister's killer. But that's impossible, because you have her right there with you. Someone wants us to believe she's guilty, but she's not."

I felt a buzzing in my ears. What was going on? Who was behind all this? I approached the woman, who was still lying on the ground, trembling with fear. Her eyes spat fire, warning me that she now wanted to kill me. The moon illuminated her pale, sweaty face, and her breathing was agitated. I knelt beside her.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry," I said, with a soft voice, looking at the ground. "I made a mistake. You're not my sister's killer. Someone framed you. Did someone make you write that book?" I finished saying, then looked at her. She looked at me with incredulity, and then her expression changed to one of anger and distrust. Her eyes narrowed, and her mouth compressed into a thin line.

"No, idiot, I don't know anything," she shouted, enraged, trying to move away from me on all fours. Her voice was like a whip, cutting and painful. But I stopped her, holding her ankle. I looked into her eyes and saw the fear and distrust that was there. Her skin was pale and sweaty, and her breathing was agitated.

Sometimes I wondered if I was too impulsive, as my sister used to tell me when I was just a kid. "Don't go," I told her, trying to remain calm. "We have to talk about this." She hesitated for a moment, looked around, and finally nodded, and I helped her get up from the ground. Her body was stiff, and her gaze was lost.

"What's going on?" I asked again, trying to understand what was happening. "Why did they accuse you of being my sister's killer?" The woman shrugged, and her gaze drifted to the ground.

"I don't know," she said finally, in a barely audible voice. "I don't understand anything." Suddenly, a noise in the distance made me turn my head. A truck was approaching on the road, its lights illuminating the darkness, and the sound of its wheels cutting through the night. "What's that?" the woman asked, her voice full of fear.

I didn't respond. I just looked, my heart pounding with a sense of fear of being discovered. How do I get out of this? What can I say that's convincing enough for him not to call the authorities? If they find her, they'll know where she is, and they'll come for her. The truck stopped a few meters away from us, and a man got out. He was tall and thin, with a face with a prominent beard and dark eyes that seemed to shine in the darkness.

I paused for a moment, watching the man get out of the truck, and heard the crunching of his boots on the asphalt. What do I do? Damn it. Before the man could approach, I moved to the front of the car and with one finger dented the front of the car to make it look like we had crashed. The sound of the deformed metal resonated in the night, and it seemed to me that the man stopped for a moment, surprised.

I opened the front door and looked for something to cover Adara. I found a long red leather jacket and put it on Adara to conceal the marks on her arms, also removing her restraints. The jacket smelled of leather and smoke, and Adara shuddered when I put it on her. Then, I looked for something for myself I found a black jersey belonging to one of the kidnappers, which I put on to cover the blood on my shirt. The jersey was cold and damp, and I thought it smelled of sweat and alcohol.

"Then there must be..." I rummaged through the back seat. "Ah-ha!" I exclaimed softly. But Adara gave a little jump. I found a bottle of vodka and a cleaning rag. With the vodka and the rag, I cleaned the blood from my mouth and neck, checking myself in the passenger-side mirror. The vodka stung my throat, and the rag felt rough and cold, but thanks to the strong wind, it evaporated quickly.

"Are you folks okay?" the man asked, his voice loud and curious. "I think there was an accident; I saw blood on the asphalt." His voice was deep and resonant, and I thought he sounded concerned.

"Yes, thank you," I said, trying to sound calm. "My wife was injured in an accident. We need to take her to the hospital to get her treated." My voice sounded tense and forced, and I thought the man looked at me skeptically.

"What happened?" the man asked, as he helped us into the truck. His hand was warm and strong, and I thought he was genuinely trying to help us.

"It was a collision with another vehicle," I said. "I didn't see the other car, but my wife hurt her head." The man nodded and took us to the nearest hospital. The truck smelled of gasoline and oil, which could help mask the smell, and I thought the engine sounded rough and tired.

Once we arrived at the hospital, the man stopped in front of the emergency entrance. "Thank you for everything," I said, as I helped Adara out of the truck.

"You're welcome," the man said. "Ma'am, you're lucky to have such a caring husband." Adara looked at him sarcastically and said, "Yes, I'm very lucky. I love how my husband takes me on midnight drives through the woods."

Her voice was bitter and sarcastic, and I thought she was trying to convey something more. The man chuckled and said, "Well, I hope you folks recover soon." We drove away from the hospital, disappearing into the darkness of the night. The night was cold and dark, and I thought we were completely alone.

"Let's go," I said, as I took Adara's arm. "We need to find my brother's hideout." Adara nodded, still confused and scared. But I guided her firmly, determined to protect her and uncover the truth behind Clarion's death.