Chapter 7 - Echoes of the Past
The relentless ticking of the clocks surrounded us like a chorus of whispers, each beat echoing the unanswered questions swirling in my mind. Exhaustion threatened to pull me under, yet the unsettling sense that we'd stumbled into a hidden chamber of Finn's past kept me alert.
"Your father," I prompted, hesitant to shatter the fragile quiet yet desperate for answers. "What was he really involved in?"
Finn sank into the worn armchair, the harsh overhead light casting his features in sharp relief. "He wasn't just a businessman. The deals he struck, the people he borrowed from…" He paused, searching for the right words. "They were dangerous. Organized crime, the kind that doesn't play by any rules."
I shivered, my own brush with the criminal world now feeling chillingly real. "Why clocks?" The seemingly innocuous objects cluttered the shop, suddenly sinister in their abundance.
A ghost of a smile flickered across Finn's face. "He always had a fascination with them. The precision, the intricate mechanisms, the way they marked the relentless passage of time." He looked up, his gaze sharp. "But there's more to it than that. This place was his escape route. If things went bad…"
He let the words hang, the implication chilling. Hidden compartments within intricate clockworks, concealed passages behind dusty shelves, a bolthole designed for a man on the run. My safe, predictable world seemed a distant memory.
A strange, almost giddy excitement mingled with fear as the true scale of the danger they faced sunk in. "You think they know about this place?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Finn rose, his movements restless as he paced the room. "If they were keeping tabs on my father, it's possible. And after tonight's fiasco…" He shook his head. "We can't stay here long."
Weary resignation warred with a defiant spark of determination. "So what do we do? Where can we go?"
Finn paused, contemplating, then met my gaze with unwavering resolve. "There's one person who might be able to help us. Someone with the resources and connections to keep us protected and dig up the truth."
"Who?" I asked, anticipation battling with dread.
"Olivia Stirling."
Her name hung in the air, heavy with unanswered questions. Was she an ally, a pawn like me, or the mastermind behind the whole scheme? Part of me was reluctant to trust anyone, yet I had an undeniable feeling that the enigmatic Olivia held the key to unraveling the tangled web they were caught in.
The decision to seek out Olivia was a desperate gamble. It chafed against every instinct for self-preservation screaming within me. Yet, with every corner turned and every shadowed doorway scrutinized, the oppressive feeling that they were being hunted had only grown stronger. Olivia, an untamed card in a fixed deck, seemed their only shot at survival.
Finn located a battered flip phone hidden inside a hollowed-out book on antique clock repair. His call to Olivia was frustratingly brief, a clipped exchange laden with cryptic phrases and coded instructions. He emerged from a darkened corner of the shop, his expression unreadable.
"She'll meet us," he said. "A café near the university, tomorrow at noon."
The night stretched into an eternity, punctuated by the maddening rhythm of the clocks. I attempted to rest on a threadbare sofa, but sleep evaded me. Fear gnawed at my resolve, while a different, far more bewildering emotion flickered like a stubborn flame amidst the darkness.
As the first rays of dawn painted the shop windows with a pale light, Finn roused me with grim determination. We emerged onto the rain-slicked streets, blending into the flow of early morning commuters and students. It was an illusion of safety, a flimsy mask we both knew could shatter in an instant.
The café near the university bustled with youthful energy. We chose a corner table with a partial view of the entrance, offering a modicum of control in the unpredictable game they were playing. I fidgeted with my coffee cup, my nerves a tangled mess barely concealed beneath a façade of composure.
Olivia arrived precisely at noon. She was immaculate in a tailored pantsuit, every strand of dark hair precisely in place. Her gaze swept the café, and when she spotted us, she cut through the crowd with a confidence that demanded attention.
As she approached, a strange thought struck me. She was like an exotic bird that had found its way into their ordinary world, a creature at once alluring and dangerous.
"Mr. MacGregor, Ms. Campbell," she acknowledged us with a slight tilt of her head. "You seem to be in rather a predicament."
"Understatement of the century," I muttered before Finn could intervene.
Olivia ignored my outburst, pulling a chair closer and meeting my gaze with a disconcerting intensity. "I'm not your enemy, Isla," she said, her voice soft yet insistent. "If anything, we're fighting the same battle." The pieces were swirling, forming a new and unsettling image.
"So then why didn't you just tell us?" Finn cut in, his voice edged with suspicion.
Olivia's perfectly arched eyebrow rose. "Would you have believed me? A former rival, appearing out of thin air, with a suitcase of accusations against a man you thought you knew?"
The truth in her words stung. Grayson, Olivia, Finn's past… it was a web of twisted loyalties and betrayals that threatened to choke us. Yet, the defiance I saw ignited in Finn's eyes mirrored my own.
"Tell us now, then," Finn demanded. "Tell us everything."