Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 284

The old man’s eyes darted away, but under the police officer’s persistent questioning, he finally confessed: he’d handed over ten thousand dollars—cash—and even let the young man borrow his phone.

When asked if he knew who the man was, the old man only remembered he was young, maybe in his twenties, sharp-looking, and well put-together.

Hearing that, Emma immediately guessed it must have been Jonathan.

The police could do little except give the old man a stern talking-to before resuming their investigation.

Given Emma’s situation, neither Larson, Latham, nor the officers thought it made sense for her to hang around the police station any longer. There was nothing more she could do there.

Restless and anxious, Emma had no choice but to return to her hotel. Disappointment and worry gnawed at her as she paced her room.

Afternoon came, but Larson still hadn’t returned. Emma had no idea what he was busy with, and every second felt like an eternity. Then, at last, a message from Vivian appeared on her phone: “We found the place!”

Vivian sent her the precise location. Emma was so overwhelmed she nearly burst into tears—Vivian’s boyfriend really was incredible!

She immediately forwarded the information to Larson, then called the police station. “Someone knows where my grandmother is,” she said breathlessly, rattling off the address.

Larson called back almost instantly. “Emmie, I’m almost there. You don’t need to come.”

“What? You know where it is?” Emma blurted out in surprise. “Did you see Grandma? How is she?”

“Not yet, but I’m close. Stay at the hotel—”

“No! Larson, who did this? Did you see? Was it—” Emma couldn’t bring herself to say the name. She couldn’t bear the thought that someone in their family, someone she knew, could do something so monstrous.

Larson understood, even without her finishing. He hesitated for a moment, then answered quietly, “Yes.”

Emma let out a bitter laugh. Her heart felt cold and hollow.

It was undeniable now: her parents and Jonathan had taken Grandma. She’d always hoped, deep down, that they were just greedy, that at worst they’d demand money, maybe use Grandma as leverage. She never imagined they could stoop to abuse.

She shuddered, unable to picture how much her grandmother must have suffered in their hands—how much agony it must have taken to reduce her to this.

“Larson, I want to go. I have to go!” Emma’s last shred of composure crumbled. She needed to see her grandmother. She was terrified she might never get the chance again. If anything happened to Grandma, Emma felt she’d rather go down with those three monsters.

Larson hesitated only a second. “Alright. I’ll have Mr. Fairchild bring you.”

On the outskirts of town, an abandoned warehouse stood in silent decay.

No one had lived there for years. Broken planks, piles of old lumber, and scraps of rusted metal cluttered every corner. Thick layers of dust covered everything, and the air reeked of rot and neglect.

In one corner, a makeshift bed—a few warped boards thrown together—held a filthy, moldy mattress and blanket that hadn’t been used in years. The bedding was so blackened with mildew it was impossible to tell its original color.

The floor was streaked with urine stains and patches of dried, blackened waste. Rats darted from shadowy corners, scuttling across the warehouse floor.

In this squalor, a frail, skeletal figure lay motionless on the bed, eyes closed, barely breathing.

On the last day in the city, they’d started adding laxatives to the soup. After just one day, she knew she wouldn’t last much longer.

When they moved her to Cresthaven, they dumped her in this warehouse and kept up the same routine—half a bowl of soup, tainted with laxatives, every day. She couldn’t even get out of bed. The drugs ran right through her, leaving her soiled and shivering, barely alive.

Now, she didn’t want to live anymore.

And, truth be told, she knew she wouldn’t make it.

This time, as Julian forced the soup into her mouth, she didn’t even have the strength to swallow. The broth just spilled from the corners of her lips, soaking the filthy pillow.

“Ungrateful old hag!” Julian snarled, slapping her across the face.

Grandma didn’t move. She couldn’t even see him clearly anymore. His face was just a blur, but strangely, Emmie’s face appeared crystal clear in her mind.

She remembered Emmie as a toddler, babbling her first words. She remembered her dancing, just a little girl, spinning in the living room. She remembered the accident, the injuries, the day Emmie left for the airport and promised, “Grandma, wait for me to come back for you…”

A single tear slid from the corner of Grandma’s eye.

Emmie, Grandma can’t wait for you any longer.

You promised Grandma you’d be happy.

Next time around, don’t be my granddaughter, okay? Grandma’s afraid she’ll never be able to give you a good father…