❝ And that's Marlowe - better known as Mar...❞
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𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐞. You rarely catch her without sand-covered skin and dark locks winded up from saltwater. Born and raised on the island, with a house that radiates...
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𝐁lues and reds fight for dominance through the otherwise dark landscape.
Marlowe takes a second to peek around the corner, dread coating her features. Police cars and officers and civilians are molded into a single mess of an enemy.
A tug on her wrist thieves her focus. John B offers her a weak, yet encouraging nod. The coast is as clear as it'll ever be.
They take off, sprinting through the garden with the blanket of the night guarding their existence. The path at their feet fades as it leads into the darkness of the woods. They follow the narrow strip of naked earth, darting over the slithering roots.
They don't stop until they reach the old church.
Blue clasps with brown, their minds forming the very same plan. They both scurry into the building, pausing for a short moment once the door is finally shut behind them.
While urging her toward the ladder, he looks over his shoulder, paranoid by every little sound. "Go, go."
Marlowe hoists herself into the small attic, waiting for John B to arrive as well before closing the rusty hatch.
She grimaces, bringing a palm to her sweat-covered forehead. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," she whispers rapidly, leaning over to catch her breath.
"I know, I know," he urges, his voice quavering with both fear and exhaustion.
"I need to ask..." She doesn't tear her wide stare from the hatch. "How did... How did you end up back there?"
John B sniffs once before returning to the endless panting. "Hid in the garage. Didn't... I didn't know it was his house," he quickly replies.
Marlowe feels her entire being shaking as she mumbles, "talk about luck, huh?"
"You?" he returns, just as inquisitive as to how she'd ended up at the Clifford property.
She has no time to reply.
They're both on edge. So when the hatch suddenly opens without any of their assistance, they both leap into instant defensiveness. While releasing weighty, shaky breaths, they heave whatever objects they can find over their head, ready to propel them onto whoever the intruder is.
