Chapter 9

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The clock ticked on three a

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The clock ticked on three a.m. Quinn kept tossing and turning on the bed, unable to sleep. Something felt terribly wrong. Her instinct kept warning her while her stomach churned from all that stress. She closed her eyes and relived that helpless moment where she wasn't in control of the situation.

Later that day, when she returned at Helen Deveraux's place after school, little did she get the time to step in the house when Bertha rushed by her side, grabbed her hand firmly and told her her grand-aunt's health had deteriorated. 

She instantly followed a terrified Bertha as they made their way to Helen Deveraux's room. Quickly, she threw a worried glance in the direction of the antique bed where her granny rested, deeply asleep, her face blanched and her hands trembled slightly. 

Bertha brought a heavy blanket and handed it to her. She hesitantly marched forward towards the bed, her body shaking also fearing something bad might happen to her grant-aunt. Muttering some courage and steadying herself, she covered a very sick Helen Deveraux, took her pulse with utmost care, it's beat too slow and sighed deeply.

"Bertha, we need a doctor immediately," Quinn instructed.

"Yes, yes Miss Richards. One of our neighbors happen to be a doctor. Do you want me to call her?," Bertha, panicked and confused, replied.

"Doctor? Aren't you not referring about Eva Beckett by any chance?"

"Yes Miss," Bertha confirmed.

Quinn didn't like that doctor and her nosy behavior but they had no other choice right now. "Call her.".

Eva Beckett did not waste any time in coming. With a silver strapless dress and a wide smile on her face, that woman resembled nothing like a doctor. Quinn settled herself in an armchair, determined not to leave her grant-aunt with these two while Bertha placed the doctor's briefcase on the edge of the bed. She examined the sick patient closely, took her pulse, checked her temperature and rubbed her shaky hands.

Suddenly her granny was moving relentlessly on the bed, sweating heavily, her eyes now opened and somewhat glassy. She was muttering something in a faint voice, her body restless and disturbed.

"Your grant-aunt's BP is low Quinn. It could be due to an emotional trauma," Eva acknowledged gravely.

Now she was troubled. She approached near the bed, then saw her granny turned to face her and she grabbed her arm, her grip painful as her nails dug deep into her flesh. Helen Deveraux pulled her forward until she almost fell on the bed. 

"If ever you have one ounce of gratitude left towards my lovely Laura, you will go away and never step in this house again," her sick grant-aunt said viciously. One big tear rolled on Quinn's cheek as she watched Helen Deveraux's pale face full of hatred for her. Then she released her arm harshly. She stepped back, her gaze focused on her granny, unsure whether to stay or leave.

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