Pathological Possession: Even Death Will Not Part Us-Chapter 144: Taking the First Step to Escape

Chapter 144: Chapter 144: Taking the First Step to Escape

At this moment.

Not far away, the security booth crackled with radio noise. After receiving, two or three guards drew their electric batons from their waists, grabbed riot shields, and rushed to the entrance.

In the blink of an eye, the entire museum resounded with piercing alarm bells.

Eleanor was dumbfounded.

Mr. Ghost tilted his head smugly, "My friend’s a professional. However, Cillian Grant doesn’t have a gun on him, won’t fool them for long. You get in the car. Meanwhile, we’ll run ten miles away." 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Eleanor swallowed her words.

She wanted to say Cillian Grant wouldn’t let her go, but at this very moment, there seemed to be a glimmer of hope.

Eleanor got into the front passenger seat. Before she could fasten her seatbelt, Mr. Ghost started the car and shot forward like an arrow.

"His rear-end bodyguards—"

"Blocked too," Mr. Ghost said, steering with one hand while rummaging in his pocket with the other.

As Eleanor pulled her gaze back from the side rearview mirror, a gleaming little knife hovered under her nose.

With slender blades and a length of about four fingers, it was neither the common fruit knife with too narrow and thin a blade nor a weapon but seemed more like a scaled-down toy of a longsword.

Seeing her startled, Mr. Ghost sheepishly moved the blade aside, "Sorry about that. I just wanted to tell you that while they were away, I slashed their tires, including the spare, so by the time they catch up, we should already be meeting our contact."

Eleanor furrowed her brows.

She used to escape all on her own, small skirmishes, straightforward methods. But now with Damian Sinclair, Mr. Ghost, and the help of a local gang,

on top of Mr. Ghost’s devilish tactics.

Frequent shootings in European countries, reporting a mentally ill person carrying a gun in public is as serious as reporting a large drug cartel gathering to use drugs back home.

Such a sharp angle, leaving no defense. The team effort for escape is significant...

But there was a hiccup in her heart that wouldn’t calm down.

Mr. Ghost looked at her solemn face, her eyes anxious and confused, very puzzled, "What’s up? We’ve successfully taken the first step toward freedom, the stars and sea are just ahead. Even if you want to be cautious, you shouldn’t look like this. Like—"

He observed her for another moment, then concluded, "You don’t believe in our mission at all."

Eleanor didn’t exhale, remaining very silent.

Mr. Ghost turned the steering wheel onto the highway, "Don’t worry, your plan is so thorough: kill with a borrowed knife, shed one’s coat of armor, President Sinclair even paid the gang for their services. Now the entire gang runs for your big business, we can’t lose."

Eleanor couldn’t describe the unease in her heart, thoughts being overturned repeatedly, not adding up, yet unable to ease her mind.

"Every time I think I have the situation in hand, it turns out to be Heaven playing tricks."

She glanced at the car’s side mirror, a long empty black road winding across the snowy plains, "Having seen all the free views along the way, in the end, trapped in a cage."

Mr. Ghost, being coarse, couldn’t articulate reason, but having lived for forty years, he had some life insights.

"That’s how it is with Heaven." He pressed the accelerator to speed up again, "I heard about you from President Sinclair, damn it, the rich families really are bastards. Of course, excluding you and President Sinclair."

"But think about it, they are rich and powerful, so formidable. In terms of experience facing enemies, the stronger the enemy, the less likely Heaven will let you win easily, right? Surely there have to be tests: climb mountains, cross seas, race on highways, and once you’ve endured hurdle after hurdle, gained enough experience, victory will naturally come. Four years for another seventy or eighty years of good food, drink, and freedom, this deal isn’t a loss for us."

Eleanor accepted his goodwill, "Thank you. I never thought of living that long before, but now that you mention it, I’ll strive to live past one hundred, one year less and I’ll feel like I’ve wasted these four years."

Mr. Ghost grinned, "That’s the spirit."

He chatted enthusiastically, "When I was your age, I was hanging out with Big Brother Eastgate, eating and drinking every day, collecting protection fees, getting into fights at night, guarding a turf, those days were so boring, at night I felt like I’d kick the bucket by forty."

"Then I met my wife, and she gave me two little apples. I thought forty wasn’t enough, borrow another five hundred years from Heaven, see my daughter’s daughter’s daughter’s daughter settled before I close my eyes."

Eleanor was touched, looked down at her abdomen, and gently caressed it.

If she hated Cillian Grant, she shouldn’t keep his child, Elaine White’s pregnancy hormone theory was just nonsense.

Ultimately, it’s because of her void, a gaping hole left by tearing the Grant Family out of her heart

And if one day, she regains her freedom, she’s sure she won’t have the heart to meet another man, to build a family.

This life of hers would only have this one child. Without it, a lifetime of freedom as the wind, drifting like a dandelion seed, unable to root or halt.

Eleanor suddenly let out a breath, asked Mr. Ghost, "Can you contact the gang? I want to talk to them."

Mr. Ghost glanced at her, "About what?"

"I suspect there’s a trap, want to change the plan."

Just as her voice landed, the incoming Mr. Ford car suddenly accelerated, changed lanes, and slammed straight into their car head-on.

Mr. Ghost, caught off guard, could only swerve hard, the vehicle dashed off the road, wheels grinding over the foundation stones, a bout of violent shaking.

Eleanor was tightly strapped by the seatbelt, the airbag deployed in a blink.

Mr. Ghost was affected, lost control of the steering, the vehicle swung wildly in S shapes on the snowy ice, skidding.

Eleanor was tossed about like on a swing ride, barely guarding her abdomen. Both car doors suddenly hit hard, the opponent not intending to hurt or kill, rather aiding them in stabilizing the car body.

The last violent lurch, Eleanor’s head banged into the airbag, her entire world spinning as her vision submerged in darkness.

She felt the car door being pulled open, some man with a strong body odor leaned in, unfastened her seatbelt, and yanked her out by the arm.

Eleanor lost both touch and control of her body, feeling no pain, only knowing she was being dragged into another car.

The car started immediately, she wanted to shout, "Save Mr. Ghost!"

A point of light appeared before her eyes, the illuminated area grew larger, a red-bearded, white-skinned fat man’s face right in front of her.

She instinctively recoiled, her head hitting the seatback, causing another wave of vertigo.

Then her hearing returned too.

Faintly beside her, a man speaking in English, "Yes, taking her to the hospital now."

Back home, Mr. Grant had just returned to the Grant Family.

Cillian Grant was confirmed to return today, his plan half succeeded. Unable to bear it any longer, he returned home to see Mrs. Grant.

In this moment, Mrs. Grant was looking for loungewear for him, Mr. Grant smiled at his lips, "Now it’s forces from three sides, able to push Cillian into a police station, people Sinclair found are quite sharp. The pre-arranged hospital was far, things are urgent, to play it safe, you can find a nearby place."

The man hesitated, "While Froskar allows women to abort within 22 weeks, the person involved must personally sign a statement. Huvizak experienced a large Catholic protest yesterday, demanding to ban the abortion law. The situation is tense now, aside from that, the statement is a must, otherwise, doctors won’t agree."

A life lost can be blamed on mishap, given the involved person’s uterus was deformity.

Without the statement, directly ruins their career, a hundred percent facing prosecution and sentencing.

Foreign doctors all elite intellectuals from middle class backgrounds, weighing pros and cons, they’re the shrewdest.