Resurrecting the Genius Within (Calypso Rain) novel Chapter 447

Chapter 447 Death 

Isabelle’s certainty rivaled that of any physician, her touch lingering on the boy’s pulse, her grip lim yet gentle. 

Within the dim confines of the collapsed structure, a heavy silence enveloped Isabelle, her features drawn tight, a fierce intensity blazing in her eyes, a silent testament to her shock and dismay. 

In the desolation of the ruined dwelling, there lay nothing of worth to justify the boy’s perilous quest for two simple chocolate treats. With such precious treasures in hand, logic dictated he should have made a swift return to the safety of his grandfather’s humble abode. 

Within those modest walls awaited Isabelle, the object of his deepest affection, the woman he longed to wed. Without hesitation, he would have bestowed upon her the coveted sweets. 

Even in death, he should have drawn his last breath within the sanctuary of his home, not in the desolate expanse beyond. 

Despite his upbringing in the harsh environs of the slum, and the grim reality of witnessing George dispatch his malevolent uncle, fear must have gripped him in the face of the thugs‘ coercion. 

He knew the dire consequences of defiance, yet he braved the terror and led his companion to this forsaken place. 

A fatal blow, sealing his fate. 

The blade sliced through his windpipe, the struggle evident beneath him, yet he clung fiercely to the chocolate cake in his grasp. 

He hadn’t touched the stash of money he’d squirreled away, hadn’t donned the spoils he’d scavenged for days, nor had he treated himself to a new pair of shoes. 

The soup George planned to cook the next day remained untasted, the chocolate cake meant for Isabelle untouched. Little did he know, Isabelle had grand plans for him, a life far removed from scavenging, with endless shoes and ample nutrition. to fuel his growth. 

Even the innocence of youth couldn’t shield him, a stark reminder of Dark Shadow’s ruthless orin on the slum 

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Isabelle, her silence laden with resolve, withdrew her hand, draping George’s coat over the fallen child. With a steely determination, she rose, an aura of vengeance radiating from her as she strode away. 

A concealed knife slipped into her grasp as she moved. “Isabelle,” George called out, his anxiety palpable. 

“Dark Shadow’s men will soon be upon us. He sacrificed flee, George urged, desperation tingeing his words. 

himself for our chance to 

But she couldn’t heed his plea. In a sudden burst of action, she darted toward their small sanctuary, disappearing from sight with alarming speed. 

Meanwhile, Dark Shadow, alerted to the situation, raced toward their location. 

As George stepped out of the house, he caught a glimpse of Isabelle’s figure, but before he could reach her, he spied Dark Shadow’s henchmen scouring the area. 

One of them brandished a blood–stained blade, evidence of their grisly work. And as if one assailant wasn’t enough, another figure emerged from a different. direction. 

Their presence hinted at a greater threat lurking nearby. 

George’s expression grew solemn as he fixed his gaze on Isabelle, who remained concealed behind the wall a mere seven or eight meters away, unwilling to risk 

exposure. 

Isabelle’s steely gaze locked onto the knife–wielding man, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. In that faint light, she noticed a small mole adorning his chin, committing his face to memory. 

George’s heart pounded in his chest, fearing Isabelle might impulsively confront their assailants. Mentally bracing himself for the worst, he watched on. 

Yet, as the two killers departed, Isabelle stayed rooted in place, her composure unwavering. 

A wave of relief washed over George as he realised her calm and rational demeanour exceeded his expectations. 

However, the danger wasn’t over. More and more 

of Dark Shadow’s henchmen flooded into the slum from every direction, forcing George and Isabelle to 

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navigate the perilous maze, narrowly evading their purstiers time and again. 

Seeking refuge in a modest inn, Isabelle settled onto the bed, whille George carefully tended to her wound. Despite his efforts, the wound, newly healed, had reopened due to her exertions. 

With dawn still a few hours away, George took a calculated risk, venturing out to procure medicine and fresh bandages. Upon his return, he tenderly rewrapped Isabelle’s wound as she sat in silence. 

Once the task was complete, Isabelle rose abruptly, prompting George’s inquiry. “Where are you off to?” 

Her response was succinct. “To call someone.” 

Descending the stairs, Isabelle borrowed a phone from the innkeeper, placing at call that would alter the course of events. 

Earlier that morning, Yves, armed with intelligence on Dark Shadow’s movements, was leading his men toward the slum when Isabelle’s call diverted their path. 

Yves was overcome with relief at the sound of Isabelle’s voice, his emotions. teetering on the edge of tears. 

Quickly, he inquired, “Hey, love, how are you holding up? Is the wound getting better?” 

Isabelle’s response was matter–of–fact. “Yeah, it’s okay.” 

Though her tone remained composed, Yves sensed an underlying unease, prompting him to probe further. 

Isabelle’s voice came through the receiver, clear and resolute. “There’s something I need your help with. There’s a boy’s 

edge of the garbage dump in the body in the collapsed house near the eastern 

She added, “His name was Adrian.” 

slum. I need you to help me bury him.” 

Before Yves could formulate a response, Isabelle pressed on. “And if you happen to come across a murderer fitting the description–mole on his chin, Ardon–like features, around 1.75 meters tall–take him out.”