Chapter 7 - Blood on the Hearth
The floorboards exploded upward like a blast from a landmine.
Julian barely had time to widen his eyes before Arthur erupted from the darkness beneath the floor, the Sig Sauer in his hand already barking with deafening, concussive violence.
*BANG! BANG!*
Two 9mm hollow-point rounds slammed into Julian’s right shoulder and collarbone. The force spun the lawyer violently around, sending his revolver skittering across the polished floorboards and knocking the heavy laptop from the desk, shattering its screen against the stone hearth.
Julian hit the wall with a wet, brutal impact, screaming in agony as blood pumped freely from his shattered shoulder.
"ARTHUR!" Vanessa shrieked, dropping her glass of scotch. The crystal shattered on the floor, the alcohol igniting for a brief second as it splashed against the dying embers of the fireplace.
Outside, the crack of gunfire instantly alerted the two mercenaries. Heavy, combat-booted footsteps pounded up the exterior stone stairs toward the front portico.
"Behind the desk, Lucy!" Arthur roared, not looking at his daughter, his weapon already swinging toward the library's double doors.
The first mercenary kicked the heavy oak doors open, his tactical rifle raised to sweep the room.
Arthur didn't give him the chance to acquire a target. He dropped to one knee, firing three rapid shots through the splintered doorframe. Two rounds punched through the mercenary’s Kevlar vest at point-blank range, driving the breath from his lungs; the third round caught him under the chin. The man collapsed backward onto the grand staircase without making a sound.
The second mercenary fired wildly through the drywall, 5.56mm rounds tearing through the leather-bound books, raining shredded paper and dust across the room like confetti.
Arthur rolled across the floor, grabbing the fallen mercenary's discarded assault rifle from the doorway. He leaned around the jamb, engaged the selector switch to semi-automatic, and fired four controlled rounds down the dimly lit hallway.
A choked cry echoed from the darkness, followed by the heavy thud of a body tumbling down the marble stairs.
Silence fell over the manor, broken only by the crackle of burning paper and the sound of Julian’s ragged, wheezing gasps from the corner.
Arthur turned back into the library, his face black with gun smoke and sweat. He set the rifle against the desk and raised his handgun, his eyes fixed on Vanessa.
Vanessa was frozen against the bay windows. Her hands were raised, trembling violently, her face pale as a corpse. Between her fingers, she held a small, silver lighter, its flame dancing inches away from the heavy velvet drapes that framed the room.
"Stay back, Arthur!" she screamed, her voice cracking into high-pitched hysteria. "Stay back or I’ll burn this entire goddamn house down! I’ll burn the girl! I swear to God I will!"
Arthur didn't stop. He walked toward her, step by deliberate step, his boots crunching over shattered glass and splintered oak. His eyes were completely devoid of humanity.
"You won't burn anything, Vanessa," Arthur said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "The drapes are treated with flame-retardant silicone. I had them installed when Lucy was born. You would know that if you had ever spent five minutes caring for this family."
Vanessa looked at the fabric, flicked the lighter against it—and the velvet merely smoldered, smoking faintly without catching fire.
The lighter dropped from her paralyzed fingers.
She dropped to her knees, crawling toward Arthur, her hands clutching at the cuffs of his trousers. The arrogance, the cold aristocratic cruelty, the glamorous venom—all of it had dissolved into pathetic, sniveling terror.
"Arthur, please!" she begged, tears carving black tracks through her mascara. "Julian forced me! He threatened my family! He poisoned Eleanor—I tried to stop him! Arthur, remember how I held you when Eleanor died? Remember our vows? I love you! I can be the mother Lucy needs! Please, Arthur, don't kill me!"
Arthur looked down at her. He felt nothing. No anger, no hatred—only a profound, freezing disgust.
"You swung an iron skillet at my three-year-old child," Arthur whispered. "You poisoned my wife with heavy metals until her organs liquefied. And you told Lucy that her mother choked on her own blood."
He raised the Sig Sauer, pressing the cold steel barrel directly against the center of Vanessa’s forehead.
Vanessa’s breath hitched in her throat. She closed her eyes, trembling so violently her teeth clicked together. "Arthur... please..."
"Daddy?"
The tiny, fragile voice cut through the smell of cordite and blood like a ray of pure light.
Arthur froze.
He looked over his shoulder. Lucy had managed to wriggle out of the tape that bound her small wrists. She was standing in the middle of the ruined room, clutching her wet, scotch-soaked bunny against her chest. Her hazel eyes were wide, staring at Arthur, staring at the gun in his hand, staring at the woman kneeling at his feet.
"Daddy... don't be loud," Lucy whispered, her chin quivering. "Lucy is scared of the loud noises."
The gun in Arthur’s hand began to shake.
The bloodlust that had consumed him, the blinding urge to pull the trigger and paint the bay windows with Vanessa’s brain matter, collided violently with the gaze of his innocent, terrified child.
If he pulled the trigger now, he would kill the monster.
But he would also murder the father Lucy needed. He would become the very violence that had haunted her nursery.
Arthur slowly lowered the weapon.
He looked down at Vanessa, who was sobbing into the floorboards, hyperventilating in disbelief that she was still breathing.
"You aren't getting out that easily, Vanessa," Arthur said coldly. "A bullet is an escape. You’re going to spend the next forty years in a concrete box in Bedford Hills. Every inmate in that facility will know what you did to a three-year-old girl. And every morning, you will wake up knowing that you failed."
Arthur turned his back on her, walking straight toward his daughter.
He fell to his knees, dropping the weapon onto the desk, and scooped Lucy into his arms. He buried his face into her hair, holding her so tightly he could feel her tiny heartbeat pounding against his ribs.
"I’ve got you, baby," Arthur wept, the tears finally breaking through his stoic facade. "Daddy’s got you. It’s over. It’s all over."
Behind him, from the dark shadow of the stone hearth, a ragged, blood-soaked figure dragged himself upright.
Julian Vance, his face twisted in a mask of dying, psychopathic malice, reached into his boot with his left hand.
He pulled a small, concealed backup derringer from the leather lining.
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"If I’m going down, Artie..." Julian rasped, blood bubbling on his lips as he pointed the small barrel straight at the back of Lucy’s head. "...your legacy dies with me."
***
