Chapter 20 - The Voice Behind the Mirror
Julian rolled onto his knees, his face twisted in torment, and lunged across the floor, catching Christian by the ankle and dragging him backward with brute, feral strength.
"Run, Clara!" Julian bellowed, his voice echoing over the deafening sirens. "Save your sister! Save yourself!"
"Julian, no!"
"I took those vows for you, Clara!" Julian cried, slamming his brother’s head against the concrete floor even as Christian’s fists battered his ribs. "Now let me keep them!"
The heavy steel blast door slammed shut with a concussive *BOOM* that shook the entire bunker.
The magnetic seals engaged with a hiss of pressurized nitrogen.
I threw myself against the cold, two-inch-thick steel barrier, pounding my bloody fists against the reinforced viewport. Through the small, wire-meshed window, I could see inside the crimson-lit vault.
Julian had pinned Christian against the shattered remains of the table. Eleanor was crawling on the floor, weeping hysterically, grasping at the server cables as the air-filtration system roared into reverse, sucking the oxygen out of the sealed subterranean tomb.
Julian looked up through the small glass portal. His face was bruised and streaked with blood, but for the first time since I had met him, his gray eyes were clear. Completely peaceful.
He raised his hand, pressing his palm flat against the inside of the glass.
I pressed my trembling, bloody palm against the outside, weeping openly, the cold steel separating our flesh.
"I love you, Clara," his lips moved silently through the soundproof barrier.
Suddenly, every siren in the stairwell cut out.
The crimson flashing emergency lights shut off, plunging the stairwell into pitch-black silence, save for the hum of the backup battery.
Then, behind me in the darkness of the exit shaft, a metallic chime echoed through the silence.
A small monitor embedded in the concrete wall beside the ladder flickered to life.
It wasn't displaying the bunker inside.
It was displaying the empty coastal cabin in Maine. The porch where I had stood this morning.
Sitting on the porch steps, rocking gently in a wooden chair under the pale moonlight, was an elderly man holding a silver-tipped cane. He looked straight into the camera, smiled a ghastly, toothless grin, and lifted a two-way radio to his mouth.
May you like
His voice crackled out of the wall speaker beside my ear, dry as autumn leaves:
"Did you really believe my sons were the ones running this family, Clara? You did a magnificent job clearing the board for me. Now... unlock the hatch and come up. We have a new contract to sign."
