The Walls Have Ears

I scrambled back toward the closet. "Arthur, stay inside!"

Julian swung the axe again. The blade bit deep into the oak floorboards, splintering the wood. He wrenched it free, wood chips flying.

"Do you know where the main line runs, Helen?" he asked, his voice calm, conversational. "Right under the rug. An old iron pipe. Rusted. Brittle."

He wasn't bluffing. The house was old. The infrastructure was rotting, just like the family.

"You'll kill yourself," I said, my grip on the poker tightening until my knuckles turned white.

"I'm already dead," he said. "Remember?"

He raised the axe.

I didn't wait. I charged him.

I swung the poker at his head. He ducked, the iron rod whistling through the air where his skull had been. He laughed and shoved me.

I flew backward, crashing into the bookshelf. Books rained down on me, heavy hardcovers bruising my shoulders.

Julian turned back to the floor. He swung the axe.

*Crunch.*

He was through the subfloor. I could see the dark void of the crawlspace below. And the dull glint of a pipe.

"One more," he whispered.

He raised the axe high.

"No!"

I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed a heavy glass decanter from the side table.

I threw it.

It hit him in the back of the head.

He staggered forward, the axe swing going wide. The blade sparked against the stone hearth of the fireplace.

He turned to face me, blood trickling down his neck. He looked annoyed.

"That was expensive crystal, Helen."

He started toward me.

But then, a noise from the closet.

The door creaked open.

Arthur stepped out.

He wasn't hiding anymore. He was standing tall, his back straight, his eyes clear. In his hand, he held a small, silver pistol. The one he kept in his bedside table. The one I thought Richard had taken.

"Put it down, Julian," Arthur said.

Julian stopped. He looked at the gun. Then at his father.

"You won't shoot me," Julian said. "You never could discipline me. That's why I turned out this way."

"I made you," Arthur said, his voice trembling but firm. "I can unmake you."

"You made a monster," Julian said. "And monsters get hungry."

He took a step toward Arthur.

"Shoot him!" I screamed.

Arthur hesitated. The gun wavered.

Julian lunged.

He swung the axe, not to kill, but to disarm. The handle hit Arthur’s wrist. The gun flew across the room, sliding under the sofa.

Arthur cried out, clutching his arm. Julian shoved him back into the closet and slammed the door. He wedged a chair under the handle.

"Now," Julian said, turning back to the hole in the floor. "Where were we?"

He walked to the spot where he had broken through. He knelt down. He reached into the hole.

I could smell it now.

Gas.

Faint, but distinct. The pipe was cracked.

Julian pulled a lighter from his pocket.

"Say goodbye to the house, Helen."

He flicked the wheel. A small flame danced in the dark library.

I looked at the window. The rain was still falling.

I looked at the closet where Arthur was trapped.

I looked at the gun under the sofa.

I couldn't reach it in time.

But I was standing next to the desk. And on the desk was a heavy, marble paperweight.

Julian lowered the lighter toward the hole.

"Three," he counted.

"Two."

I picked up the paperweight.

"One."

I threw it. Not at Julian.

At the window.

The glass shattered. A gust of wind and rain exploded into the room.

The sudden draft caught the flame. It flickered.

Julian looked up, startled.

"What are you doing?"

"Letting the air in," I said. "Gas needs a mix to explode. Too much air..."

"Too much air just makes it burn faster," he sneered.

He lowered the lighter again.

But the wind was strong. It blew the flame out.

He cursed, flicking the wheel again.

Spark. No flame.

He flicked it again.

Spark.

I didn't wait for the flame. I ran.

Not for the door. For the crawlspace.

I dove through the priest hole panel.

"Where are you going?" Julian yelled.

I scrambled through the tunnel, back toward the mausoleum. Back toward the fire I had left behind.

Because I knew something Julian didn't.

The tunnel didn't just connect the crypt to the house.

It passed under the carriage house.

And in the carriage house basement... was the main shutoff valve.

I had seen it when I found the wine cellar.

If I could reach it... I could cut the gas.

I crawled faster, the stone scraping my skin.

Behind me, I heard a sound.

Not Julian following me.

A voice.

From the library.

"Drop it."

Not Arthur. Not Julian.

Richard.

He was alive. He had followed us.

And he had found the gun under the sofa.

"You can't kill her," Richard's voice echoed through the tunnel.

Then Simon's voice, weak but clear, answered.

"It's her or Julian. Make a choice."

Simon.

He wasn't at the hospital. He hadn't gone in the ambulance.

He was here.

In the walls.