The Escape

The world was a smear of crystal and candlelight as the security guards marched Elena through the ballroom. She felt the eyes of the guests on her back, burning like lasers. She was a spectacle. A cautionary tale. The mad wife who had to be removed for the good of the family.

They didn't take her out the front door. They took her through the service corridor, past the kitchen where the staff pretended not to see, and into the library.

Julian followed them in. He closed the heavy oak door and leaned against it, breathing hard.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, his voice shaking. "Why did you make a scene?"

"I didn't make a scene," Elena said, rubbing her wrist where the guard had grabbed her. "I made a statement."

"You looked insane."

"I looked like someone who knows the truth."

Arthur was pouring a drink at the sidebar. He didn't look rattled. He looked bored.

"The truth is whatever we say it is, Elena," he said, turning with a tumbler of scotch. "And right now, the truth is that you had a psychotic break at a public event. There were two hundred witnesses."

"Witnesses to what? To me being assaulted by your goons?"

"To you screaming about ghosts," Arthur corrected. "To you attacking a waiter. To you falling down drunk."

"I haven't had a drop of alcohol."

"The toxicology report will say otherwise," Arthur said, taking a sip. "Dr. Evans is very thorough."

Elena looked at Julian. He was staring at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.

"You're going to drug me?" she whispered.

"It's a sedative," Julian said quickly. "Just to help you sleep. You're... you're not well, Elena."

"I am not sick!"

"You're paranoid. You're seeing things. You think my dead brother is alive. You think my mother is a criminal. You think I'm... I'm stealing from our children."

"I know you are. I saw the ledger in your safe."

Silence slammed into the room.

Julian looked up. His face went gray.

Arthur set his glass down. The boredom was gone.

"What ledger?" Arthur asked. His voice was very quiet.

"The black Moleskine," Elena said, looking straight at her husband. "With the dates. And the amounts. And the photo of the two boys playing in the dirt. November 14, 2001."

Julian flinched as if she had slapped him.

"You broke into my safe," he whispered.

"Just like you broke into my life."

Arthur walked over to Julian. He didn't look at him with concern. He looked at him with contempt.

"You kept a ledger?" Arthur asked.

"I... I needed to keep track," Julian stammered. "Of my share."

"You idiot," Arthur hissed. "You sentimental, hoarding idiot."

He turned to Elena. "Where is it?"

"Safe," she lied. "With the digital copies of the invoices you forged."

Arthur studied her. He was assessing the threat level. Calculating the cost of disposal versus containment.

"It doesn't matter," he said finally. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law. And right now, we possess you."

He nodded to the guards standing by the door.

"Take her to the guest cottage," Arthur said. "The one by the north gate."

Elena’s blood ran cold. The guest cottage. Where the waiter said the man was.

"No," she said, backing away. "I want to go home."

"This is your home," Arthur said. "For now. Until we decide where you go next. Serenity Hills has a lovely long-term wing."

The guards moved forward.

Elena looked at Julian. "Are you going to let them do this?"

Julian closed his eyes. "It's for the best, Elena. You need help."

"I need my husband to grow a spine!"

He didn't answer. He just turned his head away.

The guards grabbed her arms. They weren't gentle this time. They dragged her toward the side door that led to the gardens.

"Julian!" she screamed.

He didn't move.

They hauled her out into the night. The rain had started, cold and biting. They marched her across the wet grass, past the rose bushes, toward the dark shape of the cottage in the distance.

She struggled, digging her heels into the mud.

"Let me go!"

"Quiet, ma'am," one of the guards said. "Don't make us sedate you here."

They reached the cottage. It looked abandoned. Boarded windows, peeling paint. A perfect place to hide a secret. Or a prisoner.

One guard unlocked the door. The other shoved her inside.

Elena stumbled into the dark. The door slammed shut behind her. The lock clicked.

She was alone.

Or so she thought.

From the corner of the room, a match flared. The flame illuminated a face. Gaunt. Pale. But familiar.

It was the face from the photo in the safe. Older. Harder. But unmistakably a St. Clair.

Sebastian.

He held the match up, looking at her with eyes that were terrifyingly lucid.

"Hello, sister-in-law," he said. "I hear you've been looking for me."

Elena scrambled up, pressing her back against the door. "They locked me in."

"They lock everyone in," Sebastian said. He blew out the match. The darkness returned, thick and heavy.

Through the door, Julian whispered, 'If you fight her, she'll destroy you.'