The Story

Sebastian’s voice was the only sound in the glass cage. It was thin, reedy, but the question landed with the weight of a stone dropping into a well. *Did she send you to kill me too?*

Elena looked at him. The resemblance to Julian was painful, but where her husband was polished, Sebastian was raw. He was the rough draft that had been discarded.

"No," she said, her throat tight. "I came to get you out."

"Out?" He tilted his head, a bird-like movement. "There is no out. There is only the room. And the garden. And the needles."

"Not anymore," Elena said. She reached for his hand. It was cold, the skin papery. "I have a car. We can go."

"Go where?"

"Away from her. Away from Arthur."

Sebastian pulled his hand back. He looked at the patch of concrete. "I can't leave him. Baby B. He gets lonely when it rains."

Elena felt a fresh wave of nausea. Baby B. The twin who didn't survive the "selection process." Buried under the floor of a solarium in a private asylum.

"We can come back for him," Elena said, lying. "But right now, Arthur knows we're here. The police are coming."

"Police?" Sebastian’s eyes widened. "Do they have badges? Thomas said the men with badges are bad. They work for Mother."

"Thomas is outside," Elena said. "He's waiting for us."

"Thomas is dead," Sebastian said flatly. "I saw him. In the snow. He was sleeping."

"His son," Elena corrected. "Thomas's son."

Sebastian blinked. The information seemed to short-circuit something in his brain. He started to rock again, a low keening sound escaping his throat.

"Thomas... son... Thomas... son..."

"Sebastian, listen to me." Elena grabbed his shoulders. He felt fragile, like hollow bones held together by tension. "Arthur is going to kill you. Tonight. He already tried to burn the cottage. He thinks you're dead."

"Dead is better," Sebastian whispered. "Dead is quiet."

"No," Elena said fiercely. "Dead is what they want. Living is how we beat them. Living is how we make them pay."

She saw a flicker in his eyes. A spark of defiance that had survived thirty years of sedation.

"Pay?" he asked.

"For everything. For the room. For the needles. For Baby B."

He stopped rocking. He looked at the concrete patch, then at Elena.

"She said I was a weed," he said, his voice gaining strength. "She said I was a weed in the vineyard. That I had to be pulled so the good vine could grow."

"She was wrong," Elena said. "You're not a weed. You're the heir."

"Heir?"

"The firstborn," Elena said. "The one who owns it all."

Sebastian laughed. It was a terrible, jagged sound. "I own nothing. Not even my name."

"You own the truth," Elena said. "And right now, that's worth more than the vineyard."

She stood up, pulling him with her. He resisted for a second, then let himself be lifted. He was taller than her, but he leaned on her as if he had no strength of his own.

"Come on," she said.

They moved toward the door. The wind was picking up, rattling the loose panes of glass.

Suddenly, a light swept across the solarium.

Elena ducked, dragging Sebastian down behind a potting bench.

A flashlight beam cut through the gloom, illuminating the dead ferns and the broken tile.

Footsteps on the gravel outside.

"Check the perimeter," a voice barked. "Pendelton said they might have headed for the old greenhouse."

It wasn't Arthur. It was security.

Elena looked at the iron door. It was ten feet away. If they made a run for it, they would be seen.

"Is there another way out?" she whispered to Sebastian.

He nodded. He pointed to a grate in the floor, hidden beneath a pile of rotting burlap sacks.

"The old boiler," he whispered. "It goes to the woods."

Elena moved the sacks. The grate was heavy, rusted. She pulled, straining. It gave with a groan of metal.

The flashlight beam swung toward them.

"Hey!"

The shout was close. Too close.

"Go!" Elena shoved Sebastian toward the hole.

He dropped down. It was a four-foot drop onto dirt.

Elena followed. She landed hard, her ankle twisting. She bit back a cry.

Above them, the door crashed open. Boots on the tile.

"They're in here!"

Elena grabbed Sebastian's hand. "Run."

They ran through the boiler tunnel. It was cramped, smelling of wet earth and rust. They emerged into the woods, fifty yards from the garden wall.

The night air was freezing.

"Thomas?" Elena hissed.

No answer.

The bench where she had left him was empty.

"Thomas!"

Then she saw it.

On the ground, near the bench. A smear of blood. Dark and slick in the moonlight.

And next to it, a single object.

Thomas's lighter.

He hadn't left. He had been taken.

"Where is he?" Sebastian asked, his voice trembling.

"I don't know," Elena said, picking up the lighter. She looked toward the main building. The lights were blazing. "But I know where they took him."

She looked at Sebastian. He was shivering, staring at the blood.

"We can't go back," he said.

"We have to," Elena said. "He saved you. Now we save him."

She checked the gun in her waistband.

"Besides," she added, a cold resolve settling over her. "We haven't finished the tour."

She looked at the main building. The directory on the wall inside listed *The St. Clair Wing*. But she remembered something else from the map on the nurse's screen.

A sub-basement. Labeled simply: *Storage.*

"She said I was a weed in the vineyard."