Julian Arrives

The crunch of tires on gravel shattered the silence of the farmhouse, a sound as sharp and intrusive as breaking glass. Iris stood frozen by the bathroom window, the damp breeze chilling her skin, the open sash a mocking testament to her failure.

Marcus was already moving. He killed the lights in the kitchen, plunging the house into gray pre-dawn gloom. He grabbed Iris’s arm, pulling her away from the window.

"Is it Julian?" she whispered.

"No," Marcus said, peeking through the blinds. "It's the vet. Dr. Aris."

But Iris’s relief was short-lived. The window was open. The shower was empty. Elias—or whoever he was—was gone.

They ran outside. Dr. Aris, a lanky man with a weathered face, was just getting out of his truck, carrying a medical bag.

"Where's the patient?" he asked, looking from Marcus to Iris.

"He bolted," Marcus said, scanning the tree line. "He went out the window."

"In this weather?" Aris frowned. "He won't get far if he's as sick as you said."

Iris walked to the edge of the woods. The ground was soft, muddy. She shone her flashlight.

Footprints. Bare feet. Stumbling, uneven strides leading into the dense brush.

"He's heading for the road," she said.

"If he hits the road, someone will see him," Marcus said. "A man in soaking wet clothes, running barefoot? The cops will pick him up in ten minutes."

"We have to find him first," Iris said.

They spread out. Marcus took the left flank, Aris the right. Iris pushed straight into the woods, following the tracks. Brambles tore at her clothes, the wet leaves slapping her face.

"Elias!" she called out, keeping her voice low. "It's Iris. We want to help you."

No answer. Just the wind in the trees and the distant hum of traffic on Route 9.

She pushed deeper. The tracks were getting harder to see as the ground became rockier. Then, they disappeared entirely at the edge of a small creek.

She stopped, shining her light across the water.

Nothing.

Had he crossed? Had he fallen in?

She scanned the opposite bank. No tracks.

"Iris!" Marcus's voice echoed from the left.

She turned and ran toward him. He was standing near an old deer stand, his flashlight beam focused on the ladder.

"Up there," he whispered.

Iris looked up. Huddled on the platform, pressed against the trunk of the tree, was a dark shape.

"Elias," she said. "Please come down."

The figure didn't move.

"He's terrified," Marcus said. "He thinks we're taking him back."

"I'll go up," Iris said.

She climbed the ladder, the wood slick under her hands. When her head cleared the platform, she saw him. He was shivering so violently his teeth were clacking together. He was clutching the plastic bag of comic books like a lifeline.

"It's okay," she said softly. "We're not taking you back to the basement. We're not taking you to the doctors who give the shots."

He looked at her, his eyes wild. "The bad men," he whispered. "They come when the light goes on."

"No bad men," she promised. "Just us."

She reached out a hand. He flinched, then slowly, tentatively, took it. His skin was ice.

They got him down. They got him back to the farmhouse. Dr. Aris worked quickly, wrapping him in heated blankets, checking his vitals.

"He's hypothermic," Aris said. "Malnourished. Dehydrated. And his pupils are blown. Whatever he's been taking, it's not just Clonazepam."

"Can you stabilize him?" Marcus asked.

"I can warm him up. But he needs a hospital. He needs fluids. He needs a tox screen."

"No hospital," Iris said. "Not yet."

She sat beside Elias, watching the color slowly return to his face. "Elias," she said. "You wrote something on the wall. October 24, 2023. Why did you stop writing?"

He stared at the ceiling. "Because I left."

"You left the room?"

"He moved me," Elias said. "He put me in the other place. The place with the windows."

The carriage house.

"Why did he move you back?" Iris asked.

"Because of the lady," Elias said. "The lady came to look."

"What lady?"

"The lady with the measuring tape."

Iris froze. She had hired an appraiser three years ago, before she hired Marcus. A woman. But Julian had fired her before she even stepped inside.

Or so Iris thought.

"Did she see you?" Iris asked.

"No," Elias said. "She saw the floor."

He closed his eyes. "She saw the floor under the rug. She asked about the smell."

Iris looked at Marcus. The body. The body under the floorboards of the carriage house.

"Did Julian hurt her?" Iris whispered.

Elias didn't answer. He just started humming. A low, discordant tune. *Mack the Knife.*

Suddenly, headlights swept across the front window again. Not Aris's truck. Not Marcus's.

A sleek, black sedan.

It pulled into the driveway, blocking them in.

A door opened.

Julian stood at the top of the stairs, a flashlight in his hand. "Iris? Why is the wine rack moved?"