Caught

The hand lay in the puddle of moonlight, the skin like parchment, the gold ring glinting with a dull, accusatory luster. It wasn't just a body part. It was a message.

Claire stared at it, her stomach churning. The wedding ring Arthur said was lost. The ring Evelyn had worn in the portrait.

"Who are you?" Claire asked the gardener, her voice trembling.

"I'm the one who buried her," the man said. He leaned on the shovel, his face obscured by the brim of his cap. "And I'm the one who dug her up."

"Why?"

"Because Arthur stopped paying," the man said. "And because I saw the news. The fire. The files. The empire is crumbling, Mrs. Vance. And I want my cut."

"You want money?" Elena asked, stepping forward, her journalistic instinct warring with her fear.

"I want immunity," the man said. "And I want to see him burn."

"He's already dead," Claire said.

"Not him," the man said, pointing his shovel at the catwalk where David was pinned down. "The son. The one who carries the blood."

Suddenly, floodlights erupted from the perimeter of the factory. Not the Governor's spotlight. These were brighter, harsher. Military grade.

"Police!" a voice boomed. "Drop your weapons!"

It wasn't the police. The uniforms were black, unmarked. The weapons were automatic.

The Syndicate.

"Get down!" David yelled from above.

He opened fire, the shots sparking against the metal beams. The Syndicate team returned fire, a hail of bullets shredding the catwalk.

Claire grabbed Elena and pulled her behind a dumpster. The gardener didn't move. He stood in the open, staring at the lights, laughing.

"You're too late!" he shouted. "She's already out!"

A sniper shot took him in the chest. He fell, the shovel clattering to the ground beside the mummified hand.

"They're killing everyone," Elena whispered, her hands shaking as she tried to unlock her phone. "The Governor... he called them. He's trying to wipe the slate clean."

"We need to get to David," Claire said.

She looked up. David was moving along the catwalk, trying to reach the control booth for the crane.

"What is he doing?" Elena asked.

"He's trying to open the bay doors," Claire said. "The manual override is up there."

But the Syndicate team was advancing. They were moving in a pincer formation, cutting off his escape.

Suddenly, a new sound cut through the chaos. A low, grinding rumble.

The floor of the factory began to vibrate.

"What is that?" Elena asked.

Claire looked at the large freight elevator in the center of the floor. The one that led to the sub-basement.

The grate was rising.

And standing on the platform, illuminated by the muzzle flashes, was Arthur.

But Arthur was dead.

Claire blinked. It wasn't Arthur.

It was Matthew.

He was wearing a suit he must have found in the office. It was too big for him, hanging off his thin frame. But in his hands, he held something that made the fit irrelevant.

A flamethrower.

"I told you," Matthew shouted, his voice echoing off the steel walls. "I'm the scientist!"

He pulled the trigger.

A jet of liquid fire arced across the factory floor, hitting the Syndicate team's flank. Screams erupted as men scattered, their tactical discipline breaking instantly.

"Matthew!" David yelled from the catwalk.

Matthew looked up. He smiled. A terrifying, joyous smile.

"Go!" he shouted. "Open the door!"

David reached the booth. He slammed his hand on the lever.

The bay doors groaned and began to lift.

"Get to the car!" Claire told Elena.

They ran. The heat from Matthew's fire was intense, singing their hair.

They reached the SUV just as David slid down the ladder. He was limping, blood soaking his pant leg.

"Drive!" he yelled.

Claire jumped into the driver's seat. David and Elena piled in the back.

She gunned the engine. The SUV roared to life.

But as she shifted into gear, a shadow fell across the windshield.

Arthur—the real Arthur—stepped out from behind a pillar.

But Arthur was dead.

Claire stared.

The man raised a gun.

He looked older. Grayer. But it was him.

"You can't kill a ghost," he said.

He aimed at Claire.

"David," he said, his voice calm over the roar of the fire. "Take her phone."