Chapter 3 - The Blood on the StaircaseSomeone inside the house had started the war
I couldn't move.
Maxwell was kneeling beside Gideon's body.
Blood spread beneath the man's shoulder.
The emergency lights painted everything red.
“Elena did this?” I whispered.
Maxwell didn't answer.
He checked Gideon's pulse anyway.
Nothing.
Then he stood.
“Lock the doors.”
“Where?”
“Everywhere.”
I ran toward the foyer.
The main doors were already sealed.
A heavy mechanical lock had dropped into place.
I turned around.
“Maxwell!”
He was staring at the security monitors.
The screens showed hallways, bedrooms, kitchens, garages.
One screen flickered.
Then went black.
Another.
Black.
Then another.
Maxwell swore.
“They're cutting the cameras.”
“Who?”
He pulled a magazine into his pistol.
“People who know exactly where the blind spots are.”
“You said Elena.”
“I said Gideon accused her.”
“Do you believe him?”
Maxwell looked at me.
“I believe Gideon knew enough to die for it.”
Footsteps sounded above us.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Maxwell raised his gun.
“Stay behind me.”
A shadow appeared on the second-floor balcony.
Then a woman stepped into view.
Elena.
She wasn't carrying a weapon.
She wasn't afraid.
“What happened to Gideon?” she asked.
Maxwell pointed the pistol upward.
“You know what happened.”
Elena sighed.
“Then you've finally figured out what this is.”
“What is what?”
“The end.”
Maxwell's face tightened.
“Get down here.”
“No.”
She looked directly at me.
“Martha, you shouldn't be here.”
“Why did you hire me?”
“I didn't.”
Maxwell looked at her.
“You're lying.”
“I didn't hire her.”
She walked to the balcony railing.
“The person who brought Martha into this house wanted you to notice her.”
My heart started pounding.
“Why me?”
Elena smiled sadly.
“Because you have exactly the wrong kind of experience.”
Maxwell's eyes narrowed.
“What does that mean?”
“You used to work in neurological rehabilitation.”
“Yes.”
“You know what real paralysis looks like.”
I suddenly understood.
My entire body went cold.
“You didn't hire me to clean.”
“No.”
“You hired me to test him.”
Elena said nothing.
Maxwell looked at me.
“So that's why.”
I backed away.
“You knew.”
“No,” Elena said. “Someone knew you would figure it out.”
A loud crash came from the kitchen.
Maxwell turned.
That second was enough.
A bullet shattered the chandelier above us.
Glass rained down.
Elena disappeared from the balcony.
Maxwell grabbed my arm.
“Run.”
We sprinted into the dining room.
Bullets punched through the wooden doors behind us.
I ducked.
“Who is shooting?”
“My enemies.”
“That's not an answer!”
“It is tonight.”
We reached the rear corridor.
Maxwell shoved open a hidden door.
A narrow staircase descended underground.
“Where are we going?”
“Safe room.”
“You have a safe room?”
“I have several.”
We descended.
The door slammed behind us.
Maxwell locked three bolts.
Then he leaned against the wall.
Breathing hard.
“You're bleeding.”
I touched my forehead.
Glass had cut me.
“It’s nothing.”
He pulled a cloth from a cabinet.
“Hold this.”
I pressed it against the wound.
He watched me.
“You should leave.”
“There are armed men outside.”
“You should still leave.”
“No.”
“Why?”
I looked at him.
“Because someone brought me here for a reason.”
He nodded slowly.
“Yes.”
“What reason?”
“I don't know yet.”
A monitor on the wall suddenly came alive.
The screen showed the front gate.
Three black SUVs had arrived.
Men stepped out.
Then one final person emerged.
A man wearing a dark gray coat.
Maxwell saw him.
And all the color vanished from his face.
“Who is that?”
Maxwell whispered his name.
“Victor Dane.”
“Who?”
“The man who trained me.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It is worse than bad.”
Victor looked directly toward the camera.
Then smiled.
As if he knew Maxwell was watching.
He lifted a phone.
The safe room phone rang.
Maxwell stared at it.
The ringtone seemed impossibly loud.
He answered.
Victor's voice came through.
“Hello, little brother.”
I looked at Maxwell.
He closed his eyes.
Because Victor Dane wasn't his brother.
And yet Maxwell sounded terrified when he answered.
“Why are you here?”
Victor laughed.
“Because your father finally told me where you hid the girl.”
Maxwell turned toward me.
I understood immediately.
“Girl?”
Victor continued.
“The one who survived.”
Maxwell's face hardened.
“We're done.”
“No,” Victor said.
“You've only just remembered her.”
The line went dead.
Maxwell looked at me.
“You need to tell me something.”
“What?”
“Who were your parents?”
I stared at him.
“I don't know my father.”
He stepped closer.
“That's not what I asked.”
“My mother died when I was eleven.”
“Her name.”
“Klara.”
Maxwell froze.
“Klara Kovak?”
“Yes.”
His gun lowered.
He whispered:
“I thought she was dead.”
Then Victor's voice came over the safe room speaker.
“Maxwell.”
A pause.
May you like
“She isn't.”
The lights went out.
Related Stories
