Chapter 31 - The Ghost with the Loaded Gun
The freezing steel pressed ruthlessly against the sensitive skin beneath Arthur’s left ear.
The icy wind howling through the trees could not drown out the sound of his own ragged breath.
"Julian?" Arthur whispered, the name tearing raw from his throat.
"You look like you’ve seen a ghost, little brother," Julian sneered from the shadows behind him.
Twenty years of presumed death had not softened Julian Sterling’s cruel, raspy voice.
Arthur tried to turn his head, but the heavy barrel jabbed violently into his jawline.
"Don't move an inch," Julian hissed, his breath reeking of cheap bourbon and menthol tobacco. "The cops are fifty yards away, and I will blow your spine apart before they even draw."
Across the slush-covered driveway, the flashing red lights painted the falling snow in vibrant, bloody streaks.
Paramedics were still lifting Detective Vance into the back of an ambulance, completely oblivious to the terror unfolding in the dark.
"She told me you drowned in Lake Michigan," Arthur choked out, his fingers clutching the cold bronze candlestick in the snow.
"Eleanor tells everyone what they want to hear," Julian replied with a low, mocking laugh. "Especially gullible fools with trust funds."
"Why now?" Arthur asked, feeling the bitter cold seep through his thin trousers into his bones. "Why come back after two decades of silence?"
"Because the vaults finally opened, Arthur," Julian whispered against his ear. "And the signature on the safe deposit box requires both of our hands."
Arthur remembered the torn checkbook slip clenched tightly in his numb fist.
*I left something in your hospital room, Arthur.*
A sickening realization twisted in Arthur’s stomach, colder than the blizzard lashing across his face.
"What did she leave in St. Jude’s?" Arthur demanded, his voice cracking with sudden panic. "What did Eleanor do?"
"Let’s just say your little nurse friend won't be checking anyone’s vitals tonight," Julian said smoothly.
A sharp blow from a gloved fist slammed directly into the side of Arthur’s skull.
Black spots exploded across his vision as the frozen ground rushed up to smash into his cheek.
The heavy bronze weapon slipped from his limp fingers and tumbled into the dark snowbank.
Julian grabbed Arthur by the collar of his ruined coat, dragging him backward through the frozen pine trees.
"On your feet, dead man," Julian commanded, hauling him toward an idling black sedan hidden in the tree line.
Arthur looked back toward the police cruisers, but the blinding snow swallowed the emergency lights completely.
The sedan’s passenger door flew open, and Julian shoved him violently onto the cracked leather seat.
Before the door slammed shut, Arthur caught the faint scent of Eleanor’s expensive French perfume lingering inside the cabin.
Julian slipped behind the wheel, shifting the gear lever with practiced, sinister calm.
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"She’s waiting for us at the lake house," Julian said, his dead eyes meeting Arthur’s in the rearview mirror. "And she brought company."
***
