Chapter 35 - Reunion of the Damned
The door of the abandoned boathouse creaked open, admitting a furious blast of freezing wind and swirling snow.
Julian shoved Arthur across the threshold, sending him crashing onto the rotted pine planks of the main foyer.
The interior smelled overpoweringly of kerosene, wet sawdust, and decades of stagnant lake water.
"Mind the draft, darling," a familiar, elegant voice drifted down from the balcony above.
Eleanor stood at the top of the spiral stairs, holding a steaming porcelain cup of tea in her manicured hands.
She wore a pristine white fur coat that bore not a single smudge of mud or soot from her escape.
Arthur pushed himself up onto his elbows, his breath misting in the freezing interior air.
"You look terrible, Arthur," Eleanor purred, walking down the stairs with the delicate grace of a queen. "Hospital gowns never did suit your complexion."
"You killed Clara," Arthur said, his voice trembling with an equal mixture of horror and pure hatred.
Eleanor paused on the bottom step, taking a dainty sip of her tea before looking at him with pitying eyes.
"The nurse was asking too many questions about the sedatives I prescribed for you," she sighed softly. "Curiosity is such a fatal flaw in the working class."
Julian stepped up behind Arthur, holstering his revolver and crossing his muscular arms over his chest.
"The cops are swarming the main road, Eleanor," Julian said, his voice tight with impatience. "Let’s open the lower floor and get the bonds."
Eleanor turned her gaze toward Julian, her lips curling into a cold, contemptuous smile.
"Always so impatient, Julian," she said smoothly. "Just like your father before he choked on his whiskey."
"Don't play games with me now," Julian snapped, stepping forward until he stood inches from her face. "I dragged him out of the blizzard for you."
"Did you bring the candlestick?" Eleanor asked, her voice dropping all warmth.
Julian’s face froze, his arrogant posture instantly shattering like thin glass.
"I thought you had it," Julian muttered, glancing back toward the snow-swept doorway.
"You left it in the snow?" Eleanor’s voice turned into a razor-sharp whisper that made the hairs on Arthur’s neck stand up.
"Arthur dropped it when I grabbed him!" Julian shouted defensively, reaching for the lapels of his coat.
Eleanor set her porcelain cup down onto a dusty workbench with absolute, terrifying calm.
"Then you brought me a useless hostage, Julian," she whispered softly.
Arthur watched Eleanor’s hand slide into the deep pocket of her fur coat, his instincts screaming an urgent warning.
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"Julian, look out!" Arthur lunged forward across the wooden floorboards, shouting with all the breath left in his lungs.
***
