Chapter 16 - The Last Visit Home
Emergency generators activated beneath the estate.
Red security lights illuminated the library.
My father reached for me.
“Stay behind me.”
A gunshot sounded from the hallway.
Glass shattered.
Henderson’s voice came through the radio.
“East entrance breached.”
“Two intruders.”
“Possibly three.”
My father moved me toward the concealed archive.
“There’s another exit.”
“I’m not hiding.”
“You are injured.”
“And Matthew came here because of me.”
“He came here because he has nowhere else to go.”
The library doors burst open.
Matthew entered holding a pistol.
His suit was torn.
Blood darkened one side of his forehead.
Behind him, a Blackline contractor forced Henderson forward with a weapon against his back.
Matthew smiled when he saw me.
“You always did love dramatic reunions.”
My father stepped in front of me.
“Let Henderson go.”
“I want the archive.”
Matthew said.
“You want evidence destroyed.”
“I want what belongs to me.”
“Nothing here belongs to you.”
I answered.
His eyes moved over my bruises.
For an instant, something resembling regret appeared.
Then pride erased it.
“You made me do this.”
“No.”
I said.
“You made that sentence your entire life.”
Matthew pointed the pistol toward the hidden panel.
“Open it.”
My father refused.
The contractor struck Henderson behind the knees.
He fell.
Matthew aimed at him.
I took the silver key from my pocket.
“Stop.”
My father turned sharply.
“Clare.”
“I’ll open it.”
Matthew motioned for me to move.
Each step sent pain through my back.
I inserted the key into the panel.
The archive door released.
Matthew approached.
“You could have had everything.”
He whispered.
“I gave you everything.”
“You gave me a cage and called it a home.”
His jaw tightened.
“Open the lower drawer.”
I obeyed.
Inside were my mother’s original recordings.
Matthew reached for them.
I pressed the emergency switch hidden beneath the drawer.
Steel barriers dropped over the library doors.
The contractor spun toward the sound.
Henderson struck his ankle and pulled him down.
The gun fired into the ceiling.
My father tackled Matthew.
They crashed against the desk.
The pistol slid across the floor toward me.
Matthew punched my father and reached for it.
I reached it first.
My injured wrist screamed as I lifted the weapon.
Matthew froze.
For seven years, I had imagined what courage might look like.
I thought it would feel powerful.
Instead, I felt terrified.
“Move away from him.”
Matthew slowly stood.
“You won’t shoot me.”
“I don’t want to.”
I said.
“That is not the same as saying I won’t.”
Sirens approached outside.
Matthew looked toward the sealed doors.
Then toward the fireplace.
A narrow service passage stood behind the wood paneling.
He lunged for it.
Before I could react, my father caught his coat.
Matthew turned and struck him with a brass statue.
Richard fell.
Matthew vanished into the passage.
But he left something behind.
May you like
A small glass vial rolled from his pocket.
The label matched the compound found in Victor’s house.
