The Child at the Wedding Table

The heat inside the vault was rising exponentially. It felt like standing inside an oven.

Elena coughed, dropping to her hands and knees where the air was slightly clearer. Camilla was already on the floor, gasping for breath, her face pale beneath the soot.

"He locked us in," Camilla wheezed, panic seizing her chest. "We're going to burn."

"No, we're not," Elena said, forcing her voice to remain steady. She crawled toward the massive steel door. She ran her hands along the interior hinges. They were old, rusted, and incredibly thick, but they were exposed on the inside.

"Camilla, look around," Elena commanded. "Find something heavy. Metal. Anything."

Camilla forced herself up, stumbling in the dark. The vault had been emptied of money decades ago, but there were wooden crates piled in the corner. Camilla kicked one over. Old ledgers spilled out, along with something that hit the floor with a heavy, solid thud.

Elena grabbed it. It was a solid brass statuette—a grotesque, heavy gargoyle used as a paperweight by Vincent's grandfather. It weighed at least fifteen pounds.

"Step back," Elena said.

She stood up, ignoring the burning in her lungs. She gripped the brass gargoyle with both hands, raised it over her head, and slammed it down onto the rusted pin of the top hinge.

Metal clanged against metal. The pin didn't move.

Elena swung again. And again. Her arms ached, her palms bled where the brass dug into her skin, but she didn't stop. She pictured her mother. She pictured Vincent bleeding on the floor. She pictured Leo.

"Hit it!" Camilla screamed over the roar of the fire above them.

With a final, desperate swing, fueled by pure rage, Elena struck the hinge.

Crack.

The rusted iron pin sheared off. The top of the massive steel door listed outward by an inch.

"Help me push!" Elena yelled.

Camilla threw her weight against the door beside Elena. They pushed with everything they had left. The door groaned, the bottom hinge bending under the immense pressure, until finally, the steel gave way, swinging outward into the tunnel just enough for them to squeeze through.

They spilled out into the damp tunnel, gasping the cool, wet air.

"We have to get back to the safe room," Elena panted, helping Camilla to her feet.

They ran. The tunnel was filling with smoke now, the fire spreading rapidly across the estate. They retraced Elena’s steps, navigating the dark by memory and desperation.

When they burst back into the main basement, the scene had changed.

The fire alarm was shrieking. The sprinklers had engaged, raining cold water over the shattered wine bottles and bloodstains.

Elena ran to the safe room.

The door was wide open.

"Vincent!" Elena screamed.

She rushed inside. The cot was empty, soaked in blood. The medical supplies were scattered.

"Leo!" Camilla cried, tearing through the small room.

They were gone.

Panic seized Elena's chest. She ran back out into the basement, scanning the darkness.

"Look," Camilla pointed, her hand shaking.

A trail of fresh, smudged blood led from the safe room toward the main stairs leading up to the ground floor. Vincent hadn't stayed. He had gone back up into the fire.

Elena didn't hesitate. She grabbed the heavy brass gargoyle she was still holding and ran for the stairs, Camilla right behind her.

They burst through the heavy oak doors onto the ground floor. The grand foyer was an inferno. The crystal chandeliers were swinging wildly from the heat drafts.

And standing on the grand staircase, illuminated by the roaring flames, was Arthur.

He was holding Leo over the marble railing, a two-story drop to the floor below.

At the bottom of the stairs, leaning heavily against the banister and holding his gun with a violently shaking hand, was Vincent.