Chapter 10 - The Empty Barrel
The deafening crack of the gunshot echoed down the long hallway, the smell of cordite instantly mixing with the sharp, salty scent of the sea. Clara screamed, covering her ears as she dropped to her knees, squeezing her eyes shut. When the ringing in her ears finally began to subside, she forced herself to open them, bracing for the sight of blood and a fallen body.
To her utter astonishment, the figure in the wet lace gown was still standing there, completely unharmed. The bullet had passed straight through her chest, leaving a ragged hole in the wet fabric, but the woman didn't bleed, didn't flinch, and didn't fall.
Julian stared at the smoking revolver in his hand, his eyes wide with a manic, unhinged terror. He pulled the trigger a second time, and then a third, the hammer clicking furiously on empty chambers.
"It’s empty," Julian whispered, his voice cracking into a high-pitched whine. "I loaded it. I loaded it before we walked out here!"
"You can't kill what was never truly alive, Julian," the woman said, her voice echoing with an unnatural, multi-layered resonance that vibrated in Clara’s teeth. She glided forward, moving without any sound of footsteps, until she was standing just inches from Julian’s frozen form. "You thought you buried your secrets at the bottom of the ocean. But secrets have a way of washing ashore."
Clara scrambled backward along the floor, her white lace wedding gown snagging on a loose nail as she tried to put as much distance between herself and the terrifying entity as possible. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped animal. She looked at Julian, seeing the absolute destruction of the arrogant, controlling man she had mistakenly married.
"Who are you?" Clara managed to choke out, her hands trembling as she clutched the hem of her dress. "Are you Beatrice?"
The woman slowly turned her head, her saltwater-matted hair parting to reveal a face strikingly similar to Julian’s own features—sharing the same sharp jawline and dark, intense eyes.
"I am not Beatrice," the entity whispered, kneeling down beside Clara with unnatural smoothness, her cold, damp fingers gently brushing against Clara’s trembling wrist. "I am the consequence of what Julian built his entire life upon. And you, my dear sister-in-law, just signed the deed to the graveyard."
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Before Clara could pull her hand away, the heavy oak doors at the end of the hall flew wide open again, and little Leo stood in the threshold, holding a second silver key and pointing directly toward the underground cellar stairs.
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