Chapter 7 - The Rescue
With a supreme physical effort, David hooked his arms under Arthur's frail shoulders and hoisted him up from the wooden chair. The old man groaned in pain as his stiff, atrophied joints protested the sudden movement after decades of brutal confinement. Sarah grabbed Arthur's legs, and together, the couple carried the skeletal figure out of the dark, dusty prison and laid him gently across the plush velvet sofa in the center of the library.
Ethan burst back through the heavy oak doors, clutching a heavy crystal pitcher of water and a glass so tightly his knuckles were white. He tripped slightly on the edge of the rug but managed to keep the pitcher upright, sliding to his knees beside his mother.
"Here, Ethan. Pour a little into the glass, just a little," Sarah instructed gently, guiding her son's trembling hand.
David propped Arthur's head up with a velvet cushion, watching with bated breath as the old man's lips touched the rim of the glass. Arthur drank with desperate, clawing movements, choking slightly as the cool water flooded his parched throat, spilling down his sunken cheeks and staining the collar of his ruined suit.
"Easy, Uncle Arthur, take it slow," David murmured, brushing a lock of matted white hair away from the old man's forehead.
Arthur closed his eyes, a shudder running through his fragile frame as the water revived some spark of life within him. He slowly turned his head, his cloudy, bloodshot eyes scanning the opulent library—the high ceilings, the expensive paintings, the grand fireplace—before finally landing upon Julian, who was still sitting huddled against the distant bookshelf.
A terrible, rasping sound escaped Arthur's throat. It took a moment for the family to realize he was trying to laugh—a dry, bitter, mocking sound that chilled the air in the room.
"Julian," Arthur whispered, his voice gaining a sudden, terrifying clarity. "You... you let the house get old, brother."
Julian flinched as if he had been physically struck, pulling his knees up to his chest and staring at the floor.
"You're going to the hospital, Arthur," David said firmly, pulling out his cell phone with a shaking hand. "I'm calling an ambulance right now. We need medical help immediately."
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"No hospital," Arthur rasped, catching David's wrist with surprising strength, his cold fingers digging into David's flesh. "Before... before the police come... there is something you need to know about this house."
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