Chapter 7 - The Scent of Gas
The sharp, pungent odor of raw propane flooded the foyer, cutting through the scent of spilled red wine and expensive perfume. Little Lily started coughing, burying her face deeper into Mark’s green sweatshirt to escape the chemical fumes burning her nostrils. Mark’s bruised eye throbbed as his mind raced; Julian wasn’t just bluffing. The old man was willing to burn his own ancestral manor to ash—along with everyone inside it—to eradicate the physical and financial evidence of his decades-long crimes.
Sheriff Miller snapped out of his momentary shock, his tactical training finally overriding the digital bribe flashing on his phone screen. He holstered his sidearm and lunged forward, grabbing Julian by the lapel of his expensive suit jacket with both hands.
“Are you out of your mind, Vance?” Miller roared, shaking the old man violently. “There are children in this house! There are deputies outside! You’re going to blow up the entire hill!”
Julian didn’t resist. A cold, detached smile touched his thin lips as he stared into the face of the man he had secretly funded for twenty years.
“The Vance name survives through fire, Miller,” Julian whispered, his voice eerily calm. “It always has. My grandfather burned the shipping docks in Dublin to collect the insurance payout, and I will burn this estate to the ground before a federal agent or a traitorous son-in-law gets their hands on a single penny of the trust.”
Clara didn’t panic. She calmly reached down, picked up a heavy silver candlestick holder from a small side table, and brought it down hard across the back of Deputy Vance’s head. The younger officer dropped to the Persian rug with a dull thud, unconscious before he even hit the floor.
Mark reacted instantly. He kicked backward, his heavy boot catching Clara square in the wrist and sending the silver candlestick clattering across the floor. Clara stumbled back against the mahogany wall, gasping for air, clutching her bruised wrist with a look of pure murder in her eyes.
“Get out!” Mark yelled over his shoulder to Sheriff Miller. “Get the deputies and Arthur out of the house now! I’ll meet you at the gate!”
Miller hesitated for a fraction of a second, torn between decades of ingrained obedience to Julian and the stark reality of the gas leak filling the mansion. He looked down at the unconscious deputy, cursed loudly, and grabbed Arthur by the arm, hauling the emaciated man toward the open front door.
“Move! Everybody out!” Miller bellowed to the remaining officers waiting on the porch.
Mark turned to follow them, clutching Lily tightly against his chest, but as he reached the threshold, a tremendous explosion shook the foundations of the manor, blowing out the massive stained-glass windows in the dining room and sending a wall of superheated air roaring down the hallway.
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Mark was thrown forward onto the gravel path by the shockwave, shielding little Lily with his own body as the night sky behind them erupted in a blinding sheet of orange flames. He rolled over, coughing violently from the smoke, and looked back at the burning mansion. Standing framed in the roaring inferno of the doorway was Clara, holding a small brass key in her hand, watching him with a terrifying, hollow smile as the roof began to collapse inward.
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