Chapter 2
Clara’s muffled cries echoed off the vaulted stone ceilings of St. Jude’s parish, cutting through the heavy afternoon stillness like a jagged blade. Leo dropped immediately to his knees on the cold marble floor, his small fingers frantically clawing at the thick layers of silver duct tape binding his mother’s mouth. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, every panicked breath burning his throat. He could hear Arthur shifting heavily behind him, the sound of fine leather shoes scraping against the shattered wood fragments scattered across the aisle.
"Don't," Arthur’s voice dropped to a low, venomous hiss, losing all pretense of familial grief. A large hand clamped down around Leo’s small wrist, trying to pull the boy away from the casket. But adrenaline and raw terror fueled Leo with an unnatural strength. He wrenched his arm free, ignoring the sharp sting, and finally managed to peel one corner of the adhesive tape loose. With a quick, sharp tug that brought a fresh gasp of pain from Clara, the tape ripped away, freeing her mouth to gulp down the cool, unfiltered air of the church.
"Leo... baby," Clara gasped, her voice cracked, raw, and barely above a whisper. She struggled to sit up against the satin pillows, her limbs stiff and trembling from hours of agonizing confinement. The expensive black mourning dress she wore was twisted and damp with sweat. She reached out with trembling, bruised hands, cupping her son’s tear-stained cheeks and pulling him desperately against her chest. Leo buried his face in her neck, finally letting out the heavy, shuddering sobs he had tried so hard to swallow.
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Arthur stepped closer, his shadow falling darkly over the mother and son. His hand hovered near the heavy lapel of his black suit jacket, his fingers twitching instinctively toward the inner pocket. "You shouldn't have done that, Clara," Arthur said, his tone chillingly calm now, devoid of warmth or remorse. "It was all arranged. The estate, the accounts, the clean break. Everything was supposed to be so simple. You were supposed to stay quiet until the soil was shoveled over the top."
Clara shielded Leo with her body, her eyes glaring up at her brother-in-law with an intensity that burned hot enough to melt steel. "You thought you could bury me alive, Arthur? You thought my son wouldn't notice I wasn't cold?" She spat the words out, her voice regaining its fierce edge despite her physical weakness. Arthur’s jaw tightened, his eyes darting toward the heavy oak doors of the church entrance. The illusion was shattered, but the danger had only just begun to unfold.
