Chapter 4
A sharp, metallic click echoed through the sanctuary as Arthur cocked the revolver, the black metal gleaming dully under the stained-glass windows. Marcus froze mid-stride, his hand hovering near his pocket, while Julian instinctively raised his briefcase like a futile shield. Clara let out a sharp intake of breath, positioning herself protectively in front of Leo, despite her trembling legs. "Put the gun down, Arthur," she demanded, her voice cutting through the tense air with absolute authority. "You’ve already lost. The attorneys saw everything. The police are going to be called the second you step outside."
"The police won't be answering any calls today, Clara," Arthur replied coldly, his gaze fixed steadily on the exit while keeping the firearm trained squarely on Marcus. "Do you honestly think I didn't plan for every contingency? The phone lines in this parish are routed through the estate’s private relay. There is no signal in here. We are completely isolated." Leo’s eyes darted around the church, searching frantically for another way out, his mind racing far beyond his eight years. He remembered the old sacristy door near the altar—the one that led out to the overgrown rectory garden.
"Run," Clara whispered fiercely without turning her head, her hand brushing against Leo’s leg. "Through the sacristy. Don't look back." Leo didn't hesitate. He dropped low, using the heavy wooden pews as cover, and darted sideways toward the alcove just as Arthur’s attention shifted slightly toward Julian. A deafening roar shattered the church silence as Arthur fired a warning shot into the stone floor near Julian’s feet, sending white sparks flying and a cloud of pulverized dust into the air.
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Marcus stumbled backward, dropping his briefcase as he dove behind the heavy baptismal font for cover. Arthur cursed under his breath, taking a step toward the altar to cut off Leo’s escape route. But Clara was faster than he anticipated. With a surge of desperate energy born of pure maternal fury, she lunged out of the casket, tackling her brother-in-law hard around the waist. The sudden impact sent Arthur stumbling sideways, his shoulder crashing violently into the heavy marble candle stand, causing it to topple over with a thunderous crash.
The firearm flew from Arthur’s grip, skittering across the smooth stone floor and coming to a stop near the base of the shattered casket. Clara scrambled across the floor after it, her bruised fingers clawing frantically for the cold metal. Arthur snarled, shaking off the daze of the fall, and lunged forward, grabbing Clara by her dark hair and wrenching her backward with brutal force. She cried out in pain, her fingers missing the revolver by mere inches as Arthur kicked the weapon away into the dark shadows beneath the front row of pews.
