Chapter 4 - The Breaking of the Bloodline
The Doberman lunged,
a blur of black fur and muscle.
I swung the iron bar with a desperation I had never known,
the metal connecting with the dog's shoulder.
It yelped and retreated,
but two more were right behind it,
their breathing heavy and hot in the small space.
Eleanor stood in the corner,
watching the chaos with a detached,
almost bored expression.
"Stop them,
Mother!"
I shouted,
trying to shield Emily with my body.
"Call them off!"
"Apologize,
David,"
she said,
as if we were back at the dinner table.
"Tell me you love me more than her."
"Tell me you'll stay here and be the son I raised."
"Never!"
I roared.
Thomas grabbed a heavy wooden crate and threw it at the second dog,
pinning it against the wall.
"Run,
Emily!"
he yelled.
"There’s an exit through the coal cellar at the end of the second hall!"
I grabbed Emily’s arm and we sprinted past the snarling animals,
the iron bar swinging wildly to keep them at bay.
We ran through the dark,
narrow passages,
our lungs burning with the cold,
damp air.
I could hear my father struggling behind us,
the sound of wood splintering and the dogs growling.
"We can't leave him!"
Emily cried,
stumbling over a loose stone.
"He’s lived in the dark long enough!"
I stopped,
looking back into the darkness.
I saw the light of the chamber fading,
and I heard my mother’s voice calling my name.
"David... don't leave me... David!"
The desperation in her voice was real now,
the sound of a woman realizing her kingdom was falling.
I turned and ran back toward the chamber,
leaving Emily in the safety of a wider corridor.
I burst back into the room to see my father holding the iron bar across the doorway,
the dogs biting at the metal.
Eleanor was sitting on the floor,
clutching the torn photograph of me,
sobbing like a child.
"Dad,
come on!"
I grabbed his arm,
pulling him away from the door.
The dogs surged forward,
but they stopped at the edge of the light,
confused by the lack of commands from their mistress.
Eleanor looked up at me,
her eyes hollow and empty.
"You were supposed to be the perfect one,"
she whispered.
"I made you perfect."
"You made me a prisoner,
Mother,"
I said.
"Just like you made him."
I took my father’s hand,
and together we ran toward the light at the end of the cellar.
We burst out into the fresh,
morning air of the Charleston gardens,
the scent of jasmine and salt water hitting us like a blessing.
Emily was waiting by my car,
the engine already running.
We piled in,
the tires screeching on the gravel driveway as we sped away from the Vance estate.
I looked in the rearview mirror and saw the house,
grand and beautiful on the outside,
but rotting on the inside.
Eleanor was standing on the porch,
a small,
white figure in the distance.
She didn't wave.
She didn't move.
She just watched us go,
a queen with no subjects,
left alone in a house of ghosts.
Thomas sat in the back seat,
staring at the passing trees with an expression of pure,
unadulterated wonder.
"The world is so green,"
he whispered,
his hand touching the window glass.
I reached over and took Emily’s hand,
squeezing it tightly.
"Where are we going?"
she asked,
her voice finally breaking into a sob.
"Somewhere with no storage rooms,"
May you like
I said.
"Somewhere where we can breathe."
