Chapter 7 - The Poison in the Pantry
Julian’s back pressed flat against the locked oak door, his heels digging into the floorboards as if he were trying to push through the solid wood.
"The keys are in the safe, Ed," Julian breathed, his hands coming up in front of his chest, palms open, trembling. "In your study. I don't have them on me. I swear to God, I don't have them."
Edward did not move toward him. He looked down at Leo.
The baby's head had rolled back against his shoulder, his skin so hot that Edward could feel the fever burning through the layers of his own cotton shirt. Leo’s breathing was turning stridulous—a dry, whistling rasp that indicated his airway was swelling from dehydration and respiratory distress.
"Maya," Edward whispered, his voice instantly softening, entirely decoupled from the lethal aura radiating toward Julian. "Look at Daddy, sweetheart."
Maya looked up, her face streaked with tears, her hazel eyes wide and glassy.
"Is the medicine cabinet in the kitchen open?"
Maya shook her head frantically. "He put a padlock on it, Daddy. On Wednesday. When Leo started coughing, I tried to get the pink bottle from the top shelf, but he took the step stool away. He told me... he told me if I touched the cabinet, he would lock me in the storm cellar with the spiders."
Edward’s heart felt as though an iron band had snapped shut around it. He did not feel anger anymore; anger was an emotion that wasted time and clouded spatial judgment. He felt the cold, mathematical clarity of triage.
He turned his body slightly, presenting his back to Julian to shield the children completely, and walked four paces to the dry marble bench beneath the grand helical staircase.
With infinite gentleness, Edward knelt.
He laid his feverish son onto the soft velvet cushion of the bench, wrapping the faded pink blanket securely around the baby's shoulders. He pulled Maya down beside her brother, taking her small, freezing hands into his own.
"Maya. Listen to me very carefully," Edward said, his eyes locking onto hers with absolute, hypnotic certainty. "You stay right here on this bench. You hold your brother's hand. Do not look at the hall. Do not look at Julian. Look at Leo's face. Can you do that for Daddy?"
Maya swallowed hard, wiping her nose with her sleeve, nodding with fierce, desperate obedience. "Yes, Daddy."
"I am going to get the keys," Edward said softly. "And then we are going to the hospital."
He stood up.
The gentle father who had spoken to the little girl vanished in the space of half a second.
When Edward turned around to face the corridor, his frame seemed to expand by two inches, his shoulders locking into an ancient, violent alignment. He did not reach for a weapon; he had no need for steel. His hands hung loosely at his sides, fingers curved, his boots moving across the travertine with silent, terrifying speed.
Julian saw him coming and completely lost his mind.
"Stay back!" Julian screamed, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, hysterical shriek. He lunged forward, not to fight, but to drive his shoulder into Edward's chest, attempting to tackle the larger man and scramble toward the open front door.
Edward did not dodge.
He stepped directly into the line of force.
His left hand shot out like an iron piston, catching Julian by the throat in mid-stride. The impact was concussive; Julian’s forward momentum was arrested instantly, his feet lifting two inches off the hardwood floor as Edward’s fingers clamped around his trachea with hydraulic force.
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THUD.
Edward drove Julian backward down the corridor, slamming the younger man’s spine violently against the locked oak door. The heavy brass bolt rattled in its housing; the plaster around the frame cracked in a web of fine white dust that drifted down like powdered snow over Julian’s head.
