Murder in the Reading Room

by Ellery Adams

  She moved her right hand toward the space bar and paused, her index finger hovering a centimeter above the keyboard.

  “Your instincts are correct. Pushing that button will change reality as you know it.” Parrish shifted in his chair, making himself more comfortable. “But what choice do you have?”

  Jane hated that he was right. She’d love nothing more than to walk out of this room without seeing the video. However, she couldn’t leave Edwin. She also couldn’t run from an enemy who was out in the open. He was exposed, and he was challenging her. She wouldn’t back down from his challenge. She would meet it head-on with fire in her eyes.

  “I always have a choice,” she said and let her finger drop.

  The image showed a cell just like Edwin’s. It had the same cot, toilet, desk, and chair. There was a row of books lined up on the desk, and a man was hunched over an open book. He stood with his back to the camera, swaying from side to side, as he focused on the pages before him.

  Suddenly, he swept the book off the desk. He went after the tidy row of books next, violently swiping them to the ground. There was so much rage in his treatment of the books that Jane winced.

  When the desk was clear, the man plunged his hands into a mass of sandy brown hair and dropped on to his bed. He rocked back and forth, his arms folded protectively over his chest, his mouth stretched into what looked like an anguished cry. The video had no sound, but the man’s face told a story of agony. And perhaps, madness.

  Jane couldn’t get a clear look at his features because his gaze was lowered. His dark, scraggly beard hid the entire bottom half of his face. However, as she watched this miserable stranger, something stirred inside her. It was a faint and enigmatic feeling that came from deep in her memories. It was a feeling that the word “stranger” wasn’t accurate. This thought released a cascade of other thoughts and feelings. Jane was flooded with questions, confusion, and, finally, a sense of familiarity.

  Before this last feeling could finish rising to the surface, the rational part of her mind tried to shut it down.

  Despite this, her body leaned closer to the screen. She willed the man to look at the camera. She was so intently focused on his face that everything else faded away. She no longer heard the crackle of the fire or felt Lachlan’s presence behind her. Parrish and his mute henchman might as well be on another planet.

  “Look up,” she softly commanded, her eyes locked on the man’s face.

  Several seconds passed before the wild-haired, wild-eyed, bearded man stopped rocking. He passed his hands over his face and blew out a long, slow exhalation. This was the behavior of a man resigned to his fate. A man who became angry and had no place to channel that anger. He was trapped inside that room. And inside his mind.

  Jane’s heart ached for the poor soul. Since Parrish and his maniacal sect had imprisoned him, he was probably a decent person. He was also a survivor. Judging by his beard, he’d been locked in that room for quite a long time.

  The man started collecting the books and lining them up in a neat row again. When he got to the last book, he immediately brought it to his chest and cradled it. Moving absently toward the corner of the room where the camera was positioned, he hugged the book as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

  And then, he looked up.

  When his eyes met Jane’s, time and space twisted and bent. The present vanished, and Jane was thrust into the past.

  It was just a glance. A lightning flash of a moment when he’d raised his gaze. It had taken a single breath for Jane to feel like he’d seen straight into her soul. He’d flicked his eyes upward. That was all he’d done. That was all it took.

  Every air molecule rushed out of Jane’s lungs, and a prickly and powerful heat swept over her. Sweat beads popped across her forehead, and her hands went clammy. She couldn’t draw in a fresh breath. She couldn’t remember how to breathe. How to think. How to swallow. Her mouth hung open. Her lips moved. But nothing came out. She looked like a dying fish.

  Blackness was falling like a theater curtain in front of her eyes. It was as fuzzy as the distorted image on a TV screen. She decided to surrender to it.

  Then, as if from a great distance, someone touched her hand.

  “Make a fist and squeeze!” the voice told her.

  She tried to focus on the words, but she couldn’t. The darkness was coming closer.

  “Squeeze, Miss Jane!” She felt pressure on her fingers.

  She was falling backward. Someone was guiding her down. The buzzing noise in her head abated a little, but the blackness was still falling all around her. It had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped.

  “Fight it, Miss Jane! Make a fist.”

  The voice permeated the buzz, and Jane managed to curl her fingers inward.

  “Breathe in,” the voice said. It was so calm. So patient and gentle.

  Jane balled her fists and drew in a gulp of air. The buzzing abated a little and, a few seconds later, the blackness did too.

  “That’s it. Keep going.”

  Jane recognized the voice now. It was Lachlan’s. He was keeping her from passing out by applying techniques Sterling had taught Jane and the rest of the Fins.

  Sterling is the head chauffeur, Jane thought, coming back to herself more and more. Butterworth is the head butler. Sinclair is the head librarian.

  As the faces of her beloved mentors and protectors floated through her mind, so did the face of the man from the video.

  No! an inner voice screamed.

  But there was no sense fighting what she’d seen.

  Squeezing her eyes even tighter, she grasped Lachlan’s hand, clinging to it like it was the only thing that could keep her from going under. From drowning. She parted her lips and, because her mouth was so dry, managed to whisper a single word. “William.”

  “William?” Lachlan asked in bewilderment. “As in, your husband?”

  Jane couldn’t speak. She could manage only the ghost of a nod.

  “I thought . . .” Lachlan faltered. Jane heard him stop and begin again. “I thought he died before the twins were born.”

  Involuntarily, Jane traveled back in time to that terrible, terrible night. The worst night. She’d been in her late twenties. She and William had been married for two years and were expecting their first child. At the time, Jane hadn’t known that she was carrying twins. She also hadn’t realized that when she kissed her husband before his business trip, that it would be the last time she’d kiss him. Or see him. Or speak to him.

  He would never return from that trip because his car would skid off the side of an icy bridge and plunge into freezing waters. That’s what the authorities had told Jane. They’d had a hard time meeting her eyes. And it had been even harder for them to come back several days later and tell her that they’d failed to recover her husband’s body.

  Numb with shock, Jane had made arrangements for William’s funeral. She’d stood by his grave and witnessed the lowering of his empty casket. She’d tossed a handful of dirt on its polished surface, followed by a single red rose, and walked away from the cemetery. She’d never returned. Instead, she’d moved home. To Storyton Hall. Where she’d found the love and support she needed.

  She hated roses now. She hated high bridges and frozen lakes. She hated knocks on her door when she wasn’t expecting visitors. She hated the nightmares that plagued her for years. In her sleep, she saw a blue-faced, glassy-eyed William tangled in a bed of underwater weeds. Eels slithered around his arms and legs.

  William had died. She’d buried him. She’d welcomed her sons into the world without him. She’d learned to live without him. She was a widow and a single mother because William Wordsworth Heath was dead.

  Except he wasn’t.

  Her husband was alive.

  And he was here, at Biltmore.

  Chapter Five

  Emotions, swelling like a tsunami wave, threatened to overwhelm Jane. As if those weren’t enough, there were questions too. They fluttered i
nside her head like a flock of birds trapped in a cage. The combination of emotions and questions nearly undid her.

  Other than the night she’d learned of William’s death, this was the greatest shock of her life.

  Very slowly, Jane sat up. Without looking at anyone else in the room, she picked up the glass of Scotch. She drank down the contents and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The liquor didn’t clear the fog in her brain, so she thrust the glass toward Parrish, wordlessly requesting a refill.

  After the second glass of Scotch, she felt a bit better. Just a bit.

  “How is this possible?” she asked Parrish in a leaden voice. She felt as empty as the grave she’d had dug for her husband.

  Parrish gestured at the laptop. “We believed William would become the Guardian of Storyton Hall. We kept on eye on him. And you. From a respectful distance.”

  Parrish waited for Jane to react, but she just stared at him.

  “We were following your husband the night of his accident. We believed he had already begun training for his role as Guardian. We thought his business trips had a secondary purpose.” Parrish’s shoulders moved in a ghost of a shrug. “He was too complex and clever a man to devote his life to insurance. We were certain that his travels were a cover—that his true mission was to collect materials for Storyton’s secret library.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Jane said. “I grew up at Storyton Hall. William didn’t even visit until after we were engaged. Why would you leap to that conclusion?”

  “Because the Guardianship has always been passed to a male.”

  Though she knew this to be true, the insinuation that she, as a woman, wouldn’t be chosen for such an important responsibility made her bristle.

  “Times do change,” Parrish went on. “However, tradition called for a male Guardian, which is why we followed your husband. It was lucky for him that we did. We saved his life.”

  Jane shook her head in disbelief and muttered, “No.”

  “It does seem impossible. It was a frigid night. Everything was covered in ice. I was there, and I saw William’s car skid. He couldn’t control the slide.” Parrish leaned toward Jane. “He fought for control, but momentum was against him. He crashed through the rail. Even if he’d survived the impact, we knew that he wouldn’t survive the water. It was a stroke of good fortune that my colleague was used to swimming outdoors in extreme temperatures. He dove into the glacial water and pulled William out.”

  Jane could picture the lake. Black as ink, the water had swallowed her husband and their future together in a matter of seconds. She’d always wondered if he’d been conscious inside his sinking car—if he’d felt the icy water rushing over his feet and bubbling up his legs and chest. She’d been plagued by terrible thoughts of him trying to unfasten his seatbelt or opening the driver’s door, only to find himself stuck. In other horrific fantasies, she’d pictured William escaping the car but drowning before he could reach the surface of the lake.

  This horrendous scenario made the most sense. She’d always assumed that the lake currents had carried William’s body to the river. And from there? That mystery had remained unsolved.

  Until now.

  “We couldn’t let it be known that your husband survived, Ms. Steward,” said Parrish “The price of his being rescued was that Mr. Heath’s fate became forever intertwined with ours.”

  Jane looked at the computer screen. She’d been watching William while listening to Parrish, but William was no longer facing the camera. He’d turned to the rear wall of his cell and was scraping at the rough stone with a small rock.

  “He’s been in that cell for nine years?” Jane’s anger gained fresh momentum. “That’s barbaric!”

  Parrish held up his hands as if to ward off a blow. “His tenure as Mr. Alcott’s next-door neighbor is very recent, I promise you. He has spent most of those years in a facility. A quiet, peaceful place for individuals requiring special care.”

  Jane didn’t understand his meaning. “Was he hospitalized?”

  “In a manner of speaking,” Parrish said. “Your husband had a private room. Some of the finest doctors in the field saw to his care.”

  This was almost too much for Jane to take. Minutes ago, she’d learned that her dead husband was alive. Following this mind-blowing discovery, she was being told that he was no longer whole.

  “What was he being treated for? What’s wrong with him?” she asked Parrish.

  For once, Parrish seemed reluctant to speak. He held his empty glass to the firelight and studied the starry reflections on the cut crystal. “In a manner of speaking, William died in that lake. By the time my colleague pulled him out of the water, he showed no signs of life. We were able to revive him, but we couldn’t reverse the effects of the hypothermia. He suffered damage to his brain, Ms. Steward. Specifically, to the parts that store memories or attach emotion to certain memories.”

  Jane looked at the screen. It was William in that cell. And yet it wasn’t. What kind of treatment had he endured? What drugs had he been given? Had he been given shock treatment?

  “Please don’t despair, Ms. Steward,” Parrish soothed. “Cutting-edge treatments have allowed your husband to make notable strides toward recovery. I’ve been told that his memories of his time with you could be restored by your proximity. I warned you that your choice would be difficult. Two men need saving, but you can save only one.”

  Parrish had just finished speaking when the fattest log in the fireplace broke apart. As it sagged, a spray of sparks burst upward, forming a beautiful, bird-like shape for a moment before it was sucked up the chimney flue.

  Jane felt like that log. She felt like she was made of ashes—that a strong wind could blow away every piece of her. She was as fragile as a phoenix made of sparks.

  A phoenix doesn’t die, an inner voice said. It burns. It suffers. But it is renewed. The pain grants it another life.

  If Jane focused on her pain, she would fail everyone. She knew this, but it was impossible to think logically and to make rational decisions when she was so overwhelmed by emotion.

  William was alive.

  Edwin was alive.

  She could never choose between the two of them.

  Then don’t.

  The thought was so forceful that it rose above the maelstrom of other thoughts. Jane clung to it, and it grew in force, burning with the intensity of a million fires.

  “I choose both,” she said with remarkable aplomb. “I won’t leave this place without Edwin and William. Toss me in a cell, if you’d like, but I’m not budging on this point. And you will never get what you want unless you agree.”

  Parrish fell silent. He was quiet for such a long time that Jane wondered if he’d ever speak again. At first, she watched him, but as the seconds passed, her gaze flicked to the laptop screen. She was still trying to absorb the fact that the bearded man was William.

  What if it wasn’t?

  The thought made Jane draw back in surprise. “You could be using this man as bait.” Pointing at the computer, she gave Parrish a challenging stare. “A ruse to trick me into leaving Edwin behind. That man could be an imposter. Someone who looks like my husband. It wouldn’t be difficult. People were always saying that he was a dead ringer for their brother or a close friend. How can you prove that he’s my husband?”

  Parrish seemed genuinely astonished. “I didn’t think proof would be required. I’ve never been married, Ms. Steward, nor do I understand the desire for a spouse, partner, or significant other. However, I thought you’d see your husband and instantly know him. Is that not the case?”

  “I’ve learned that some clichés are full of wisdom. ‘Looks can be deceiving’ is one of them.” She tapped the screen. “If that man is William I’ll know it. But I can’t tell from this distance. I need you to bring me to him.”

  When Parrish began to protest, Jane cut him off by insisting that Bruno get William right now.

  “I will have your husband brought here
. Before I do, you might want to consider something.” Parrish’s smug smile was back. “If the man on that screen is William, how will Edwin handle his return from the dead? How will you?”

  These questions had already occurred to Jane, but she couldn’t deal with them right now. They were too complicated. She could focus only on getting William and Edwin to Storyton.

  “I’ll figure it out,” she said tersely.

  “I am impressed by your composure, Ms. Steward. I feared you might become overly emotional after seeing the husband you thought was lost so many years ago.”

  Jane was distracted by what was happening in the bearded man’s cell. His head had whipped around to face the door. Suddenly, he was on his feet. He walked toward the door and vanished from view.

  Jane knew that it would be easier if she could continue to think of him as the bearded man. She couldn’t accept him as William. Not yet. She couldn’t accept the fact that the man she’d married might enter this room in a matter of minutes.

  Her belly roiled, and she wished she had a cracker or a piece of toast to soak up all the liquid she’d consumed. It felt like a lifetime ago that she and Lachlan had eaten pizza in their hotel.

  “Are you all right?” Parrish asked.

  “I was wishing for a piece of bread,” Jane replied honestly. “Or something to help settle my stomach. I’ll be all right in a moment.”

  Parrish looked to Bruno and a wordless message passed between them. Bruno cleared the crystal glasses and returned from the kitchen with another tray, which he set down in front of Jane. He’d brought her a thick slice of farmhouse bread covered with strawberry jam.

  No longer concerned about poison, Jane bit into the bread. It was pillowy soft in the middle, and the fresh jam tasted like a summer day.

  She was just wiping her mouth with a napkin when William entered the room.

  It was William. It was not a doppelgänger with a beard. It was her husband.

  He was the right height. The right build. His eyes were the right shade of brown. His sandy hair was the right texture. Everything about him felt right. He was the right man.