The Leviathan Trial

by Oliver Madison

  TWENTY QUESTIONS

  At 2am, the subtle creaking of the floorboards woke Kitty from within her sleeping bag. She was already on edge as it was. As she rubbed her eyes, she saw a shadow move along the crack beneath the bedroom door. It stopped in front of her room for just a moment. Then it kept moving. There was no telling who exactly it was. The steps were inconsistent. Heavy, soft, heavy. The wooden floor squeaked once more. She assumed it was just one of the Lancaster children making a late-night trip to the restroom.

  Kitty laid her head back against her pillow, ready to get just a bit of sleep. The Lancaster feather pillows were as soft as a cloud. She really thought she could get some rest despite the oddities of her predicament. That is until, she heard an ungodly scream. It happened at the same time as a crack of thunder pierced the night sky in the shape of a white jagged trident. It was a sharp shrill, followed by some sort of struggle. It carried throughout the whole floor.

  Kitty shot up and rocked the three Lancaster girls who were sharing the bed. Pearl, Cynthia, and Helena rubbed their eyes as they rose in their nightgowns. Moments later, the mysterious stammering feet made its way back down the hall.

  There was good news. And then there was dreadful news.

  The good news was that the power was back on in Lancaster Manor. The microwave clocks were all out of sync and the meat in the fridge may have gone bad, but with a flip of a switch, the hallways illuminated flawlessly. The bad news was what everyone found at the scene of the commotion.

  Kitty and eleven Lancasters discovered that Zara’s door was wide open. As they called out her name and entered her room, they realized they were too late. The scream had come from her. Unfortunately, Zara would never be heard from again. Her lifeless body laid sprawled over her bed. In this instance, it was hard to believe she was ever a model. Her chocolate wavy hair was mussed and there were multiple stab wounds in the center of her chest and heart. They were still fresh with her blood, glistening from the light from the bulb of her ceiling fan. Zara’s last expression was still carved into her unblinking face. Her eyes were wide and mouth agape, as if still gasping for air.

  “For God’s sake, someone cover her face!” ordered Allister, sweating. Hiroshi obliged, placing a towel over her. He kneeled beside her bed and prayed in disbelief that this was all a dream.

  Just when Levi offered to take Helena and Kitty out of the room, Blake stopped them.

  “Nobody is going anywhere!” he commanded. “If anyone leaves this room, I swear I will kill you myself.” Blake meant every word of it. In his world, everything usually ran like clockwork. This was the tipping point. Things were not going to get better on their own. He intended to fully take it upon himself to regain control of this worsening situation.

  No one spoke to challenge him.

  They just soaked in the sight of the emerald towel that draped over the face of their once beautiful sister. In the forefront of their minds, the family knew what this meant.

  Someone in this room could not be trusted.

  Someone in this room took Father Benedicts’ last will and testaments to heart.

  Someone in this room killed Zara.

  “No one is going anywhere until I get an alibi!” exclaimed Blake. “Someone here is a treacherous, murderous—”

  Before he could finish, there was a crackling tune of static. It hummed over the airwave. It sounded like a mic check. The Lancasters darted their heads around as they searched for the source.

  “It’s the intercom,” explained Sion, he pointed out to one of the flat speakers built into the hallway. There were many speakers spread throughout the mansion. It was how their father used to make announcements and summon the children so they could hear him no matter where they were. The warm raspy voice of elderly Father Benedict echoed throughout the halls.

  It was a recording.

  It appeared to be a poem—something made in advance for Zara in the event that something just like this would happen. It was a eulogy of sorts.

  ‘Dance away my proud performer.

  Fill your lungs and sing.

  Do not let Father Time deform her.

  Allow her voice to ring.

  Alas, as time does eat away, and her shine begins to rust.

  Her outside shall deteriorate, and her values turn to dust.

  Eat your heart out, my proud performer. Know the facts in strife.

  Fear becoming superficial, before performing your final act in life.’

  At that, the static from the speaker went silent. For a full minute, no one spoke a word. Despite the air conditioner finally working, all of them were sweating buckets. Finally, one of them cracked.

  “What the hell was that?!” exclaimed Troy, utterly stupefied.

  No one wanted to say it. Perhaps there was something treacherous about speaking ill of Benedict, but it was the mammoth in the room.

  “It was father,” Cynthia mumbled under her breath.

  It was mindboggling trying to figure out what could possibly have compelled Father Benedict to record something like that. It was sadistic. It was a balance of pure love and admiration—mixed with bitter cynicism for his daughter’s death. Was it sarcastic or sincere? The sad reality was that it came across as both.

  By Blake’s direction, everyone headed down the hall to the study. There were no exceptions. No bathroom breaks. No excuses. Not even time allowed to mourn.

  There was unrelenting questioning from Blake. It was only when it was not someone’s turn in the hotseat that they had time to process the image of their deceased sister that was burned into their heads. Blake asked where everyone was and where they went for the past few hours. He searched for anything to grasp onto—inconsistent answers, witnesses, even a stuttered word, to indicate if someone might have been involved in the murder. To no one’s surprise, most Lancasters had the same answer.

  “I was asleep,” claimed Troy. There was a showdown of glares between the two brothers. Neither of them flinched.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” admitted Sion, crying during his turn. He admitted to going to the bathroom at one in the morning. A few of them vouched and remembered hearing the flush around that time.

  When it came to Helena’s turn, Blake gave her no leeway. He demanded an alibi, one way or the other. “What time did you go to bed?” Blake interrogated while in a crouch to meet her at eye level. Helena did not verbally respond. She just stared curiously. “Do you think I’m joking?” he asked. He raised his voice, and his hand along with it, threatening to backhand her should she not answer.

  “Stop it!” commanded Pearl. “You know she doesn’t talk!”

  “She’s going to need to learn to talk quickly!” Blake spat back. He slapped Helena across the face, leaving a rosy mark on her ghostly cheek.

  Levi had none of it. In all his fifteen years of life, he had never acted violently until now. Instincts took over and he punched Blake in a clean swipe across his pointy jaw. He socked him so hard, Levi’s knuckles bruised. Blake lost his balance and fell over. He planted his hand on his own sore cheek.

  Everyone could practically see the steam rushing out of Levi’s ears. “If you ever lay a finger on her again, you’ll hurt a lot worse than that!” threatened Levi. No one had ever before seen Levi so much as harm a fly. And yet, the prodigy debater was never one to lie. He would never talk the talk if he could not walk the walk.

  The siblings stood silently as no one helped Blake to his feet. He just gritted his teeth and glared up in sullen defeat. Really, he did not have a leg to stand on. Who was he to assume leadership during this tragedy anyway? Sure, he was uptight. They all were. But nothing gave him the right to strike Helena the way that he did.

  Before Blake could respond to Levi’s warning, another message burst through the speaker. Their house spoke, crackling before their father’s voice flooded the sound system once more.

  “It has been an hour since the first of you has left the world of the living. Ten more will need to fall to unlock the elev
ated door of Lancaster Manor. However, I have left more for you to unlock to aid in your conquest. For your entire lives, you have worn our family crest around your necks—the symbol of the Great Leviathan. These are not mere trinkets. They are keys.”

  At that moment, Levi unknowingly touched his brass necklace. Many of the children did. How could they not know that they were wearing keys around their necks this whole time? Even the shape of the emblem made sense. Cynthia’s thumb scratched against the unique grooves and metal ridges on her necklace. As she caressed it and detached the infinity and double-crossed shaped symbol, it was obvious it was always meant to be a key.

  The family keenly tuned in to their late father’s recorded instructions. “Each of your keys is unique and will unlock a specific door in Lancaster Manor. It is up to you to discover which door in our house is yours.”

  That was not much help. Lancaster Manor was roughly the size of a shopping mall. There were countless doors.

  “With your key, you will find a resource that will aid in your survival based on your skills that you have developed over the years. Search well. What you find could very well mean the difference between life and death.”

  “Keys?” Levi thought aloud as the message beyond the grave concluded. “Do all of you have your necklace?”

  Each of them held theirs up by the base. Of course, they all had their Leviathan necklaces. Father always required them to wear it. Aside from taking baths and going to bed, it was mandatory. Their family emblem was like another part of their school uniform or family dress attire. As they confirmed that everyone still possessed their necklace, they had a stark realization.

  They needed to get Zara’s key.

  Who knew what hers could unlock? Any resource or clue that could help them escape was invaluable. They crowded the halls, stamping along as the group ventured back to Zara’s bedroom. They sighed in sorrow as they gazed upon the cloth that draped over her face. However, they were breathless when they fixated on her bare neck.

  Her necklace, their family emblem, was gone.

  They knew it was there when they first discovered her body. They were sure of it. At some point since they all convened, one of them must have taken it.

  “Who did it?” asked Hiroshi, slamming his balled fist against the nearest wall. “Which of you sick animals did this? How dare you desecrate her further!”

  Blake cut in and gave his two cents as he rubbed his bruised jaw. “It’s obvious. Isn’t it?” he started. “Whoever came back and stole her necklace is the one that killed her.”

  “So, that’s it then?” asked Mauve. “We just need to find out who here has two keys. That’s who her murderer is. What are you waiting for? Everyone, empty your pockets.”

  Everyone was reluctant at first. Then, their suspicion escalated. Some of them had personal items they did not want the others to see. Some of them thought that the honor in their claim of innocence was enough. “I’ve never lied in my life!” bragged Allister. “Don’t treat me the same as the young ones that have only been a part of our family for a couple years. Check them! Out of all of us, they are the least trustworthy,” he decreed, pointing to Helena, Sion, and Mauve.

  The bickering was too much to bear. Levi had to interject.

  “Okay, enough! Please!” he announced over the chatter. “Let’s just all empty our pockets together,” he negotiated. He reasoned that all of them, regardless of age, seniority, or history, needed to be placed on an equal playing field. He even took a vote, diplomatically asking if his proposal sounded fair. Allister and Cynthia were in the minority. Nine out of eleven agreed they were all equal suspects. Levi thought it was suspicious that any of them would vote for concealing possible evidence. But it did not matter. As of now, they met back in the study and began placing everything they carried on their person atop the table in an organized fashion. The exception was Allister, who angrily tossed everything he had in a crumpled pile—his Leviathan pendant, wallet, Chapstick, condoms, rolled up tissues, and lint.

  When everyone was finished, Kitty was elected as the mutual mediator. She was the only one in the house who was not a Lancaster. She walked up to each of their piles and confirmed that they only had one key per person. It was clear why some of them were hesitant to showcase their personal belongings. Deep down, they all wanted privacy. Blake had a zip drive that he was under no means willing to elaborate on. Cynthia had some feminine hygiene products. Sion had a firecracker and a set of matches in his pile. Troy had his knives that he brought from the kitchen the night prior. That got everyone riled again. However, since they were clearly unused and spotless, they let it go for the time being.

  Along the list of Kitty’s other duties as the family mediator was to make sure everyone truly did empty their pockets—shoes too. She felt like TSA at the airport. She patted everyone down from top to bottom. Checked their socks too.

  “Are you enjoying yourself down there?” asked Blake, peeved with this nobody who was taking her sweet time frisking him.

  “S-sorry! I’m so sorry. Just trying to help!” She blushed as she rose from his pantlegs.

  That was it. The last Lancaster had been vetted. Each of them only had one key.

  “What about you?” asked Sion. He pointed his fragile finger to Kitty. “How do we know she doesn’t have Zara’s key?”

  “Why would I have it?” she asked insulted.

  “We’re not ruling anyone out,” affirmed Blake. “Pearl. Be a dear and check our guest.”

  Normally, Pearl would never take orders from the others. Regardless, she checked Kitty’s purse as requested. She did not expect anything to come from it. Pearl was only inspecting her belongings for due diligence, crossing Kitty’s name off their list of possible suspects.

  However, she was unable to do that.

  Everyone’s face turned to shock when a stringed trinket bounced against the table.

  Zara’s key just fell out of Kitty’s purse.

  PART II

  ANGER

  CHAPTER 7

  GUESS WHO

  Awkward did not even begin to describe the tension between the eleven Lancaster children and Kitty. There she was, caught holding the spoils of the murdered victim. Levi swallowed his spit when he saw it.

  “Do you mind explaining how our sister’s family heirloom managed to make its way into your purse?” prodded Blake. He asked as a formality, but his mind was already made up. His brow furrowed beneath his spiky raven hair. Surely, he was about to burst a blood vessel.

  Kitty had no answer. She was speechless—perspiring. Her eyes darted from each Lancaster that pierced their gaze right through her. She felt sick and dizzy just from looking at the stolen Leviathan key. “I didn’t do it…,” is all she could muster.

  “So, it just magically ended up in your possession then?” asked Hiroshi.

  “It doesn’t surprise me.” Allister cracked his strong neck to the side. “Like I said. The filthy murderer would be one of us with the least amount of seniority. Of course, it’s the outsider who we’ve only known for a day. We can’t trust anyone outside this family.”

  Then, a scary theory started to emerge. It was Mauve who pointed it out as she thought aloud. “Kitty doesn’t have anything to gain from killing us. But Levi does… And she is Levi’s friend.”

  Levi’s armpits were starting to pour again. He was offended from the implications. “And just what exactly are you trying to suggest?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

  Mauve scoffed and pointed at him. “I’m saying that she stole Zara’s key for you. Or you planted it on her yourself, so you wouldn’t get caught with it.”

  Even if it was out of Levi’s character, most of the Lancasters agreed on one thing. Conspiracy or not, the motive made sense. Truly, the motivation was there for each of them. According to Father Benedict, they only had two choices. Kill every last Lancaster child until one remained. Or die. If death did not come from the others, it would surely come from the poisonous gas
soon to make its way through the vents in less than two days’ time.

  If one’s preservation of life was not incentive enough, they also had their father’s fortune to fight for, valued in total at twenty-three billion dollars in cash and assets.

  However, Levi was the only one of the eleven Lancaster heirs who now had a direct link to the first murder within their home. He had a possible accomplice with crucial evidence clearly stolen from the scene of the crime. On a glance, guilt pointed firmly in his direction.

  Finally, he sighed and provided a suggestion. “Our keys introduce a new variable in this whole equation. Before we jump to any conclusions, why don’t we use them?”

  After much repeated bickering, many in the group decided to explore the house once more. However, this time, they planned to use their keys. Sure enough, the tips of their pendants slid effortlessly into the doors. The only shame was that none of them could get any of the knobs to twist or the doors to budge. Collectively, they tried dozens of doors and hundreds of variations of keys.

  Soon, the family gathered around the room that Levi was most interested in. They stood outside the door of the locked security room. It was more of a large closet than anything else. It housed a few computers which had the sole purpose of storing all security camera footage at Lancaster Manor. The family figured it would be the best place to get some firm evidence. Blake gave his key a try first. It slid in, but the knob refused to turn. He nearly jammed it. “No,” Levi instructed confidently. “Use Cynthia’s.”

  Hers entered right through the keyhole. It rattled as Cynthia turned her pendant. Her jaw dropped as the inner cylinder of the lock twisted and released. The door opened.

  “How did you know?” she asked. Cynthia rubbed her frizzy head of brunette hair with intrigue. “How did you know that my key would work?”

  “Easy,” stated Levi, leading the others into the cramped room. “Father explained it himself. Our extracurriculars are the hint. There’s no reason to give a chess champion access to a room chuck full of computers and security systems. But a software engineer enthusiast…that key fits in my eyes.”