The Leviathan Trial

by Oliver Madison

  “Very good,” rasped Dante. “That’s really good.” The man was classless—hoarse in his voice as he gave the soulless compliment. He stretched his arms behind his head and sat, propping his muscular legs atop the dining room table as he made himself comfortable.

  THUMP.

  THUMP.

  Dirt shook from the soles of his combat boots as he leaned back and crossed his legs. The green tablecloth ruffled as a couple of stemmed glasses were knocked over. Benedict’s head rolled off the edge.

  Levi had a hard time picturing this…man as a Lancaster. But he was. He may have been raised under completely different circumstances, but he was more of a Lancaster than any of the other children—more of a Lancaster than Levi!

  The oldest “child” at twenty-five years of age.

  He was the thirteenth child.

  He was Dante, the one and only true blood heir of the Lancaster name. This man was part of his family.

  “Father never spoke of you,” stated Levi. “He never mentioned a Dante Lancaster.”

  The man squinted and hacked a loogy off to the side. He pulled a gun from out its holster. It was a SIG Sauer M17—military grade. Without warning, he aimed at Levi’s head and fired.

  It felt like a sharp jolt of air whizzed by his ear. When Levi touched it, there was blood on his fingertips. He gawked at it in horror. For a moment, he thought he was dead—thought the bullet went clean through his head and that he would soon collapse. Luckily, only his ear was nicked. Dante was a good shot—especially at close range. If he wanted Levi dead, he would be dead. But as it had been stated many times before, a bullet to the brain would be an act of mercy. And the thirteenth child had no interest in that.

  “Call me a Lancaster again!” Dante barked. He sat up and leaned over the table. I will tear you into pieces and eat you, boy! I will tie you down, slit this girl’s neck, and waterboard you in her blood!” He pulled Kitty beside him, cracking a smile as he pressed the tip of his gun against her temple.

  Levi had to be careful. Ninety-nine percent of topics for Dante Lanca…Dante—just Dante, were off limits. There was a minefield of trigger words that could set him off. Luckily, talking was Levi’s specialty. There were other ways to stall for time, calm the man’s aggression, and shift the mood. The art of debating was not a one-man act. It required two parties, and Levi could always feel when his opponents had something to say.

  “This trial has obviously been something important for you. There would have been easier ways to kill us.” Levi gulped as he kept his eye on the gun clutched in Dante’s grip. “Why would you do this to us?”

  Dante cackled maniacally. It was so much that he started to cry and nearly lost his breath. He wiped a tear away with the side of his gun and grinned. “Are you kidding me?!” he asked, finally recollecting himself. “You little brats took everything from me! My father. My family’s birthright. My life! Look at you!” he ordered, gesturing his hands out to Levi. Levi looked like a train wreck, but the point was the custom-made silk suit he wore. The tie. The gold wristwatch. The leather shoes. The family crest that the public associated with wealth, power, and entitlement.

  “Now, look at me!” Dante directed, tapping his gun to his chest. Everything Dante wore came from a thrift store. The cargo pants with the stain that resembled a crease. His wooly work socks with the holes in the ankles. His tank top with the tear in the back. Everything except for his boots. Those, Dante acquired from his military service before being dishonorably discharged. According to him, they made a fuss over his questionable judgement that led to a couple of civilian casualties during his tour in the middle east.

  “My life went to hell!” Dante exclaimed. “No daddy Lancaster in my fairytale life. While y’all were out winetasting and grubbing down on caviar, I was out gettin’ high in my trailer park, wishing each day I’d OD so I wouldn’t have to see my sweet momma suffer.”

  A few years back, the military took him in. His mother, Shannon Thatcher, thought it was good for him. Dante would finally have discipline. He would finally have order in his life. Little did she know, it would be the other way around. Dante picked up many skills alright. He learned about hand-to-hand combat and armed warfare. He learned military strategies and tact. Regardless, he turned his squad into chaos. He had several memories of manipulating members of his team with trickery, stealing their belongings, and lying. In the end, there was only so much he could get away with. Eventually, he was booted back to the States.

  Dante explained that his mother swore that Benedict was his estranged father. She prayed every night for the billionaire to bless her and their son with a life far greater than the slums in which they resided. “How the hell does one guy adopt twelve kids and discard the only actual flesh and blood he has?” questioned Dante, hatred boiling in his bulging unblinking eyes.

  “Legally, momma wasn’t allowed to say anything about the Lancaster name,” he told them. “She died last year.” Dante sniffled as he said it. It was clear his mother was the only one he cared for. “If Benedict was half the man he claimed to be, he could’ve saved her. He could’ve gotten her medical treatments—gotten her chemo. She could’ve lived. But you know how it is,” he chuckled, easing up. “We weren’t Lancasters—not in his eyes. We weren’t as lucky as you twelve. We were just the mess he pretended he never made.”

  Dante rambled on in his desire to destroy everything the Lancasters stood for—collapse their empire. But even that would not suffice. They would not be let off with a simple execution. A bullet to the brain would be a mercy. In his mind, they deserved to do it themselves—tear apart their own brothers and sisters—their own flesh and blood. Not even their name would carry a spec of honor after that.

  And how quickly they crumbled at the first sign of despair. The Lancaster children trampled over each other in desperate hysteria to a finish line that was never there to begin with. Dante knew that in the end they would cling to life like a crying baby to its bottle. They would regress to their primal and savage instincts as their situation grew darker. And darker. And darker.

  It was delicious.

  Dante was concerned about Levi at first. His goal was to corrupt the whole family—bloody their hands. Tarnish their souls.

  At first, that was not happening. He snapped them out of their denial in the trial by killing Zara. After that, Allister was the easiest to corrupt. The fencer was already at his tipping point. He just needed a little push in the right direction to succumb to his anger and lash out at the others. Some of the Lancasters, like Pearl, bargained for their lives as their situation worsened as they witnessed their fallen siblings. Many of the others, such as Eden, fell into depression from the overwhelming odds stacked against them. Finally, in the end, acceptance of death befell them all. Hiroshi was solid proof of that.

  The whole time, Levi blabbed on and on about working together, finding peace, and the illusion of family bonds. It sickened Dante. But when the video feed showed Levi stabbing Helena—his personal favorite—to death, Dante caught himself creasing his cheeks and grinning from ear to ear. He knew he had won.

  He loved every moment of the Leviathan Trial. Ultimately, it was a mind game. One where he hardly had to do any of the leg work.

  “But I did have some help,” Dante chuckled. “Come here, babe.” Cynthia strutted down to him at the head of the table and laid a kiss on his lips.

  Kitty wanted to throw up as she watched them.

  “I sought Dante out after I learned of him in father’s diary,” Cynthia chimed in, pushing up her glasses. “Dante was just another one of father’s secrets. We teamed up. Dante would help me eliminate my family so I would be the sole inheritor of the Lancaster fortune. In exchange, I would help him with his revenge and access to his birthright. I just didn’t plan on falling in love with him. That was just a bonus.”

  “You betrayed us! You betrayed father!” Levi reminded her.

  “Father Benedict was no saint!” Cynthia scoffed. “He left his only blo
od heir a bastard. And to make this very clear,” she emphasized, “The Leviathan Trial was never my idea to begin with! It truly is a Lancaster family tradition!” Cynthia reiterated that their father was a firm believer of natural selection—survival of the fittest. “He really did go through with killing his own adopted siblings around our age decades ago. I honestly feel bad for putting you all through with this, but it was the only way to rid myself of this awful family. You were all unknown variables. I couldn’t have risked trusting any of you—only myself. As soon as you trust yourself, you will know how to live.”

  Cynthia clearly recalled stumbling upon Benedict’s intentions a little over a year ago. Originally, she hacked into her father’s encrypted files to alter his notes from their previous monthly evaluation. She wanted to manipulate her educational progress so it would appear more impressive than it really was. When Cynthia was bored with that, she snooped through his more personal files.

  A digital journal.

  Benedict’s entries went into clear disgusting detail of the concept of the Leviathan Trial and its purpose. It was indeed planned for them when he would pass away. His notes indicated that nearly all of the preparations had already been made, such as the children’s keys and intended resources. “In his older years, he was on the fence of putting us through our ‘family tradition’.” Cynthia used finger quotes. “But his mind was made up on moving forward with it before he adopted Pearl—the first of us. Could you imagine my anguish when I stumbled upon this?!” Cynthia asked. “Me, being the only sibling to have this knowledge of our approaching slaughter! I was cursed with knowledge.” Levi did sympathize with her situation. That would have been a heavy burden for anyone to bare—himself included. Even with that horrid leaked information, in Levi’s mind, Cynthia should not have broken.

  “However, in recent years in father’s journal, he described nightmares he had about the horrors his children would endure and the atrocities we would have to inflict on one another. He had second thoughts and started getting cold feet. The poor old man considered calling the whole thing off,” Cynthia mocked her father by making pouty lips and using a satirical little girl’s voice. “However, dad had everything prepared for us just in case.”

  Cynthia further explained how she intended to rig the inevitable Leviathan Trial to her advantage, manipulating the others, and using help from the outside. It was not initially her idea, but she was persuaded. If a trial were to come, then she would make certain that she would win. Dante insisted on it. Simply running away or just killing the others would be too easy. He seduced her, promising he would help and that it would be far more satisfying to have front row seats to her liberation and his sweet revenge. When all was said and done, they intended to burn any evidence that would point responsibility in their direction. It would be a sinful part of her life that the two would discard and never look back on. Then, after inheriting Benedict’s vast fortune, Cynthia and Dante would never work another day in their lives, spending time with each other far out of the public’s eye in their own happily ever after.

  “So, since Father Benedict’s mind wasn’t made up, you could have prevented this bloodshed,” proclaimed Levi. “We all could have lived if you acted differently. Instead, you take full responsibility for this!”

  “Don’t get me started,” warned Cynthia. “Think about father’s personality. He was beyond strict. He was insane. He would have set the trial in motion one way or the other. I just hijacked it from him and started ahead of schedule. Even our own family heirlooms…” She held up her necklace. “Our keys were always designed to prepare us for this trial.” She drifted off as she started thinking about the keys again. “That’s something I didn’t manipulate. I can’t reprogram this final phase of the trial. I’ve tried!” she explained. “We really are trapped in here, you know. Now that the security system believes me to be the winner, the only exit in the house has automatically unlocked. But only sort of!” She emphasized with a wince. “It’s the door in the attic.” She held out her hands to plead. “It’s half unlocked! It needed to be aware of a single victor in the trial. But something else is needed too. All twelve keys are still required for that final door to open.” She placed her keys in Dante’s hand for him to hold.

  The whole time Cynthia was talking, Levi was working his hand beneath the table. Without drawing attention to himself, he had been sawing through Kitty’s plastic restraints. He was patient, making eye contact with his sister and Dante, as he snapped the bands and liberated Kitty with the small knife.

  Once freed, Kitty leapt across the table and tackled Cynthia. When Dante tried to help, Levi struggled to get his gun. Both of them had battle wounds and had a difficult time taking control. Levi forced the gun to fire all remaining bullets before it dropped. He kicked it to the side. When Kitty saw it, she hurled it atop the many hooked arms of one of the chandeliers. It was lost in a cascade of crystal shards.

  Above the table, was a wooden support beam that stretched the length of the dining hall—a queen post truss, eight-inches by eight-inches in thickness. A rectangular block set horizontally between the two hanging chandeliers. Centered above the table, it casted a shadow that seemed to divide it in half. Knowing that Cynthia and Dante needed his keys, Levi climbed to the top of the beam.

  He scurried up the stone brick wall. No two bricks were alike. They were excellent footholds, each protruding out roughly an inch. Levi was glad his father made him take bouldering lessons, strengthening his fingers and grip. He was able to support his body with minimal contact to the wall. However, the strain caused his hand wound to split open and he grit his teeth as he powered to the top of the beam. He was about fifteen feet off the ground.

  When Dante followed about halfway up the wall, Levi held out his arms to balance himself and walked to the other side. Annoyed, Dante hopped off and ran to the opposite side. Sure enough, once he started to climb up, Levi crawled right back to the other end.

  They were both getting nowhere. Levi’s strategy was simple—juvenile even, but it was incredibly effective.

  They were at a stalemate. Levi needed the other eight keys, and Dante needed Levi’s four. Any less than twelve made them useless trinkets. They stared each other down from each end of the wooden truss.

  “This is amusing,” breathed Dante, dangling his keys in front of Levi. “But let’s put an end to this shit. One of us has to get out of here. Otherwise, we’re both screwed.”

  Levi clung tightly to the wooden pole on his side. He thought about what Dante was getting at, then answered. “What if we play one final game for it?” Levi offered.

  “I don’t have to play. This place will be our grave in thirty minutes. Plus, I’ve already beaten you, kid,” Dante claimed smugly. “Your family’s dead.”

  “Not yet, you haven’t,” Levi refuted. “But you’re right about not having to accept. You can stand right there and look at my pretty face until the chlorine gas reaches us,” Levi gave a cold stare. “You know I mean that too. After all that has happened to me in the past couple of days, maybe I won’t give you a chance to escape.”

  Levi was different somehow. He was no longer the goody-two-shoe boy who could do no wrong. He had those same tired eyes as Dante—the eyes that accepted death. And Dante realized it. “The only reason why you wouldn’t accept a challenge from me is because you’re afraid I would defeat you,” Levi egged on. “In that case, this whole thing you orchestrated would be for nothing. You really couldn’t outdo the best Lancaster—the final Leviathan child.”

  “Fine!” Dante spat off to the side. “I’ll snuff out one last Lancaster.”

  CHAPTER 26

  THE FINAL TRIAL: HANGMAN

  “I wager my life against your life,” proposed Levi on one end of the ceiling. “The winner gets the loser’s keys. The loser dies.”

  “You idiot!” laughed Dante, maintaining his balance by keeping a hand on the wall. He wagged his finger. “Do you really think you’re that good of a debater. You mus
t have been spoiled your whole life to think I have to listen to you.”

  “I thought you didn’t fear death,” Levi spoke from atop the beam. “Let’s settle this. Do you accept or not?” Levi checked his watch. “Twenty-seven minutes left…”

  “You’re one batshit crazy kid, you know that?” Dante had a deep chuckle, but the idea intrigued him. It got his blood boiling. No matter how they sliced it, they needed to compromise on something—and fast. As extreme as Levi’s suggestion was, there was no denying that it was fair. It put them on an even playing field. Dante lost himself in thought as his eyes moved to the corner. Time was ticking. He silently stared at the grandfather clock near the wall. There was not anything in his military training that could help in this situation. When he glanced at the decorative Leviathan mask above the mantel, his mind was made up. “Let’s do the damn thing,” he agreed. Dante cracked his neck and stretched his arms as he loosened up.

  Levi nodded and explained the rules. There was really just one, so it was easy for Dante to follow.

  The game, if you could call it that, was terribly morbid. On each end of the beam, there was just eight feet of rope on the wall. They served no purpose other than decoration. Each of them fashioned a noose from the ropes and situated them tightly around their own necks.

  They were snug.

  Rigid.

  That alone made it harder for them to breathe. However, that was only step one. Both tied the other ends of their rope to the narrow beam in between them. The beam would serve as a bridge. They were to walk across it and meet in the middle. The only goal of the game was to take your opponent’s keys. If and when either of them would fall, the rope would tighten, and the game would be over.

  Gravity would take care of the rest. This force of nature would keep them both honest as they endured this final trial. Certain death would be waiting for whoever would slip and fall.

  With such little time remaining before the house would fill with gas, a winner needed to be selected soon. Less than twenty-five minutes remained before death would claim them all.