Chapter 17 - The House of Cards Collapses
The drive to our parents’ house in the gated community of Oakridge took twenty-five minutes. Neither Ryan nor I spoke. He sat in the passenger seat of my car, staring straight ahead through the windshield, his face set in a hard, pale mask.
It was 7:00 PM when we pulled into the circular driveway. The grand brick colonial was ablaze with warm, golden light. Through the large front windows, I could see my father, Arthur, sitting in his leather armchair reading the evening paper, while my mother moved gracefully around the dining room, adjusting a vase of fresh cut flowers for dinner.
The picture of suburban perfection. A fortress built on lies, cruelty, and buried violence.
I took the laptop from the back seat, stepped out into the crisp night air, and walked to the front door. Ryan followed a half-step behind me. I didn't knock. I unlocked the heavy oak door with my childhood key and pushed it open.
“Eleanor! Arthur!” I called out, my voice carrying into the foyer with an icy authority that startled even myself.
Arthur lowered his newspaper, blinking behind his reading glasses. “Clare? Ryan? What's going on? You're just in time for roast chicken—”
Eleanor emerged from the dining room, drying her hands on a linen towel. The moment her eyes fell on the laptop in my hand and Ryan’s hollow, furious stare, the color drained instantly from her cheeks.
“What is the meaning of this?” she demanded, though her voice lacked its usual crisp authority. “You can't just storm in here unannounced.”
“Sit down, Dad,” I said quietly, pointing to the dining table. “You too, Eleanor.”
“Clare, please,” Eleanor whispered, her hands beginning to tremble beneath the linen cloth. “Don't do this.”
“Do what, Eleanor?” I slammed the laptop down onto the mahogany dining table, right next to her antique silver centerpiece. I flipped the screen open and connected the audio to the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the sideboard. “Show Dad what kind of woman he’s been married to for thirty-five years?”
Arthur stood up, frowning with deep confusion. “What are you talking about? What is that?”
“Julian Vance is back, Dad,” Ryan said, his voice raw, trembling with a mixture of hatred and grief. “And he brought the home movie Mom bought from him three years ago.”
I pressed play. The Bluetooth speaker filled the high-ceilinged room with the sickening sound of my skull hitting the planter box, followed immediately by Eleanor’s cold, calculated voice: *“If she’s dead, calling an ambulance won’t bring her back—it will only put you in a cage.”*
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Arthur’s face twisted into an expression of sheer, uncomprehending horror. He looked from the screen to his wife, his mouth opening and closing without a sound.
***
