Blackwood

The Apartment Under Siege

The drive to Elizabeth's apartment took forty minutes.

George spent most of it watching the rearview mirror. Every set of headlights made his heart jump. But no one followed them. Not yet.

Julian sat in the passenger seat, his bound wrists resting on his lap. George hadn't untied him. He wasn't sure he trusted his father enough for that.

"You should cut these," Julian said. "I'm not going to run."

"I'll cut them when we get there."

"You don't trust me."

"Would you trust you?"

Julian was quiet for a moment. Then: "No. I wouldn't."

They drove through the gray dawn light. Providence appeared on the horizon—office buildings, church steeples, the dome of the state capitol. The city was waking up. People were going to work. Getting coffee. Living their normal lives.

George envied them.

He pulled into the parking lot of Elizabeth's apartment building. The lot was empty except for a few cars. He parked in the back, away from the street.

"Stay here," George said.

"Where would I go?"

George got out and walked to the building. His legs were heavy. His head was pounding. He hadn't slept in almost twenty-four hours.

He climbed the stairs to the second floor and knocked on the door of 2B. Two quick knocks. Then three.

No answer.

He knocked again. Harder.

"Elizabeth. It's George. Open up."

The door cracked open. Elizabeth's face appeared in the gap. Her eyes were red. She'd been crying.

"Where's Christopher?" George asked.

"Inside. He's sleeping." Elizabeth opened the door wider. "What happened to you? You look like hell."

"Arthur happened. Maya happened." George stepped inside. "Where's my mother?"

Elizabeth pointed to the bedroom. "She's resting. She had a panic attack after you left. I gave her something to calm down."

George walked to the bedroom door and opened it. Eleanor was lying on the bed, fully dressed, her eyes closed. Her breathing was steady.

He closed the door and turned back to Elizabeth.

"We need to leave. Now. Arthur knows about this place. He knows about you. He knows about everything."

Elizabeth's face went pale. "How?"

"Maya told him. Maya's been working for Arthur for two years."

"Maya?" Elizabeth shook her head. "No. Maya helped me. Maya was the one who told me about Eleanor. About the medication. She helped me plan everything."

"She was playing both sides. She helped you because Arthur wanted her to. He wanted to keep you close. Control the narrative."

Elizabeth sat down on the couch. Her hands were shaking.

"I trusted her."

"We all did." George sat across from her. "There's more. Arthur shot Maya tonight. At the cabin where he was holding my father. I don't know if she's alive."

"Oh my God."

"He also has a gun. And he's not afraid to use it." George leaned forward. "We need to get your family out of here. My mother. Christopher. You. Abigail. Everyone."

Elizabeth stood up. "Abigail is at work. She's a paralegal at a law firm downtown. I can call her—"

"Call her. Tell her to meet us somewhere safe. Not here."

Elizabeth pulled out her phone and dialed. While she talked, George walked to the window and pulled back the curtain.

The parking lot was still empty.

But across the street, a black sedan was parked at the curb.

It hadn't been there when George arrived.

"Elizabeth," George said quietly. "We have company."

Elizabeth hung up. "What?"

George pointed to the sedan. "That car. It wasn't there five minutes ago."

Elizabeth looked. Her face went white.

"That's the same car. From the boathouse. The night we took Julian."

George's blood ran cold. "You said you didn't know who was in that car."

"I didn't. I still don't. But I recognize the plates." Elizabeth backed away from the window. "They found us."

"Not yet. They're watching. Waiting." George turned from the window. "Does this building have a back entrance?"

"Fire escape. In the kitchen. It leads to the alley behind the building."

"Good. Wake up Christopher. Wake up my mother. We're leaving in two minutes."

Elizabeth ran to the bedroom. George went to the kitchen. He opened the window and looked down at the alley. Empty. No cars. No people.

He could hear Elizabeth's voice through the wall—low, urgent, trying not to scare Christopher.

George went back to the living room and looked out the front window again.

The black sedan was still there. Two figures inside. He couldn't see their faces.

His phone buzzed. He'd forgotten—Elizabeth had given him a burner phone before he left. He pulled it out.

A text from an unknown number.

*Don't be stupid, George. Come out with your hands up. No one has to get hurt.*

George didn't reply.

He went to the bedroom. Eleanor was awake now, confused and scared. Christopher was holding his mother's hand, his face pale.

"We're going out the back," George said. "Stay low. Stay quiet. Don't stop until you reach the alley."

Elizabeth nodded. She took Christopher's hand and led him to the kitchen. George helped Eleanor to her feet.

His mother was weak. Her legs shook. But she walked.

They climbed out the kitchen window onto the fire escape. The metal stairs were old and rusted. They creaked with every step.

George went first. Then Eleanor. Then Elizabeth and Christopher.

Halfway down, a voice called out from the street.

"George! I know you're in there. Don't make this harder than it needs to be."

Arthur.

George's heart pounded. He kept moving.

They reached the alley. George helped Eleanor down the last few steps. Elizabeth lifted Christopher over the railing.

"Which way?" Elizabeth whispered.

"North. Toward the river. There's a parking garage four blocks up. We can hide there."

They ran.

The alley was dark and narrow. Trash cans lined the walls. A cat hissed and disappeared into the shadows.

Behind them, George heard a door slam. The front door of the apartment building.

Arthur had gone inside.

He'd find the apartment empty. The window open. He'd know where they went.

They had maybe three minutes.

George grabbed Eleanor's hand and pulled her faster. Elizabeth carried Christopher. The boy was crying silently, his face buried in his mother's shoulder.

They reached the end of the alley and turned onto a side street. The parking garage was three blocks away. Two blocks. One.

George could hear footsteps behind them. Running. Fast.

"Go!" he shouted.

They burst into the parking garage. The concrete walls echoed their footsteps. Cars were parked on every level. Dim fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

George looked for an exit. A stairwell. An elevator. Anything.

"There!" Elizabeth pointed to a stairwell door.

They ran to it. George pushed it open. The stairs led up.

"Top level," George said. "We can see everything from up there. Hide between the cars."

They climbed. Eleanor was struggling—her breath came in gasps. George half-carried her.

They reached the top level. The roof was open to the sky. Cars were scattered across the concrete—maybe fifty of them. Some covered with tarps. Others dusty and abandoned.

Elizabeth pulled Christopher behind a large SUV. George helped Eleanor to the ground.

"Stay here," George said. "Don't move. Don't make a sound."

"Where are you going?" Elizabeth grabbed his arm.

"To lead him away."

"No. George—"

"He's my brother. He won't kill me." George pulled his arm free. "But he'll kill all of you. Stay here. Give me ten minutes."

He didn't wait for an answer.

George ran back down the stairs. His footsteps echoed in the concrete stairwell. He reached the ground floor and pushed through the door into the parking garage.

Arthur was there.

Standing in the middle of the aisle, gun in his hand. His face was flushed. His shirt was wet with sweat.

"You should have stayed in the apartment," Arthur said.

"You should have stayed in Rhode Island."

Arthur laughed. It was an ugly sound. "You always had to be the smart one. The one who left. The one who was too good for all of this."

"I never said I was too good. I said I was tired."

"Tired of what?"

"Tired of lying. Tired of pretending this family wasn't rotting from the inside." George took a step closer. "Tired of watching you become exactly what Dad was."

Arthur's face twisted. "I'm nothing like Dad."

"You're exactly like him. You both think the ends justify the means. You both think lying is the same as protecting. You both destroy everyone around you and call it love."

"Shut up."

"Dad poisoned Mom for eight years. You're doing the same thing to everyone else. Except you're not using pills. You're using fear."

Arthur raised the gun. "I said shut up."

George didn't stop. "You shot Maya. The woman who loved you. Who trusted you. Who helped you because she believed in you. And you shot her without hesitation."

"She was going to betray me."

"She was going to stop you. There's a difference."

Arthur's hand was shaking now. His eyes were wild.

"I didn't want any of this," Arthur said. His voice cracked. "I just wanted to protect the family."

"Then put the gun down. Come with me. We'll go to the police together. We'll tell them everything."

"Everything? You mean the money? The kidnapping? The fact that I've been lying to everyone for years?" Arthur shook his head. "I'd go to prison."

"Maybe. But at least you'd be able to look at yourself in the mirror."

Arthur stared at George for a long moment.

Then he lowered the gun.

"You're right," Arthur said quietly. "I can't do this anymore."

He dropped the gun. It clattered on the concrete.

George let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.

"Thank you," George said.

Arthur nodded. His eyes were wet.

Then a gunshot rang out.

Arthur jerked. His eyes went wide. A red stain spread across his chest.

He fell.

George spun around.

Vincent was standing at the other end of the aisle. A gun in his hand. Smoke rising from the barrel.

"I can," Vincent said. "I can look at myself in the mirror just fine."

He aimed the gun at George.

"Now. Where's Christopher?"