Poe Party (Rewritten) - Heliot

Chapter 11: The Tell-Tale Heart

Anne laughed. "Some of you may remember me from novels such as The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - or from killing some of your friends tonight."

"Put up your dukes, woman!" Hemingway said, raising his fists. Charlotte turned on him. "Woah, hey, woah. That's a-"

"You have a gun?" Lenore said.

"Have you had that the whole time?" Oscar asked.

"Of course!" Charlotte smiled.

"Where?" Ernest grinned.

She ignored the question. "It was a present from my lover, Anton Chekov."

"What?" Anne turned. "I've been seeing Anton."

"Me, too!" Oscar gasped. "That bastard!"

"This doesn't add up," Edgar said. "We were with Charlotte when Miss Eliot was being murdered."

"Then... who murdered Agatha Christie?" Ernest asked. "That happened at the same time."

"No," Edgar murmured. "It can't be."

The sisters smirked.

"Oh. It can." A man was at the head of the table - Eduardo Dantes. He stood up and slow clapped his way to where the others were standing. The Brontë sisters joined in and he silenced them. "No. No!"

He clapped one more time. "Congratulations, Mr. Poe. You figured it out."

"You. You murdered Annabel Lee!" Edgar accused.

"You're mad!" Oscar said.

"You fancy me mad? Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded - with what caution - with what foresight - with what dissimulation I went to work!"

"Get to the point!" Ernest said in a bored way.

"Ah! Mr. Hemingway. You do so value brevity. Would that your life may end up longer than your fictions. Fine. Earlier this evening, you had the honour of meeting my brother."

"Dostoevsky?" Lenore asked.

"No."

"HG Wells?" Ernest asked.

"No, not... HG Wells. My brother was in ghost form."

They all looked at him.

"He was a ghost," the man repeated.

"Dostoevsky," Oscar said.

"No, good god! ... Guy de Vere. The erstwhile fiancé of this Lenore."

"Edward?" Lenore said. "Guy's brother? You were always away! Guy missed you so much."

"Indeed. I, Eduardo Dantes, am in actuality Edward de Vere the sixth. By the time I had arrived home, Lenore had fallen ill and died. So consumed with grief was my brother that he ended his life. My hatred for Lenore was matched only by my hatred for one other: Krishanti - the psychic who brought Lenore back in ethereal form, but could not do the same for my brother."

"You killed her?" Oscar said.

"Mm. I did. I was quite happy when Mr. Wells pushed for her presence. Oh. Poor Lenore. It looked like you two were getting along quite well."

"Are you just trying to kill people that I care about?" Lenore asked. "Because you are overestimating how much I care about people."

"Oh, no, my dear. I had far greater aspirations for tonight. Perhaps you've heard of my great grandfather, Edward de Vere, 17th Earl of Oxford?"