It was a dark evening. The sun was just beginning to fall below the mountainous horizon and it stole any warmth that had previously been gifted to the world. At this altitude, the air could be as frigid as the dead of winter but it made Mr. Sutcliffe feel closer to heaven to stand so high above the rest.
The car slowly rolled to a stop in front of a castle of a house. A grand staircase of cream sandstone marched up to the front door, colossal in size and standing at massive attention to all guests who arrive. The rest of the manor launched into the sky, catching clouds between its highest peeks and splitting day into night. When he was younger, Mr. Sutcliffe used to lay on the ground at the base of the manor and bask at the height of its towers. He even used to wonder if it would someday float off into space.
But the manor has endured and space had not yet taken it captive, much to Mr. Sutcliffe's pleasure.
He waited for his valet to open the door then he rose from the backseat of a jet black limousine, buttoning the bottom of his soot colored suit jacket. He brushed back his chocolate hair that just last week had begun to grey along the sides, and he straightened his signature maroon tie. It was his favorite color and he believed wholeheartedly that it brought him good fortune.
But he has been known to be wrong on an occasion or two.
"Good evening, Mr. Sutcliffe. Welcome again to Thorne Manor." Harrington greeted. He bowed politely at the waist with a hand across his midsection to prevent his white shirt from wrinkling. Black slacks were pressed and crisp, as were the black suspenders holding them in place. Such were the expectations of a Thorne Manor butler, to be clean and pristine. When he rose, the softest breeze made his handlebar mustache twitch on a smile, "We have been expecting you, sir."
"Good to see you, Harrington. It has been a time since my last visit." Mr. Sutcliffe said sincerely. Harrington had been a butler here since Mr. Sutcliffe was a boy. He remembered spilling a bottle of his mother's favorite wine on a stark white couch in the library, and it was only due to Harrington's inept knowledge of household care that Mr. Sutcliffe avoided a beating. Knowing that Harrington was still here eased some concern Mr. Sutcliffe had felt at being summoned to Thorne Manor so abruptly, "I presume I am the last to arrive?"
"As always, sir." Harrington gestured to the staircase and the door beyond, "Right this way, sir."
Mr. Sutcliffe began a climb of elegance and shuffled up the steps with Harrington only a pause behind. Heights stretched above them, dull lights hanging around darkened windows and vines highlighted only by the receding rays of a dying sun. It was a magnificent building, complete with wide arches and sprawling grounds, a horse stable and an expansive garden, a lake beyond the surrounding trees, and half a mountainside under its territory. It was as impressive as it was elusive, a hidden gem known only by word of mouth from guests that visited the seasonal masquerades. Even then, only society's richest were invited to these grounds.
And no one steps foot in Thorne Manor who hasn't been invited.
For all its worth and debonair reputation, Mr. Sutcliffe has always enjoyed visiting the estate. As good friends with the Hawthorne family, he summered here often as a boy and it imprinted positively on him in his youth. Now as an adult, he found his love for this place even greater. Like a dream he has relentlessly chased or a hope he kept safe from the slaughter of adulthood.
Harrington hurried ahead and heaved open a door even giants could pass through without difficulty. Mr. Sutcliffe entered the manor and Harrington rushed through silent struggle to close the door then scurry behind to follow the man through the foyer. Delicate clicks of leather shoes against clean marble floors echoed throughout the otherwise silent mansion.
Once inside, Mr. Sutcliffe was pleased to find that not much had changed since his previous visit many years prior. The entirety of this astounding structure was swept in heavy curtains and white columns, classical decorations and mahogany trim, dark walls and long hallways, high ceilings and crystal chandeliers. It was the kind of place one only finds in paintings of time before rationality and bore, a time before all was known and frontiers were still waiting to be explored. Perhaps that is why Mr. Sutcliffe adored it, because here he could still pretend the world wasn't quite so small.
As a boy, this place was his Neverland. As an adult, it is his only bridge to what he once believed and what he desperately missed.
After passing the ballroom, the dining hall, and various darkened doorways that led to a variety of destinations, Harrington stopped outside the closed doors of the library and dropped a hand onto the large handle, "Your arrival is anticipated, sir. I will be around shortly with refreshments."
"Thank you, Harrington." Mr. Sutcliffe clapped him on the shoulder, as one would an old friend. To him, he considered the aging butler to be a close acquaintance even if they were separated by social status and family ranks. Regardless, both men smiled, "It is good to be back here."
"Likewise, sir."
Mr. Sutcliffe entered the library eagerly and, like every time before, he was brought to a standstill by the sheer size of the room. Shelves climbed from floor to ceiling, as high as the eye could see, vast oceans of literature with galaxies of words just waiting to be chosen and read by curious minds. Mr. Sutcliffe had spent hours upon days in this library, lost between shelves and imprisoned between pages. While the other children played tag in the meadows or hide-and-seek within the shrub labyrinth, Mr. Sutcliffe quite enjoyed the solitude of a room as full, and as empty, as this one.
But now, the library was no longer his lonely haven. On this night, there were four others who joined him here, crowded around a blazing fire behind a brick barricade. Their heads turned when the door opened and they greeted their old friend warmly.
"Oh, Mr. Sutcliffe! We were wondering when you would arrive." A woman uncrossed her legs and danced up from her chair, as beautiful and graceful as the satin fabric of her blood red dress. Dark hair tumbled down her open back, curled to perfection, and diamonds glittered around her neck and wrist. Her heels cracked against the ground under her confident stride, feminine but deadly, a trait all the woman of her family had inherited. She embraced Mr. Sutcliffe and squeezed tighter when he moved to separate, "It has been too long. Where have you been hiding?"
"You look more ravishing than I last remember, Ms. Carmichael." Mr. Sutcliffe stroked her cheek fondly. She was only three years his junior but one would guess decades between their ages. She was spring's first flower, always in youth and beauty. If caught by her bright eyes or bewitching smile, any man or woman may concede to her worship. That was her power and she wielded it as mighty as any sword. Mr. Sutcliffe happily allowed his smile, "Will you ever tell us your secrets, how is it you haven't aged a day when the rest of us have withered?"
Ms. Carmichael dropped her gaze on a blush, "Oh you naughty boy, Mr. Sutcliffe, making my heart skip the way you do."
The two of them were always close, but only as a brother and sister would be. He considered her a diamond amongst the dirt they grew up with, and she found him to be more considerate than the wolves she was used to in their pretentious upbringing. They found solace in each other's authenticity, using each other as a natural oasis in the desert of their grandiose lifestyle.
But Ms. Carmichael was no stranger to slander. Her long sustaining and scandalous misconduct was brought on by her notorious relationship with Mr. Donahue, who stood just behind her, beaming like a child at the newest arrival to this eleventh hour social.
Mr. Donahue was a good looking man with spirited undertones in his water soft blonde hair and storm cloud eyes. His smile could drive gods from their heights and his silver tongue worked wonders in business dealings. He was a calm fellow, quiet and content with simplicity. Where many of their colleagues had loudly flaunted their inheritance, Mr. Donahue enjoyed it courteously and civilly.
Mr. Sutcliffe has long envied him for that regal sense of propriety. Nonetheless, the man has his hidden skeletons and many a heart have been broken by that dazzling grin and irresistible hunger for adventure. When arranged marriages were sweeping through their generation, Mr. Donahue denied a ring by disappearing into jungles and running through unexplored tombs. He was as much a pioneer as anyone in this small group, for their differences were only mended by their unquenchable obsession for never ending journeys into the great unknown.
But those days of youthful rebellion were buried and he now belonged to Ms. Carmichael, even if their accompaniment has been mentioned only behind backs and out of earshot.
"We were not sure you would make it." Mr. Donahue confessed. He too embraced Mr. Sutcliffe and held him firm, as they once did when children, "Where have you been, old chap? Too busy in your trade to make time for childhood friends?"
Before Mr. Sutcliffe could respond, a snickering laugh cut through the merry reunions, "Ah ha, you think he fancies a lively day? Don't you remember when he wasted an afternoon walking old Granny Montgomery through the gardens?"
No one regarded Mr. Dankworth's interjection and it went without answer. He was a chess piece that hardly ever remained on the board, because his presence at any function was highly unanticipated and ill-welcomed. But his family was as rich as any other and deeply rooted in their civilization, so he continued to attend every occasion by means of rank rather than relation. His status amongst the other children had been established mostly through crude pranks and unwanted bullying, the kind of child who stomped off to mommy and daddy if he lost or was not chosen first to play.
When no one acknowledged him, Mr. Dankworth scratched back the mess of bright orange curls that often hung out of place on his forehead, "Well kick the pot then, goodness me. I'll just keep to myself if I reckon to be ignored."
"That would be best." Ms. Carmichael replied sweetly. She rubbed Mr. Sutcliffe's arm and ushered him into a seat closer to the fire, "Pay him no mind, we certainly have not."
Mr. Dankworth cursed her but quickly pretended to examine a nearby book when Mr. Donahue turned an evil eye upon him.
The last of their members cleared his throat to refocus the group.
Near the fire, sitting behind a broad desk of the darkest wood money could by, sat a man who displayed his years more than his comrades. A thick beard and leather skin, a scar over his eye from a fight with a madman of his past, and tense shoulders that held more weight because his family name carried more responsibility. Richest of them all, also the most wise.
"Welcome back to Thorne Manor, my dear friends." His voice, deep and grating, weighed so heavy that it dragged along the ground like chains from a man on death row. His hands were folded atop his desk, making the sleeves of his dark suit ride up his wrists to reveal golden bracelets even the most audacious aristocrats could not afford. He wore them with pride and demanded respect of their worth, "I have found myself quite pitiful in these recent years, without seeing you all. The halls of my home have indeed been depressed, but they are now brightened by your arrival."
"Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Hawthorne." Mr. Sutcliffe smiled and it made the hellish host humph on a quiet laugh.
Mr. Hawthorne has always been a rock amongst sand. From the youngest age, he was schooled in what was considered proper or otherwise. He was expected to act as an heir would appropriately behave and even as a child, he viewed the world through olden eyes that only saw regulation and order. He did not play as the other children played, he walked tall and straight with his head on strong shoulders and a spine made of wrought iron.
That was his curse, one he happily accepted because he knew of no other way. The Hawthorne family was a lineage of honor and pure untainted blood, they were at the top of a very expensive hierarchy.
And they liked it up there.
"You have taken great care of our beloved manor, Mr. Hawthorne." Ms. Carmichael complimented. She settled beside Mr. Sutcliffe, with Mr. Donahue at her shoulder, and the three of them agreed on the extravagant affairs of this eccentric household, "Many memories were created here, I hope many more for the generations to come."
Mr. Hawthorne, like them all, had the softest regard for Ms. Carmichael. His thunderous voice eased to gentle rain when he spoke to her, "As do I, Ms. Carmichael. She will house children once again and soon, if I may be so bold." Sheepish laughs were exchanged at the notion he made between Ms. Carmichael and Mr. Donahue, "But for now, I believe these old walls are enjoying the quiet of confinement."
"Then why bring us all here, old man?" Mr. Dankworth checked his watch and tapped the face, as if it were reading a time he did not care for, "Surely you have important matters to discuss, otherwise why bring us all the way here? So let us proceed to whatever you might have to say."
While the others sat in contempt of Mr. Dankworth's intrusion, Mr. Hawthorne sighed into his chair and stroked his beard in thought, "I do hope the journey was not troublesome. I often forget how difficult these mountains can be to navigate, considering I hardly ever leave."
"Do not bother yourself with our travel." Mr. Donahue insisted, "I found the trip to be quite nostalgic. Although, I haven't made the hike since that last meeting of our families when we were young. What was it, for your parents anniversary I believe?"
Ms. Carmichael clapped joyously at the memory, "Quite so! I had just turned seventeen, it was my favorite summer. The flowers were in bloom and the forest was so green that year – oh Dankworth, you remember, don't you? You got lost and the hunting party had to be sent out to bring you back. You were a blubbering mess, only half a mile from the grounds and squawking like a chicken."
Laughter sprouted throughout the group but Dankworth simmered in his corner, grumbling incoherently about confusing paths and chasing shadows.
"I remember that summer well, it was the last time we all came together like this." Mr. Hawthorne spoke, unusually quiet for his boisterous nature.
Mr. Sutcliffe noticed before the others did, he has always been observant. He asked in concern, "Is everything alright, Mr. Hawthorne? You seem a bit off it, man."
Near silent clinking announced Harrington's arrival and he distributed a tray full of smooth brandy amongst the men, and a heated glass of whiskey for the lady at her own request. They thanked the butler and waited for his exit before Mr. Hawthorne made his reveal, "Well, it is with unfortunate intention that I invite you here tonight. In fact, I wish it had not come to this at all."
That made the remaining guests abruptly uneasy and it heightened their awareness of the dread that has been cloaked around Mr. Hawthorne since their arrival. But it was Ms. Carmichael who realized the lack of complete membership. She looked around and asked, "Where is Ms. Marlowe?"
They waited for an answer but Mr. Hawthorne was selfish in his response, holding his voice.
"Did she not receive an invitation?" Mr. Donahue pressed, but not because he didn't already know the answer. Of course she had received an invitation, but her absence was unusual for the always punctual woman. Silence followed his question, acknowledged only by the crackle of an eavesdropping fire.
"Her invitation was nulled." Mr. Hawthorne eventually mumbled.
The group surged to their feet but none as fast as Ms. Carmichael.
The glass slipped from her hand and shattered across the wooden floor. Seconds after those fragmented shards had come to settle, Harrington appeared with a broom in hand just as Ms. Carmichael fell under her tears, "How can that be? Are you sure?"
"I am afraid so, Annabelle." Mr. Hawthorne hated himself for saying so.
"No!" She stumbled forward but her heel caught on the carpet and she tripped into Mr. Donahue's arms. She held him tightly with nails sharp enough to pierce skin, "You mean she is ... she is," Her lips trembled, "Dead?"
The manor's ghosts erupted through the room at the pain in her last word.
"I have kept tabs on all of you over the years but when Ms. Marlowe vanished from my sights, I sent my men to check on her." Mr. Hawthorne bowed his head in respect for their fallen, "They found her but she had already passed."
Mr. Donahue tightened his hold around the mourning lady and she collapsed into him completely, sobbing for her lost friend. Ms. Marlowe was the best of them, sweet and intelligent, as kindhearted as they come. She was a woman of faith and deliverance, always going out of her way to help those around her.
"What happened?"
The devastated question came not from the crying woman, but from an isolated man. Despite all his faults and wrongdoings, Ms. Marlowe never treated Mr. Dankworth unequally. She spoke with him softly and walked with him slowly, and she listened to his words even if they were suffocated by self indulgence and rude exposition. No one liked Mr. Dankworth, then or now, but Ms. Marlowe made him feel included.
She made him feel important, if only to one person and if only for a short while.
Mr. Dankworth unintentionally stumbled closer, eyes wide and skin paled. Again he asked, "What happened to Grace?"
The others did not know but Mr. Dankworth once confided in Mr. Hawthorne about his unacceptable love for Ms. Marlowe. He never would have acted on it ... and now, he never will.
Mr. Hawthorne pitied the poor heartbroken fellow, "She was found in her Paris loft ... poisoned."
Mr. Dankworth fell against the closest bookshelf and several leather bound victims slapped against the floor. Ms. Carmichael turned her face into Mr. Donahue's chest, she wept in beautiful sputters and crystal tears.
Behind them all, Mr. Sutcliffe steadied himself in recollection of his last interaction with Ms. Marlowe. It was the summer before last, in the heat of a scorching August evening. At a small table on Mr. Sutcliffe's estate, Ms. Marlowe sipped politely at her China teacup while she informed her company about an upcoming trip she was making to acquire a very particular item.
"The Founder's Treasure." Mr. Sutcliffe muttered. Everything became still, including the cries and suffering of Ms. Marlowe's closest companions. Mr. Hawthorne dropped knowing eyes on Mr. Sutcliffe and the severity of the matter weighed disastrously on the shoulders of the last arriving member, "She was after the Founder's Treasure, wasn't she?"
Ms. Carmichael crutched herself against Mr. Donahue, using him to help her stand straighter, "No. That is ridiculous. It is suicide to go after that treasure, Grace would have known that."
"She has been talking about it ever since we were young." Mr. Dankworth recalled.
"I never thought she would be brave enough to go through with it." Mr. Donahue gaped.
Mr. Sutcliffe nervously pulled at the hem of his suit jacket, "She visited me awhile back. With her, she brought maps and journals, an arsenal of information about the Founder. She begged me to accompany her."
"Why you?" Mr. Dankworth fired.
"I don't know." Mr. Sutcliffe admitted, "She said she needed my help, but she did not mention why. And ..." He did not want to say this out loud, for fear of what its birth might provoke, "She hoped for my student to travel with us as well."
Although Mr. Hawthorne had already known most of what Mr. Sutcliffe revealed to the others, he was not aware about the student's inclusion, "Why is that?"
Mr. Sutcliffe horrifically remembered the look of absolute misery on Mr. Marlowe's face when he told her that his student would not be involved in the affairs of the Founder's Treasure under any circumstance. He now regretted being so harsh to her, "I'm afraid I do not know."
"What of Ms. Marlowe's student?" Ms. Carmichael abruptly asked.
Mr. Hawthorne looked out a nearby window, "Ophelia is missing."
Collectively, the group slipped into a panic. Mr. Donahue momentarily forgot his hold on Ms. Carmichael and he stepped up to the desk with a sharp hand that smacked the wooden surface, "Are the rest of our students in danger?"
Even Mr. Dankworth had pulled out his phone to send a word of caution to his pupil.
"Please, all of you, compose yourselves!" Mr. Hawthorne boomed. The four of them froze under his authority. He leaned forward, propping both elbows on the desktop, "Up until now, none of you knew of these occurrences. If your students were in danger, there would have been signs that would have been difficult to ignore."
Mr. Donahue stepped away from the desk, suddenly feeling intrusive for approaching sacred space so aggressively, "What do you make of all this, Abraham?"
Mr. Hawthorne finally stood from the desk. He was a mountain of a man, as impressive and awing as the manor he took refuge in. Built sturdy and chiseled from lifelong schooling, he was no less of a god than Zeus who sent thunder and lightning in the farthest distance of the manor. Storms rolled closer and this cluster of friends were not nearly prepared for what was coming.
"As of this moment, we do not know who killed Ms. Marlowe or who kidnapped Ophelia. What we do know is that something malevolent is afoot and it involves all of us ... and unfortunately, it involves our students as well. So it is with that caution that I have invited you here this night." Against the window, his entire silhouette was charred. His hands clasped behind his back, "I encourage you all to practice utmost caution in the coming days. Ms. Marlowe has dragged us all into her hunt and I fear we are very outmatched."
Ms. Carmichael shivered at his warning, "What do we do, Abraham? Please tell us."
"I want you all to go home. Halt whatever projects you are working on, instruct your students to do the same. We will lay low until the matters of the Founder's Treasure are buried once again. Only then will we be able to move on." Mr. Hawthorne turned slowly, which caused the rising moon to catch only the crevices of his wary expression, "Lock your doors and bolt your windows, trust no one. I will reach out to you all once more is known but until then, it would be best if we do not see each other."
Mr. Donahue and Ms. Carmichael held one another, Mr. Dankworth was hunched over the fireplace, and Mr. Sutcliffe stood behind them all. He felt there was something he had missed from his meeting with Ms. Marlowe. Why would she go to him of all people? They were close friends but nothing remarkable. So why did she need him in this matter?
Something tickled the back of his mind ... something that might make some sense. But if it were true, then all of them were in much more danger than anyone could possibly foresee.
The group spent another few hours together, sharing stories of Grace Marlowe and the wonders she left in this world. They spoke of how quickly she learned to ride a horse when they were young, and how she jumped into the lake to save Mr. Donahue's younger cousin who had wandered in accidentally. They shared their favorite memories of her smile and her laughter, and the way her dresses danced in the wind when she ran. They shared happy moments and sad, the tears she shed at her grandfather's funeral and again when her parents sent her away to boarding school.
But thankfully they all went to that school together and that is where their secret club had been initiated. Five friends who felt ostracized from the other children by the wealth of their families, gathered in the seclusion of a boarding school courtyard where they unanimously decided to hunt for treasure and endlessly search for adventures.
When alcohol ran dry and stories pitted into emptiness, the group bid one another farewell. Mr. Hawthorne showed them to the door, stopping them in the foyer for one last lingering moment, "I have to say, regardless of the reason, I am happy to have seen you all. This mansion feels too large without friends to fill it."
Ms. Carmichael reached up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek and she stayed there to hold him in a swelling embrace, "We all will be together again."
Mr. Donahue hugged the host tightly, almost fearful to let go, "Mind yourself, man."
"The same to you, old friend." Mr. Hawthorne demanded warmly. They parted after a long while but did not separate. Mr. Hawthorne lightly tapped his friend's cheek, "I expect to have a drink with you soon, perhaps after the hunting season."
"I'll count down the days." Mr. Donahue promised.
Ms. Carmichael slipped into a black velvet coat and flicked her hair out from the collar, "Luther, drive me home?"
Mr. Donahue obliged immediately, "It would be my pleasure."
The two departed together and waved goodbye once inside Mr. Donahue's limousine. The three remaining men watched them off and then Mr. Dankworth sighed, "It may not mean much ... but I did not realize how much I missed this place. As a child, I thought it was a punishment to visit so often just because our parents did. But now, I see why they frequented."
"It means more than you may believe, Gilbert." Mr. Hawthorne revealed, kindly. He embraced Mr. Dankworth with the same sincerity as he had the previous two, and he patted his back, "There will be more opportunities to return."
Mr. Dankworth was surprised by how comforting that was to hear. He nodded his head to Mr. Sutcliffe but left without a word.
Being the last to arrive and the last to leave, that was Mr. Sutcliffe's personal vendetta. He shook hands with Mr. Hawthorne, strong but slow, "I hope you know that I never forgot this place. Or you. We get so busy with our lives and our reputations but it all started here, and we feel that in everything we do."
Mr. Hawthorne glanced up at the fortress he owned, "I don't blame any of you. Sometimes I think to leave but ... well, you know I could never."
Mr. Sutcliffe once thought the same, to stay here forever and forget the evolving world around them. But it was not his palace to keep and so he could not hide here. Instead, he went off into the world he so cruelly hated and he made a name for himself. A name he would forfeit in a heartbeat if it meant returning to this manor in the summer of his youth when books and games and irresponsible dreams were his only means of sustenance.
"For us all to meet would be dangerous but ... for you Everett, please come back soon. Thorne Manor is as much yours as it is mine." Mr. Hawthorne declared.
That made Mr. Sutcliffe's heart throb joyously and he agreed ardently to return as soon as possible.
But unknowingly to both men, Mr. Sutcliffe would never again return to Thorne Manor.
This was, regrettably, his last visit.
Mr. Sutcliffe called for his limousine and he slid into the back seat after one last wistful glance at the manor he so dearly loved and the man who was living his dream. Then the limousine started its long trek back down the mountainside.
Upon returning to his home, Mr. Sutcliffe sat down at his desk in a much smaller version of the Thorne Manor library. In his mind, he replayed his last meeting with Ms. Marlowe and noted every aspect of her odd behavior on that day. But above all else, he remembered the document she had delicately placed in front of him ... the very first sentence still burned against his eyes as though he were reading from that paper set ablaze by the sun. Those words were unforgettable ...
Can you solve my riddle?
Mr. Sutcliffe spent no less than ten quick seconds contemplating what he knew must be done, even though he despised himself for coming to this distressing decision. He then dialed a number into his rotary phone and waited for the receiver to answer.
"Hello, this is Everett. Listen carefully, I want you to send everything to Bel. Yes, everything." Mr. Sutcliffe had his worries about involving his student but if his assumptions were correct, then Ms. Marlowe's mistake was about to cost him greatly ... and time for contemplation was slipping through his fingers like sand in an hourglass. Mr. Sutcliffe loosened his tie and said again, "Send it all. I will discuss it with him tomorrow. Just make sure he gets it."
No sooner had he hung up, there was a soft rustle behind him.
"Welcome home, Everett."
Mr. Sutcliffe went stiff at the sound of that familiar voice. He did not turn, for he did not need or want to see the traitor located behind him, "What are you doing here?"
"What did you send to Bel?"
Mr. Sutcliffe nearly toppled out of his seat, "You leave him out of this, do you hear me? That boy is innocent."
"Not anymore." There was a quiet click, the feel of cold metal against skin, and the threat of impending doom, "Tell me, what did you send him?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." Mr. Sutcliffe responded smoothly. He did not try to run, he did not try to fight. He knew what was coming and although he was scared, he would not spend his last moments on this earth catering to an act of terrorism, "This will not be as clean as Ms. Marlowe's death."
"I would not dare insult you like that. You were never one who would have gone quietly into the night, you would rather make a grand entrance into the afterlife just as you made a grand entrance to everything else." The gun pressed harder against his skull, "One last chance, Everett. Tell me what you know."
"Do not go after my student." Mr. Sutcliffe warned. He leaned back in his chair, arms on the rests and feet flat on the floor. He closed his eyes and prepared to meet his end as cordially as he had met with friends this past night, "You know not what you have done, already there is a target on your back. But of all people on this earth, Bel is one you should not tempt. That is all I have to say."
"Then you have wasted your final breath."
The trigger pulled, the gun fired. A man who has always been last, was now one of the first to depart.
And without a single witness, Everett Sutcliffe died.
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Hello!!
Welcome to another fun, action packed, suspenseful story! I am so excited to write this, it is going to be one hell of a ride so buckle up and hold on tight ;)
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Thank you everyone! And please, enjoy the hunt!
xoxo