Chapter 4 - The Skeleton KeyArthur looked between them with deep suspicion, clearly sensing that the air in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. But protocol and the pressure of a three-hundred-guest wedding forced his hand. He cleared his throat awkwardly, muttered an apology, and ushered the remaining intruders back out into the hallway, pulling the splintered door mostly shut behind them.
The click of the latch sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.
As soon as they were alone again, Julian lunged across the space between them. He didn't care about the wedding dress, the makeup, or the fragile peace. He grabbed Clara by her bare shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh with enough pressure to bruise.
"Open it," Julian hissed, his face inches from hers. "Open it right now, Clara. Who is in there?"
Clara didn't flinch. She simply looked down at his hands gripping her shoulders, then back up into his terrified eyes. A dark, morbid satisfaction played at the corners of her mouth.
"You want to see her?" Clara challenged softly. "You want to face what you left behind in the dark, Julian? Go ahead. The key is in the lock."
Julian released her as if she had turned into a hot iron. He turned slowly toward the massive mahogany wardrobe. Its dark, polished surface seemed to absorb the light around it, casting an unnatural chill into the room. He took a step forward, his boots heavy on the floorboards. His hand reached out, trembling violently, and grasped the brass key still dangling from the keyhole.
He remembered this wardrobe. It had belonged to Eleanor's family. It was supposed to have been sold off with the rest of her estate after her tragic disappearance. Why was it here, in the very guest house Julian had rented for his new bride?
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With a sharp intake of breath, Julian turned the key. Click.
He pulled the heavy left door open.
