Chapter 10 - The Locked Ward in the East Tower
The East Tower of the St. Jude Estate was the oldest part of the castle, a massive stone structure built in the fifteenth century, accessible only by a narrow, winding spiral staircase. It was here, behind a heavy iron-reinforced oak door, that Julian Vance—Daniel’s father—was kept under twenty-four-hour medical care.
Daniel swiped his brass master key through the electronic lock, pushing the heavy door open.
The air inside the tower room was warm, medicinal, smelling of antiseptic and stale lavender. High above, narrow lancet windows offered a view of the stormy gray sea, casting long, dramatic beams of pale light across the room.
In the center of the room sat a high-tech hospital bed. Lying under a heavy wool blanket was Julian Vance. At seventy, the patriarch of the family looked like a hollow shell of his former self—his face gaunt, his skin yellowed, his white hair thin and wispy. His eyes were open, staring blankly at the stone ceiling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, mechanical breaths.
Clara walked softly to the side of the bed, her hand gently touching the old man's cold wrist. She felt his pulse—weak, thready, erratic.
"He's being poisoned right now, Daniel," Clara whispered, looking up at the IV pole standing beside the bed. A clear plastic bag filled with saline hung from a stainless-steel hook, its tube leading down into a small, automated infusion pump attached to Julian’s arm.
Daniel walked over to the pump, his face dark with fury. He inspected the digital readout on the pump’s screen. "The dose is programmed for two milliliters every three hours. It's a micro-dose. It bypasses standard blood tests unless you specifically look for heavy metals."
He reached out, his hand wrapping around the main power cable of the infusion pump, and yanked it violently from the wall socket.
The digital screen died instantly with a quiet beep.
"We're unhooking him," Daniel said, reaching down to carefully remove the IV needle from his father's arm, pressing a piece of sterile gauze against the tiny puncture mark.
As the needle came free, the old man on the bed let out a faint, shuddering gasp. His eyes, previously dull and unmoving, slowly rolled toward his son. His pale lips parted, trembling violently as he tried to form a word.
"D... Dan... iel..." a raspy, gravelly voice whispered from the depths of the old man's throat.
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Daniel froze. His gray eyes widened as he dropped to his knees beside the bed, grabbing his father’s fragile hand. "Father? Can you hear me?"
Julian Vance’s fingers twitched, weakly curling around Daniel’s hand. "She... she... behind... the mirror..." the old man croaked, every syllable an agonizing effort. "The... key... behind... the mirror..."
