Split

Chapter 29

29

A numb sense of detachment settles over me as I pause my steps to stare up at the dark exterior of the manor upon our return, Roman and Knox coming to a stop on either side and looking to me questioningly.

“I just need a minute,” I whisper, eyes fixed on the gothic arched windows above the heavy front door.

“Take your time,” Knox nods, continuing forward.

Roman hesitates for a moment, jaw tightening as he lingers in indecision. Then he, too, nods, starting after his brother toward the house.

Even their strides are identical. If it weren’t for the differences in the suits they’re wearing, I wouldn’t be able to tell the twins apart. It’s no wonder they were able to deceive me so easily.

Blowing out a measured breath, I pull my black fur stole tighter around my shoulders and swivel to glance out over the estate grounds. I hear the door to the manor open and close as the men retreat inside. The glow of the town car’s taillights fades in the distance, the sound of gravel beneath the tires growing more faint as Andrew drives away. It gives way to relative silence, save for the creepy nocturnal noises of the estate. A breeze rustles the leaves of the trees in the forest; the metal garden gate creaks on its hinges.

Everything about this place scared me when I first arrived, but now there’s an odd sense of comfort in the familiarity of it all. The same can be said for my husband. I don’t fear him quite like I used to, and there’s some semblance of relief in finally knowing the truth about the Volkov twins; in verifying that I actually haven’t been losing my mind here.

So many questions remain unanswered, but at the moment I’m still coming to grips with the reality of Jekyll and Hyde being two separate people. I’d thoroughly convinced myself the man I married had a split personality– I had the psychology texts to back up my theory. And even after Roman’s denial when I confronted him, I was sure I’d unearthed the truth and he was merely deflecting.

I should’ve known.

There’s always another side to the story.

The sudden sound of approaching footsteps startles me so much that I jump, whipping sideways to see a silhouette creeping toward me alongside the house, distorted by the shadows. I suck in a gasp, eyes widening in terror– but just as I’m about to scream, my father’s gardener steps out from the darkness and whispers my name.

“Wesley?” I choke, face screwing up in confusion. I dart a quick glance back and forth before rushing toward him, my heart leaping into my throat. “What are you doing here?” I hiss sharply.

I haven’t seen him since the day my father caught us in bed together and put a gun to his head, but he still looks the same. Shaggy blonde hair, pale blue eyes, lanky build. Startlingly small and boyish compared to Roman.

“I’m here to save you,” he breathes, his lips curving into a brittle smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. He reaches behind his back as I step in front of him, but then there’s a sudden blur of movement, a flash of something metallic, a spray of hot blood splashing across my face and chest.

Wesley’s hands fly up to clutch at his throat, split wide and gushing crimson. A garbled, choking sound escapes his ruddy lips as he collapses to the ground, my husband standing stone-faced behind him with a blood-drenched blade in his hand.

I stumble backwards, tripping over my heels as I frantically try to wipe the gore off my skin, shock and horror suffocating my lungs.

He killed him.

Roman– I mean Knox – just murdered sweet, innocent Wesley right before my eyes, and as he advances a step in my direction, it’s evident I’m next.

A burst of adrenaline rushes through me as survival instinct takes over, triggering my fight or flight response. Dropping my fur stole to the ground, I pivot around, kick off my heels, and run for my fucking life.

I can’t beat him in a foot race, so I make a mad dash for the manor, bursting through the front door and sprinting down the hall. I need somewhere to hide. The slap of my bare feet against the marble echoes around me as I pump my legs faster, bound for the study at the back of the house.

I hear one of the twins call my name, but there’s no way in hell I’m stopping to answer; not when my life depends on evading him. I dash into the study, straight to the bookcase with the hidden door behind it. Gripping onto the shelf, I throw my weight back to yank it open, registering the sound of footsteps pounding in the hall, approaching the room. The stone staircase descending to the tunnels is no more inviting than the first time I saw it, but I bolt down it nonetheless, intent on concealing myself in the dark.

My eyes don’t have nearly enough time to adjust to the pitch-black. I run as fast as I can, but I don’t make it far before I careen into a wall, the force of the collision knocking the wind out of me. I stumble back in a daze, spinning around in a circle as I frantically try to orient myself to my surroundings.

Run.

I need to run.

Squinting into the darkness, I just barely make out a diverging tunnel on my left, turning down it without any regard for where it leads.

“Eliza…”

One of them is down here with me. The deep, haunting voice echoes through the stone tunnel as I run faster, bare feet slapping against the cold slab underfoot. My chest heaves with exertion, throat raw from my ragged breathing.

“ Eliza …”

I skid to a stop as I hear my name called again, this time seemingly from somewhere ahead instead of behind.

The other twin.

They’re both here.

It’s so dark that I can barely make out anything in front of me. Biting my lip to stifle a whimper, I reach out to run my palms over the damp stone walls, desperately feeling around for an opening. They slip and slide against the rough surface, both from the moisture on the rock and the blood on my hands.

Wesley’s blood.

They killed him.

My fingers claw against the craggy wall as I frantically search for a way out. Just like the hedges, these tunnels are a labyrinth; a maze designed to disorient. A game.

The rock suddenly gives beneath my hands as I locate an opening in the roughly hewn stone, tripping forward into the space it creates. My knees bang against the floor as I go down hard, a pained cry escaping my lips on impact. I slap a hand over my mouth to suppress the sound, mentally cursing myself for giving up my location by making a noise.

“There isn’t anywhere you can run to that I won’t find you, wife ,” the disembodied voice mocks, echoing in the space around me like a death knell.

He sounds closer now. Too close.

I shove up to my feet, springing forward into the darkness at a full sprint. My panted breaths fog the air as they burst from my lips, my exposed arms covered with goosebumps. In the distance, there’s a hazy glow of light, and I can barely make out the rough edge of another opening– another turn.

I take it at full speed, immediately regretting my choice when I slam into a wall of stone, barely throwing my hands up in time to brace myself.

A fake opening.

A false hope.

As I stumble backwards, stunned and disoriented, a pair of strong arms suddenly wrap around my waist from behind, hauling me back against a muscular chest.

A scream tears from my throat as my feet scrabble for purchase against the cold floor, my fingernails digging into the flesh of the arms banded around my waist.

My captor leans down, his heavy breaths rustling my hair and his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispers, “Til death do us part, remember?”

“Let me go!” I shriek, kicking and clawing at him.

“Never,” he growls back.

My terrified scream pierces the air as he lifts me up and tosses me over his shoulder, banding his arms around my waist and thighs to secure me. I punch and flail, trying my damndest to escape him, but he’s too big; too strong. I’m at his mercy as he begins to carry me away down the dark tunnel.

A chilling wave of dread washes over me as the realization sinks in that this is it. I’m going to die, and there’s nothing I can do to prevent it. There’s no escaping the inevitability.

This is how our story ends.

Death parts us.

My ears ring, my heart thumps. My limp body bounces against his shoulder as he carries me up a set of stairs. A key scrapes in a lock.

He pushes through a door, and suddenly we’re outside, somewhere on the manor grounds. The leaves of the trees rustle in the breeze. The hinges on the old garden gate creak. I lift my head, blinking in confusion at the shadows cast upon the ground by the crumbling gravestones as he steps out of the mausoleum.

We’re in the cemetery.

He’s taking me back to my grave.

I’ve cheated death at his hand many times, so it’s no wonder my luck has finally run out. This life was miserable and far too short, but maybe there’s something better for me waiting on the other side.

The brittle dirt crunches beneath the soles of his shoes as he carries me past a row of headstones. I wonder if I’ll even get one, or if the next Mrs. Volkov will speculate in horror when she sees the fresh grave where he laid me to rest. If I come back as a ghost, perhaps I can warn her somehow. Maybe she can save herself.

I let my eyes slip closed as I give into the inevitability of my fate. That’s life , he once said. It always ends in death, the only question is when .

A second set of footsteps starts echoing those of the man carrying me, the other twin joining in the march to my demise. We’ve been walking for too long, though, and it suddenly dawns on me that we’re no longer in the cemetery, but treading across the lawn. A spark of hope bursts forth that perhaps this isn’t the end; I’ve been given one more chance.

The shadow of the manor falls over us as he slows to a stop and bends forward to set me back on my feet, my nipples scraping painfully against his thick shoulder as I slide down his body. My toes sink into the frosty grass, his hands gripping my waist to spin me around.

“Look,” he growls into the shell of my ear, then the heat of his body leaves my back as he retreats a step.

I blink chaotically, drawing a sharp gasp when the bloodied corpse on the ground at my feet comes into focus. Jumping backwards in fright, I slap my hands over my face to shield my eyes, my palms muffling my strangled whimper.

“Look at him, Eliza,” the second brother commands as he approaches, his footsteps coming to a stop somewhere just beyond my left shoulder.

“No!” I choke through a sob, pressing my hands tighter to my face. “You killed him!”

“Actually, Knox killed him, but that’s not the point,” he grumbles in response. “ Look . His right hand.”

If curiosity killed the cat, nine lives wouldn’t be near enough for me. I’ve expended far more in my quest to unravel the mysteries of the manor, and since I’m still breathing, I need to look.

Slowly, I lower my hands from my face, squinting my eyes open to see the soles of Wesley’s shoes. My gaze travels up the dark denim covering his legs, then slides over to focus on his right hand, the shiny black handle of a gun resting in his palm.

My breath hitches, heart thundering in my chest.

Maybe I still have a chance to change this ending.

Lunging forward, I dive for the gun, ripping it away from Wesley’s lifeless hand and whipping around to turn it on the twins. Neither even so much as flinches. One stares back at me coldly. Roman . The corner of the other’s mouth twitches up in the faintest smirk. Knox .

I put together which was which on the car ride back from their father’s house, matching each persona to their respective demeanors as I observed them. Jekyll likes me in black and refers to me as wife . Jekyll is Roman. Hyde likes when I wear red and calls me pet . Hyde is Knox.

Keeping the barrel of the gun trained in their direction, moving from one to the other, I slowly push up to my feet. “I need answers,” I tell them, much braver now that I’ve realized my life isn’t in danger. If they wanted to kill me, they would’ve done it back in the cemetery. There’s more to this that I’m missing.

“And we’re prepared to give them to you,” Roman answers flatly. “Let’s go inside and we’ll talk.”

“No, right now ,” I bite out, narrowing my eyes on him. “Tell me what’s going on or I swear I’ll pull the trigger.”

He frowns, the muscle in his jaw feathering with irritation. “Eliza. It’s freezing out here.”

I glare back at him unblinkingly, refusing to relent. For the first time, I hold the power.

It is freezing, though, and as we continue staring one another down, an icy shiver tracks up my spine, making my hands tremble. My adrenaline is ebbing, my body starting to go into shock.

“You can keep the gun,” Knox offers, evidently growing impatient with me and his brother’s staring contest.

“Fine,” I huff, my breath fogging in front of my face as I wave the tip of the handgun toward the manor. “You first. And only because it’s cold.”

Roman finally breaks our eye contact, turning to share a glance with his brother. The two of them turn and stride toward the front door of the manor, and I follow behind at a comfortable distance, keeping the gun clasped tightly in my hands and the barrel pointed at their backs. They open the door and step through, pausing in the foyer to look back at me as I push the door closed behind me with a shoulder.

“Upstairs, to my room,” I direct, keeping it together remarkably well for how stressed I am. Every muscle in my body is tight with tension, my pulse racing like a hummingbird’s.

Roman and Knox ascend the stairs ahead of me, following the split in the staircase to the left and entering the west wing of the manor. My bedroom is the only place in the house I know like the back of my hand, so going there is akin to giving me the home field advantage in a sporting match. I follow them inside, keeping a healthy distance as I skirt around them to put my back to the windows.

“Explain,” I grit out, my arms aching from the effort of keeping the gun pointed on them.

Roman’s eyes flicker to the weapon. “He brought that because he was here to kill you,” he states bluntly.

“What?” I scoff, scrunching my nose as I flinch back disbelievingly. “No.”

“Why else would he have it?”

“I don’t know, for protection?” I spit, my lips twisting in a scowl. “A lot of good it did him.”

“No, Eliza,” Knox cuts in, prompting me to shift my gaze to his identical face. “Your father sent him.”

My heart pounds harder, slamming against my ribcage. “You’re lying.”

“You’re the one who’s been lied to,” Roman murmurs. “Your father sent you here to die, Eliza. And when we didn’t finish the job, he decided to take matters into his own hands.”

“That’s not true!” I rasp, whipping my head back toward Roman, our gazes colliding. “Wesley said he was here to save me.”

“By putting a bullet in your head,” Knox scoffs. “You’re welcome for saving your life, by the way.”

My eyes ping back over to him. “So you could kill me yourself, like your last wife?” I remark bitterly.

His lips turn down in a frown. “I didn’t kill her.”

“You, then?” I question, glancing back over at Roman.

“No,” he replies flatly. “Alina took her own life.”

My eyes bounce between the two of them as a fresh wave of nausea curls in my gut. “So, what, you just replaced her with me so you two could carry on this twisted game of yours?”

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” Roman mutters.

“No?” I lower the gun, marching over to my desk and yanking the top drawer open. “Then how do you explain this ?” I shout as I reach inside, brandishing the photograph I pilfered from the east wing. “This is her, isn’t it?”

“No,” Roman answers.

“Then who is it?” I demand, holding up the picture in one hand and the gun in the other as I stomp in his direction. “Why does she look like me?”

His brow creases, head tilting in question. “You don’t recognize your own mother?”