51. The Pianist #3
“This is the pathetic man you worked for.” Baz turns to Desmond with a sneer.
And Leo doesn’t stop, pleading with his son, with Desmond, with me, to be reasonable.
I want to be moved by it. Instead I just stand there, unable to take my eyes off of the Ghost who isn’t so much an invisible specter anymore.
These are the moments before death. These are the Beauchenes’ last living seconds.
And I can only stare at their son, at the color of rust on his fingers, at the strong angle of his jaw as he scowls, at the length of his lashes against his cheeks.
A face once hidden away, that they are now forced to reckon with.
“Any last words? Want to show your gratitude?” Baz says.
Desmond glowers at the Ghost.
“Ar—Bastien, think about this.” Leo struggles against the zip tie.
“Funny that you think I haven’t,” Baz hums, and with a single flick of his wrist, the two men who carried the crate are prying off the lid, revealing dozens, no—hundreds of writhing black snakes.
As soon as the creatures are revealed, the men back away.
It doesn’t take long before the snakes are escaping the confines of the crate, spilling over onto the ground.
Desmond nods toward the ballroom’s doors. “Get out of here.”
The men are quick to listen.
I almost scream, squeamish, but then I remember what Nathan said only a couple weeks ago—You know, this one is a black racer. Isn’t even venomous. These snakes look the same.
I still don’t want them crawling on me.
The panic in Mariane’s heavy breathing tells me she doesn’t realize these snakes are essentially harmless.
They’re meant to frighten.
“Here’s what will happen,” Baz says, though he is walking towards me. He throws an arm around my waist, holding me close again.
Like we are a unit. We are doing this together.
How did I get caught up in this?
“Out of the goodness in my heart, I am giving you a courtesy that you never gave me. You have three choices: you hang, you suffocate, or you die by one thousand snake bites. I think this is pretty nice of me, giving you a choice, isn’t it?
You will stand on these chairs. And then I’m going to leave. ”
He smiles. Years of waiting, of wishing for this moment, and now it’s here.
“So I won’t be killing you. Not really.”
Mariane sobs. Real tears track down her cheeks. Notably, her evening gown has been traded for a nightgown and her silk robe. The snakes slither closer to the legs of her stool.
They’re getting closer to my feet, too. “Baz.”
“You will get nothing.” Leo’s enraged, ignoring the black snakes. Maybe he’s not fooled. “None of the lawyers will comply. You will be locked out of everything. You are doing this for nothing. Do you hear me?”
Baz sighs. “One more second on you is another breath wasted. I’m giving you more than you deserve.”
“By making us hang ourselves?”
“I’m not making you do anything. But I’ve been told there’s faulty electrical in this room, and wouldn’t it be a shame for you to be stuck inside? Especially when these snakes will have nowhere to go and will find anywhere they can to escape the flames?”
As Baz leaves my side to stalk closer to Leo again, I can see it: the raging inferno, their screams as the snakes wrap around their limbs, the teetering stools threatening to collapse beneath their weight. A scene from hell, just like Baz envisioned.
“You’re killing us for control of the estate, but you’re going to burn it down anyway?”
“No—I’m going to kill you because you made me not exist for fifteen years.”
Leo leans closer. He and Baz are only inches apart. Father and son.
Who is to blame for this? Who is the victim?
“You are a coward,” Leo says. “You never would have amounted to anything. And you deserve nothing.”
A second later, Baz’s hands are wrapped around Leo’s throat.
Screaming shatters through the hissing, Mariane begging Desmond to do something.
Baz’s brute strength frightens me. I knew he was capable—this is the second time I’ve seen him strangle someone, but this time, he almost knocks Leo over with his ferocity. The muscles and veins in his arms bulge against his skin. His fingers lock around his father’s throat and squeeze.
Those hands have been around my throat.
“No!” Mariane wails.
Leo’s hands are tied behind his back. He can’t defend himself.
I force myself to watch it all. Desmond does the same, his brows pinched together, his arms crossed.
After thirty long seconds, Leo’s desperate choking, his kicking, loses its vigor. And then he stops.
Still, Baz doesn’t let go for another minute.
The body collapses to the floor. A few of the snakes creep closer.
Bastien looms over the body, staring down at the marred neck of his father. His chest heaves from the exertion, hands poised like claws at his sides, as though he’s itching to do it all over again.
I reach for him, and maybe it’s stupid to touch him now when his rage is so palpable. “Baz.”
His muscles are coiled tightly beneath my palm, a decade of anguish reducing him to a puppet. He eyes me over his shoulder. “Five minutes,” he says. “You have five minutes to find Henri and get out.”