Page 87 of All of Us Murderers

“I can’t do that,” Zeb said. “I can’t. I have to try.”

“Try what?”

“Talking to him.”

“Zeb—”

“He’s not Hawley. Hawley is a bad man but Bram could do better, I’m sure he could. I really think he feels guilty about poor Florence.”

“And the maid he fondled? And what about Elise?”

“You don’t know that was him. If it was your sister, or your brother-in-law—”

“To my knowledge, none of my family have ever driven another human being to their doom. If the best you can say of your brother is that he might not have murdered his wife—”

“He’s my brother!” Zeb said, voice rising. Gideon shushed him urgently, and he switched to a hiss. “I promised our father that we’d stand together. Damn it, Gideon, I have to try, can’t you see?”

“No!” Gideon’s voice was strangled by his attempt to shout quietly. “Ican’tsee! He’s treated you like dirt for years, and we need to be in here waiting for this blasted signal, not risking missing it because you’ve wandered off for a chat with a brother who’s never thought twice about you! What if he takes it badly? What if he tells Wynn we’re planning to make a run for it? Please, Zeb,think.”

“I have thought. I need to warn my brother, so I’m going to go and find him. Look, there’s no reasonIcan’t move round the house; I’m not supposed to be locked up. I’ll be back as soon as I can. And if I’m not back when Rachel signals, don’t wait. Go anyway.”

“No. Zeb—”

“I’ve got to try,” Zeb said. “I’m sorry. I love you. But I have to.”

He pushed himself to his feet. He didn’t want to look at Gideon’s bruised, hurt, angry face; he didn’t dare ask for a kiss in case it was refused.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said again, and went to the secret passage.

Behind him, Gideon said, “Zeb, please. Don’t.” Zeb didn’t turn round.

Twenty-Three

The secret passage was horrible beyond words. It was narrow. It was dank and dark, and mostly it wascobwebbed, with swags of old dusty web draped in sheets from every beam. Zeb could sense the mindless eight-eyed gaze of spiders, hear the rustle and click of angular legs, feel the sticky cling of a strand of web or the horrible brush of a touch. He wanted to run, to drop the lamp and get out of here before he found himself trapped in the bowels of this hellish house under a mound of chittering mandibles—

His imagination would be the death of him.

He forced himself onward, primarily by fixing his gaze on the circle of light the lamp cast on the floor and keeping his head down. It was all right while he had the light. He refused to acknowledge anything moving in the corner of his eye, whether spiders or shadows.

The passage led up a flight of rickety stairs, where theprospect of a plank giving way underfoot momentarily distracted him from the thought of spiders, and found himself faced with a rough wooden panel in the wall. It was secured at eye height with a catch, and lower down with a latch. Both had clearly been used recently because there were no webs attached, a fact for which Zeb was deeply grateful.

He listened a moment to be sure he couldn’t hear anyone, and stepped out into what proved to be Elise’s bedroom. It still smelled of her face-powder and perfume, and grief hit him like a slap in the face.

He hadn’t been fond of her; she hadn’t invited it. But she had beenalive. She had applied cosmetics and put on clothes and gone about the business of living. She had smiled, and he’d seen the woman she might have been. And now she was dead and cold, and it was all so terribly wrong.

Zeb took a moment to recover himself, eyes shut, breathing hard. He went to see if Bram was in the room next door, which would have made everything a lot easier, and thus was not the case. Then he headed out to find his brother.

Gideon had told him this was a bad idea but he really hadn’t needed to. It was a terrible idea, one that nagged at every muscle in his body to turn round and go back and skulk with Gideon until they had a chance to get out.

If he didn’t try, though. If he saved himself and left Bram behind without even trying…

Gideon had saida brother that never thought twice about you, but Bram had been kind sometimes. He’d played card gameswith seven-year-old Zeb when he had been at home with nothing better to do, and rarely mocked his fear of spiders. It wasn’t much, perhaps, and it was a long time ago, and since then Bram had stabbed him in the back, told lies about him, and set his life on a far harder path.

But none of that merited a death sentence. Not even his betrayal of Florence did that, terrible wrong though it was. Bram unquestionably needed to take a damned hard look at his life, and if they got out of this, if Zeb got him out of this, then he would have a lot of words for his brother.

Ifthey got out. Bram wasn’t going to make the escape easier. Zeb still had to try.

He didn’t encounter anyone as he came to the landing at the top of the stairs. The house was quiet, unpleasantly so.