Mine to cherish

As he entered the space, a pungent blend of chemicals and burning flesh assaulted his senses. The air hung heavy with the unmistakable tang of blood, vividly conjuring images of crimson droplets splattering against the ground. Advancing toward the heart of the room, he encountered the figures who had made his previous night a tumultuous one. Some hung lifelessly from makeshift gallows, while others cowered in a corner, their faces etched with fear. The elderly couple, who had purportedly owned the bed and breakfast, sat bound to chairs, their bodies bearing the marks of brutal violence.

A handful of henchmen parted, brandishing clubs as they offered deference to Roger. Though he spared them only a passing glance, he acknowledged their presence with a slight nod. Traversing the perimeter, his gaze fell upon an array of weapons adorning the walls-each one a tool of potential destruction. His fingers grazed over them, exploring their textures and weights, before finally alighting upon a menacing, time-worn dagger.

Its curved blade and intricately carved handle spoke of age and dark history. Engaging in a brief inspection, he weighed its balance in his hand, considering its lethal potential. With a decisive flick of his wrist, he raised the blade aloft, scrutinizing its edge before ultimately casting it aside with a dismissive gesture.

The dagger found its mark with deadly precision, burying itself deep into the potbelly of one of the suspended men. A gut-wrenching cry tore through the air as the victim writhed in agony, his body contorting against the force of gravity.

"Cut him down," Roger commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos as he launched another dagger towards his prey.

With grim determination, he engaged in a macabre dance of death, dispatching each of them with ruthless efficiency, his arsenal of weapons serving as instruments of retribution. Yet, he reserved a special fate for the elderly couple, their faces etched with horror and recognition.

"Do you understand why you must die? You are criminals, masquerading under the guise of hospitality to prey upon the innocent," he bellowed, his voice tinged with righteous fury.

Stunned into silence, the couple awaited their grim fate, knowing full well the brutality that awaited them. Roger spared them no opportunity for defense, selecting a gleaming sword from the rack and unleashing a primal roar as he delivered swift justice. In a blur of motion, their heads rolled, severed from their lifeless bodies.

Adjusting his jacket with a casual air, Roger surveyed the scene, ensuring his attire remained pristine before exiting with eerie calmness.

"Dispose of the bodies discreetly, leaving no trace behind," he instructed Hales' cohorts, his words carrying an ominous finality.

Meanwhile, Chris stirred from uneasy slumber, greeted by unfamiliar surroundings that momentarily disoriented him. Recollection dawned as he took in his brother's room, its familiarity a balm to his confusion.

Rising to his feet, Chris winced at the ache that permeated his body, a testament to his uncomfortable night's rest on the hard floor. With weary determination, he retrieved his guitar, its strings whispering melodies of solace as he made his way towards the door.

Emerging into the corridor, he was met with a flurry of panicked activity, the household staff recoiling at his unexpected appearance. His mother, fraught with worry, rushed to his side, her touch a mixture of relief and concern.

"Where have you been, Chris? I was beside myself with worry," she exclaimed, her voice betraying her anxiety as she sought answers from her son.

"Chris, I'm safe now. I spent the night in Roger's room," he casually mentioned to his mother, heading towards his own room. Unbeknownst to him, he missed the horrified expression that briefly shadowed her face upon learning where he had been.

"Get dressed quickly. We have to meet someone," his mother urgently instructed just as he was about to step into his room.

An hour later, having taken a hasty shower and consumed a hurried breakfast of toast, Chris found himself seated in a chauffeur-driven car alongside his mother, departing from their lavish compound. He observed the cityscape blur by with disinterest until they reached the suburbs. The car slowed down and entered a sizable housing estate, eventually halting in front of a modern-style duplex.

Prompted by his mother, Chris exited the car and followed her inside. The residence belonged to Logan Russell, the Vice President at Crates, his late father's company. Puzzlement furrowed Chris's brow as he contemplated the events unfolding less than twenty-four hours after his father's death. Before he could inquire about their purpose, Logan ushered them into the living room.

Meanwhile, Mina relished a satisfying meal and adorned herself in the stylish, well-fitting clothes provided. Delighted by the thoughtful gesture, she packed her belongings-a slightly worn bag-and secured the note from Roger.

Turning it over, she discovered a detailed description of her parents' house. Brimming with joy, she skipped out of the hospital into the warm sunshine, almost reaching the gate before being halted by the nurse who had attended to her earlier.

She gasped for breath as the nurse pressed an envelope into her hands.

"He gave it to me. The young man said to use it to get yourself a cab home," the nurse informed her.

Mina couldn't believe her luck. Who would have thought that helping a man in need would lead her to a peaceful journey home?

Swiftly leaving the hospital, she hailed a cab and carefully followed the instructions on the note. Fifty minutes later, she stood at the gate of the estate where her parents resided. Thanks to Roger's detailed description, she was allowed in and found her way to the house.

Walking down the road, she reached the front of the house and marveled at its grandeur, far surpassing their previous residence. As she happily approached, her joy was interrupted by the sight of a car parked in the driveway, adorned with a driver in a uniform bearing the Crates logo. A wave of confusion crossed her as she pondered why someone from Crates would be present. Wasn't her father supposed to be at work?

Gazing up at the sky, she shielded her face with her hands, attempting to estimate the time. If she was correct, it should be around eleven in the morning. So, why was her father home at this hour?

Spotting several familiar faces among their domestic helpers from their previous house, she motioned for them to remain silent. Sneaking like a cat, she slipped through the front door and, to her luck, avoided Luke.

Navigating the hallway, she found a concealed spot in the living room, nestled between two arches, allowing her to eavesdrop on the ongoing conversation.

"I apologize, ma'am, but I'm unable to disclose the contents of the will prepared by the barrister," Logan asserted firmly.

Mina's mind raced as she pieced together the puzzle. If her father addressed someone as "ma" and arrived in one of Crates' cars, and she too desired knowledge of the will, then the woman must be her late father's widow and Roger's stepmother.

"Mr. Logan, you've been my husband's most trusted confidant, and I, too, place immense trust in you. But we desperately need your help to protect my son and me from Roger," the widow implored with visible distress etched on her face.

Mina's deduction proved accurate. She had anticipated correctly. With an inadvertent click of her tongue and a snap of her fingers, she inadvertently revealed her presence.

Chris, weary of the somber discussion and his mother's distraught appeals, perked up at the abrupt sound. His curiosity piqued, he rose from his seat and strode purposefully towards the source of the noise, leaving the three elders in the room perplexed by his sudden movement.