The Portrait Gallery
A weary butler named Robert opened the massive oak doors. When the twins introduced themselves as Cecelia's classmates, his brow furrowed in genuine surprise.
"Wait here a moment," Robert whispered, his voice hushed. "I will inform the masters."
In a distant, soundproofed study, Mr. and Mrs. Cole received the news with clinical skepticism.
"Tell them to go away," Mr. Cole said, not looking up from his tablet.
"I agree," Mrs. Cole countered, her voice like silk over glass. "But they likely saw her walk in. If we turn them away too quickly, it looks suspicious. Neighbors talk. Tell them Cecelia is resting, but we would be delighted to meet her friends."
Robert's shoulders slumped.
"And Robert?" Mrs. Cole added. The butler halted with an involuntary flinch. "Fix your face."
Robert took a sharp breath. The weariness vanished, replaced by a mask of professional neutrality. He turned back to the grand hallway, while Mr. Cole signaled a nearby maid with a subtle nod. She disappeared into a side room to prepare a tray.
The air grew colder as the twins followed Robert through the house. Royal-style portraits lined the walls. Damien stopped at the first one: a toddler-aged Cecelia with a mischievous, bright glint in her eyes.
Walking down the line, that light vanished. In each successive painting, her eyes grew more vacant and her posture more rigid, until the final frame showed the girl they knew: a ghost in a black dress.
Wayne followed behind, hunched over. "Creepy," he muttered, his voice echoing in the hollow space. "It's like they're collecting her instead of raising her."
The Dining Room
They reached a cavernous dining room where Mr. and Mrs. Cole sat at opposite ends of an impossibly long table. Gourmet dishes were placed before the twins. Wayne took one look at the elaborate spread and crossed his arms, refusing to touch the utensils.
"Well," Damien said, offering a polite smile. "I didn't have dining with billionaires on my bucket list today."
"Oh?" Mrs. Cole asked, her eyes sharp. "Has Cecelia never mentioned our status to her friends?"
"She barely says anything, really," Damien admitted.
Mr. Cole leaned forward, his smile tightening. "And how exactly did you meet our daughter?"
"We're in the same class," Wayne said. "How do you think?"
Mr. Cole's gaze shifted to Wayne, his eyes turning cold. "Quite the snappy one. Our company makes pharmaceutical stabilizers. Pills that fix that kind of unruly temperament."
"Can they fix your fake smile, too?" Wayne shot back.
Damien quickly clamped a hand over Wayne's mouth. "Sorry about him! He isn't used to company. If you don't mind, though, may we see her? We're worried."
"She came home very tired today," Mrs. Cole said smoothly. "She needs her rest. We only invited you in to meet the people our daughter associates with."
"I see," Damien said, his voice dropping. "I'm actually surprised you were home. I assumed you'd be busy growing your empire."
"Family always comes first," Mr. Cole replied. "Nothing is more important than our little girl."
Damien kept his reliable smile steady, masking Wayne's simmering irritation.
"Can I ask the real questions now—" Wayne started.
Damien hissed a "No" through his teeth, clamping down on his brother's arm.
A heavy boom vibrated the crystal chandelier above them, rippling the wine in Mr. Cole's glass. A brief, sharp silence followed.
"It seems we have a domestic matter to tend to," Mr. Cole said, his voice instantly stripped of warmth. "Robert will see you out."
The Gale
As they were ushered to the front door, Robert leaned in, his movements frantic. He slipped a lunchbox into Damien's hands, identical to the model Cecelia used at school.
"I noticed you didn't eat," Robert whispered, his eyes tracking the grand staircase. "Here, have this to go. But don't eat too much at once, okay?"
The massive doors groaned shut behind the twins, cutting off the warning.
"That was weird as hell," Wayne said, shivering in the evening air.
"Yeah," Damien agreed, clutching the lunchbox. "Their guard was up like a fortress."
Inside the mansion, the thudding grew into a low, rhythmic rumble. Mr. and Mrs. Cole approached a reinforced, steel-lined door upstairs.
Suddenly, the door buckled outward. A maid was hurled through the air, crashing into the hallway wall as a wave of dark, oppressive energy exploded from the room. A raw, ninety-four percent Negative Energy gale ripped through the corridor.
The parents powered up, their own calculated auras clashing against the darkness.
"I'm sorry we have to do this again, Cecelia," Mrs. Cole said, her voice cold and clinical. "But we have a family interview tonight. We can't have you running wild and ruining the name."
Inside the room, Cecelia hovered in the center of a black vortex. Her eyes were pitch black, and a guttural, supernatural screech tore from her throat. She saw her jailers and lunged.