Chapter 3: The Basement

Elliott couldn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned in his bed, the weight of Ava’s words echoing in his mind. Her warning kept swirling around him, like a thick fog that he couldn’t shake. “Your father is not who you think he is.” What had she meant by that? Was she simply trying to protect him, or had she seen something that he hadn’t?

The more he thought about it, the more his curiosity gnawed at him. There was something hidden in this house. Something that his father—no, everyone—was keeping from him.

It had always been like this. The strange, unspoken distance between him and his father. The secretive glances exchanged by the staff. His mother had been the only one who had ever been open, warm, who had made this mansion feel like a home. But now she was gone, and the house was falling into darkness, piece by piece.

A soft knock at the door broke through his thoughts, and he shot up, startled. He had been staring at the ceiling for hours, lost in the whirl of confusion and anger.

“Elliott?”

It was Dyllan, his voice quieter than usual, as if he were tiptoeing into the room.

Elliott hesitated before responding. “What is it, Dyllan?”

There was a pause, followed by a creak of the door as it slowly opened. Dyllan stepped inside, his face as drawn as ever, his eyes shadowed with something unspoken. The faint glimmer of candlelight from the hallway reflected off his glasses, casting a brief gleam before he closed the door behind him.

“I thought you might be hungry,” Dyllan said, his voice soft, almost apologetic, as he placed a small tray of food on the table beside Elliott’s bed.

Elliott didn’t look at the tray. Instead, his gaze drifted to the older man’s face, searching for something that had always been present—the warmth, the guidance. But now, all he saw was an unreadable emptiness.

“I’m not hungry,” Elliott replied tersely.

Dyllan gave a slow, regretful nod, as though he expected this answer. The butler looked down, his gaze faltering. “Young Master… You must understand that your father only wants what’s best for you. He’s been under a great deal of pressure lately—his work, the investigations… the loss of your mother.” His voice trailed off, a wistful sadness settling over him.

Elliott stiffened. “My father never cared about her. He cared more about his work than he ever did about her, and he sure as hell doesn’t care about me.” His voice trembled with emotion, though he quickly tried to suppress it.

Dyllan didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let the silence linger between them, his eyes clouded with sorrow and understanding. Finally, he spoke again, his voice low. “There are things you don’t understand, Young Master. Things about your father’s work. It is not something I can explain to you now, but… I must ask you, please, to be cautious.”

Elliott shot to his feet. “What are you talking about?” His pulse quickened, his hands clenching into fists. “What things, Dyllan? What is my father hiding?”

The butler took a cautious step back, as if the sudden shift in Elliott’s demeanor had startled him. His hands trembled slightly, and he quickly wiped them on his coat before speaking again.

“I wish I could tell you more. But… I’ve been instructed to say nothing.” His eyes met Elliott’s, his gaze filled with something akin to regret. “I’m sorry.”

Elliott’s chest tightened. His mind was racing now, each word of Dyllan’s adding to the growing storm of confusion inside him.

“I don’t need your apologies,” Elliott snapped. “I need answers.”

The butler opened his mouth to respond, but Elliott didn’t give him the chance. He shoved past Dyllan, heading straight for the door.

“Elliott!”

The urgency in Dyllan’s voice made him pause just for a moment. But the frustration boiling inside him was too strong to ignore.

“I’m going to find out what’s going on, whether you help me or not,” Elliott said coldly, before stepping out into the dark hallway.

He heard Dyllan’s footsteps following him, but the old man didn’t try to stop him. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that nothing would deter Elliott from uncovering the truth.

The hallway was eerily quiet as Elliott made his way toward the stairs. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he descended, the faint sound of rain tapping against the windows the only noise that accompanied him.

The mansion had always felt vast, like a labyrinth of stone and wood. It was easy to get lost in its halls, to forget where one was in relation to the rest of the house. But tonight, the house felt more oppressive than ever. The shadows seemed darker, the corners more suffocating.

Elliott made his way to the end of the hallway, where a narrow door stood partially ajar. He had passed it countless times, but had never dared to open it. He had never seen what lay beyond. His father had always kept it locked.

But now—now, something inside him urged him to push forward.

Elliott hesitated for only a moment before gently pushing the door open. It creaked as it moved, and the faint smell of dust and mildew wafted into his nostrils. Beyond the door was a steep, narrow staircase, descending into the dark.

He swallowed hard, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. The air down here felt thick, as though it were resisting him.

Without another thought, Elliott stepped into the darkness and descended.

The staircase seemed endless, each step creaking beneath his weight, the further he descended into the depths of the house. The faint flicker of candlelight reached him from below, casting eerie shadows across the stone walls.

His footsteps echoed in the narrow passage, and the further down he went, the colder it seemed to get. The air grew damp, and the smell of earth and decay filled his nostrils.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reached the bottom of the stairs. The space before him was vast—an underground room, cold and dark. The faint light he had seen earlier came from a single candle on a wooden table near the center of the room. Around the room, shelves were stacked with various objects: old medical instruments, jars filled with strange substances, and papers scattered haphazardly across the surfaces.

Elliott’s breath caught in his throat. The room was an eerie mixture of sterile, clinical precision and disarray. He recognized some of the items immediately—tools his father used in his surgical practice. But there were other things here, things that didn’t belong.

His gaze landed on a large metal cabinet in the corner of the room, its door slightly ajar. A faint, sickly smell emanated from within. His curiosity pushed him forward, and despite the fear gnawing at his insides, he found himself opening the door.

Inside, there were containers—large glass jars—filled with dark, murky liquid. But it wasn’t the liquid that made Elliott’s stomach churn. It was what lay inside.

Bodies.

Partially dissected. The limbs, faces, and organs had been carefully preserved, each body cut in precise, meticulous ways. The sight made his stomach lurch, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away. There were more than a dozen bodies, all in various stages of dissection, none of them with a single inch of life left in them.

Suddenly, a chill crawled up Elliott’s spine. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of life. Something was wrong—something had been wrong with this entire house, and now he could feel it in every fiber of his being.

Just as he began to step back, he heard the soft, unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him.

His heart stopped in his chest. He wasn’t alone.

Slowly, Elliott turned around, his breath caught in his throat. Standing in the doorway, his figure silhouetted by the dim light of the candle, was his father.

Dr. Samuel Delacroix.

And this time, his eyes were not filled with exhaustion or indifference. They were cold. Calculating. And in that moment, Elliott realized that the man standing before him was a stranger.

“Aren’t you curious, Elliott?” his father’s voice was like ice, cutting through the silence. “I never thought you’d find this place.”

Elliott’s heart raced, his mind scrambling for an escape, but he was paralyzed. His father’s presence in this place—this twisted, hidden place—sent a shockwave of realization through him.

And it hit him like a wave.

His father had been hiding far more than just medical secrets.

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