Chapter 4 - The House Of Hollow Statues
The orthopedic surgeon at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center inserted two titanium plates and eight surgical screws into Mara’s left ulna.
By four o'clock the following afternoon, Mara was discharged with her arm secured in a rigid black fiberglass cast supported by an olive-drab sling.
She refused a hospital bed.
She refused the heavy narcotics the nurses tried to press into her hands, opting instead for standard anti-inflammatory tablets that did little to dull the deep, throbbing ache in her bone.
Physical pain was an old acquaintance; it was predictable, measurable, and honest.
It was the emotional rot waiting for her in Richmond that required cauterization.
Mara drove her ten-year-old pickup truck south along Interstate 95 with her right hand steady on the steering wheel.
Her dress uniform, now cut open at the left sleeve and stained with dry brown rust around the cuff, lay folded neatly on the passenger seat beside the two medal cases.
By six in the evening, the truck turned into the gated entrance of Whispering Oaks, an exclusive residential enclave of multi-million-dollar brick colonial estates.
For ten years, Arthur Ellis had lived here in Vivian’s family home, slowly abandoning every vestige of his previous life to fit into the immaculate, manicured mold of Southern aristocracy.
As Mara pulled into the circular aggregate driveway, she saw that the front lawn was completely swarmed.
Three separate news vans with extended satellite masts were parked haphazardly across Vivian’s prize-winning hydrangeas.
Journalists in raincoats huddled near the front porch, thrusting microphones toward the heavy mahogany front doors.
Neighbors in tennis attire stood at the edges of their manicured lawns, whispering behind manicured hedges while pointing at the house.
The local paper’s morning edition had run a front-page splash with a screen capture of Vivian holding the folding chair aloft: SOCIETY DAME ARRESTED FOR STRIKING HERO CAPTAIN.
The national networks had picked up the footage by noon, pairing it with Chase Vance’s tearful confession on the ballroom floor.
When Mara stepped out of her truck, the media pack turned like a school of piranhas catching the scent of blood in the water.
"Captain Ellis! Did you know your stepbrother was lying about his service record?"
"Captain, will you press federal charges against your stepmother?"
"Did your father know about Operation Night Lantern?"
Mara ignored the flashing cameras and shouted questions.
She walked with measured, military precision up the stone front steps, her boots clicking evenly against the slate.
She pulled a brass key from her pocket, inserted it into the front door, and stepped inside, shutting the heavy door firmly behind her and throwing the deadbolt against the clamor outside.
The grand foyer was dead quiet, smelling of expensive beeswax and cold floral arrangements.
To the right stood the grand mahogany display cabinet Vivian had commissioned six years ago.
Inside, framed behind museum-grade glass, were Chase’s basic service medals, flanked by two studio portraits of Chase in dress uniform, his chin tilted heroically.
Beside the cabinet stood Arthur.
He looked as though he had aged twenty years in twenty-four hours.
His designer polo shirt was wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, and a half-empty glass of bourbon sat on the console table beside him.
"Mara," Arthur breathed, taking an unsteady step toward her.
"You came home."
"I came to get my things, Arthur," Mara said, her voice devoid of inflection.
"This was never my home."
Arthur flinched, his hand trembling as he reached out toward her sling.
"How is your arm? The hospital wouldn't give me any information. They told me you had restricted your visitor log."
"My arm will heal," Mara replied coldly.
"The surgeons did their job. Now I'm doing mine."
Footsteps echoed from the top of the sweeping spiral staircase.
Chase Vance appeared on the landing, wearing sweatpants and an unbuttoned dress shirt.
His face was puffy, his eyes darting frantically toward the front windows where camera flashes still flickered through the sheer curtains.
"They're outside, Mara," Chase whispered, his voice trembling with terror.
"The Richmond Sentinel is out there. CBS is out there."
"My employer called an hour ago... the investment firm suspended my contract pending an internal review."
"They're calling me a deserter on Twitter. There are thousands of death threats on my phone."
Chase hurried down the stairs, stopping three steps from the bottom, looking down at Mara with desperate, pleading eyes.
"You have to release a statement," Chase begged.
"Tell them it was a misunderstanding. Tell them Ryan gave the radio to someone else."
"Tell them I didn't abandon the position intentionally... you were the commanding officer, Mara! If you issue an official clarification, the press will back off!"
Mara looked at her stepbrother.
She didn't see an adult man with an MBA and a luxury sports car in the garage.
She saw the same sniveling, selfish coward who had kicked aside a radio terminal that could have saved Ryan Hale’s life just so he could dive into a ditch.
"You want me to lie for you again, Chase?" Mara asked, her voice dropping into a deadly whisper that froze the room.
"Seven years of my silence wasn't enough for you?"
"You took credit for operations you never ran."
"You let your mother buy you awards and parade you around high-society galas while I attended Ryan's memorial service alone in the rain."
"You watched your mother strike me with a steel chair yesterday, and you didn't even have the spine to stand up."
"I was scared!" Chase yelled, tears streaming down his cheeks.
"I was twenty-one years old and people were dying all around me!"
"Ryan was twenty-two, Chase," Mara said, her words hitting him like physical blows.
"And Ryan didn't run."
Arthur stepped between them, his hands raised in a placating gesture.
"Mara, please... Chase knows he was wrong. He is suffering. We are all suffering."
"Vivian is sitting in a county jail cell right now because the magistrate denied bail until her psychiatric evaluation is complete."
"Our family is completely ruined. Look at what has happened to our name!"
Mara looked her father dead in the eye, and the sheer disgust in her gaze made Arthur lower his hands in shame.
"Your name isn't ruined because of the truth, Arthur," Mara said softly.
"Your name is ruined because it was built on a lie that you were too comfortable to question."
She walked past them, heading down the hallway toward the basement stairs.
May you like
Every step she took echoed through the hollow mansion, a house filled with expensive statues and empty souls.
She had one final task to complete in this house before she walked away forever.
