The Day of Reckoning

November 1988

The Apion manor, WavesPort.

The Day of the Reckoning.

In the front entrance of the manor. The expansive foyer opened up to a gallery of portraits; the revered hall of Apion history bordered with pedestalled busts. The palatial expanse seemed to stretch out into infinity, an undefined measure of opulence.

A maidservant led the two police officers down the hall. Streaming down the great stretch, the further they trekked, the more the temperature descended. Everything suffocated in a frigid silence like an invisible hand gagged the entire spread.

The policemen snuck glances at the dark artistry that has them surrounded. Alabaster faces sculpted in perpetual scowls, ochre ancestral paintings elevated in aged glory. Every pair of inky eyes observed them under their aloof and unending scrutiny.

Despite the diamond tiered chandeliers rowed in immaculateness, nothing could pierce the gloom. Everything underneath the crown moulding was engulfed in an eerie melancholia. All three of them passed through the wide Tudor archway and into the open floor lounge. The entire wall ahead was a succession of tall windows that exhibit the vast swathes of manicured gardens beyond. The openness that helmed in a wealth of golden light, yet still. The gloom prevailed.

In the Victorian styled living room, the walls with regal tones of light shades and vivacious hues of yellow with brilliant light fixtures. Smart ambient lighting that brightened the walls with glittering metallic accents. Everything in sight bespoke opulence: Lavish ornaments, candelabras flecked with gold posted in the corners. The carpeted floor ornate with expensive Persian rugs all the way through to the intricate hearths on either side of the lounge.

In the far-left side, a man and a woman sat on a crimson regency sofa with their backs towards them. The maidservant carefully treaded inside, her steps were light on the plush carpets, stringing along the two officers.

She stopped at the flank of the sofa. “Mr and Mrs Apion, Detective Ford and Smith are here.”

Mrs Apion’s ebony tresses were bundled in tangles, caged in a hair claw. She looked up and swept the rebellious strands from her face. Her eyes bludgeoned by tears, blood-shot. Her natural wrinkles only deepened, harried by stress and harrowed by trepidation. Mr Apion was a twin reflection, his outlook marred by dismay. Both of their trembling hands were entwined together, clinging to hope.

The two detectives rounded the sofa to stand in front of them. Simultaneously, they both took off their khaki hats and held them to their chests. A veil of mourning masked their faces.

Mrs Apion looked up at them, two dark orbs, glossy like black waters at nightfall. With a mere glimpse of their show of condolence. She shook her head vigorously, first refusing to believe it as any mother would. A great sob wrung from her core and tore through her, pummelled by the merciless barrage of grief. Regardless, not even a sound left her taut lips.

“We are so sorry for your loss,” detective Ford said.

Mr Apion engrossed his wife into a tight embrace and held her so that she wouldn’t fall apart altogether. She gripped unto his shirt with clenched fists, suffering silently.

“Where did you—” every word an effort, his voice thick with anguish. “Where did you find them?”

Detective Smith fixed his hat back on his head. “Their… defiled bodies were dredged up from Lake Cerulean, their undergoing an autopsy as we speak.”

His cheeks numb to the rolling hot tears, Mr Apion asked, “We want to see them as soon as possible, do you understand me?”

The detectives exchanged a worrisome look.

“Before you do. You should know that….” He heaved out the words by their ends. “The perpetrator beheaded them, and their bodies were horrifically burnt. It looks like they used hydrochloric acid, not enough to kill them. So. By my eye, it looks like they were tortured with it and then…they were decapitated.”

Mrs Apion’s grip tightened on him.

Mr Apion reined back a cry, for he knew if he released it. It would never stop.

“If… if that is true. How do you know its them?”

“Forensic lab could confirm the twins’ DNA,” detective Smith answered.

Mr Apion was unable to ask or say any more.

“We will find those responsible for this atrocity, I swear to you,” detective Ford said with iron conviction. “We have collaborated with the local publishing house and—”

“No,” Mrs Apion said into his shoulder, word muffled. She released him and straightened her spine as she mopped her face with her hands.

Together, Mr and Mrs Apion rose to their feet.

Like a switch flipped. A shadowy cowl fell on their face, casting it into darkness. Two pairs of glacial eyes stared back at them coldly. Two pools of chilling, cauldron black.

“You will not breathe a word of this to anyone,” she hissed, her tone acidic. “The autopsy report will be marked confidential. Those who found their body must be sworn to secrecy or suffer the consequences if they do not.”

Both detectives wore identical expressions, eyes rounded and their mouths agape.

“No-one can and no-one will report of this, because no-one will ever know,” Mr Apion affirmed. His voice as lifeless as the catacombs. “No media coverage, no widespread gossip. To the town and to the world, our heirs, our children are still missing.”

Detective Ford’s gaze bounced between them in palpable shock. “But why? Don’t you want justice to find the savage that killed your children?”

Mr Apion lifted a silencing hand. “This is about the Apions’ survival. Because of our families’ long-standing wealth, we are natural targets for extortion and worthy candidates to be kidnapped and held for ransom, so we thought our twins were.”

Mrs Apion added her arctic voice, “This would make us weak and seemingly easy prey. Even though they were no ransom demands for our children. It must hold that the Apion do not negotiate, if we did. We would never be safe.”

Detective Smith’s face coiled with true and horrified bafflement.

“Their death would weaken us, their absence exonerates us of all perils,” Mrs Apion said in finality.

Detective Ford batted the sands of surprise from his eyes. “Mr and Mrs Apion, I understand that but as the police, it is our duty—”

“To protect and serve!” Mr Apion boomed; his voice rung with brutality. His eyes simmering with spite. He abandoned his wife’s side and took a threatening step towards them. “You failed to protect our children, but on your life, you will succeed to serve us." Belligerence lashed in his tenor. “And we do not want word of our heirs’ death to be leaked and made a public spectacle.”

Steeling his resolve, Smith’s lips parted to speak but Mrs Apion swiftly interjected.

“Your careers depend on it. Those who know will be silenced. If they refuse, they will be severely punished,” she warned, and her eyes glittered with hostility.

“Now, whom of you that you know, do you think will be a potential problem?” Mr Apion asked.

The detectives traded telepathic looks then Ford nodded consent.

“A reporter, Maggie Richardson, tenacious and has the sense of a bloodhound when it comes to sniffing out stories. She was there by the lake, snapping pictures. I’m sure she’s already at Blue Waters to print the story.”

This time. It was the Apions that shared ominous looks.

“It seems we better be on our way then,” Mrs Apion said and makes a brisk start to the archway, and Mr Apion moves to follow.

“You don’t understand that woman is like a dog with a bone, she won’t let this go. The lot of them won’t. Not for money or by threats.”

Mr Apion wheeled on them; rage warped his face. “Detectives, we do not make threats, we only deliver warnings and if that warning is not heeded. They will be more bodies found in that lake.”

The Apions founded the town of WavesPort, the hands of their ancestors forged its edifices and helmed its innovation in the chrysalis of time. The Apions were the beloved royal family, glorified by the town because of the prosperity they pruned, their charity and notorious hospitality. They had networks of connections, powerful allies globally, tycoon associates and friends holding prominent positions in foreign governments.

The Apions were a prevailing ally, if turned, a dangerous enemy.