Chapter 8: The Frantic Revival
Chapter 8: The Frantic Revival
Arthur violently pulled himself out of the water, completely ignoring the massive puddles forming around his ruined clothes. He fell heavily to his knees beside his wife, his hands shaking as he frantically checked her neck for a pulse and carefully tilted her chin back to open her airway.
The atmosphere in the beautiful garden had shifted completely. The warm, inviting morning now felt like a suffocating, high-stakes nightmare.
Clara stood only a few feet away, her pristine white suit now a stark, ugly contrast to the life-and-death tragedy unfolding on the deck. Her mind raced at a million miles an hour. She needed an alibi. She needed a way out of this disaster before Arthur turned his attention to her.
Clara forced a strained, utterly unnatural smile onto her face, attempting to feign shock.
"Oh my god, Arthur, it was terrible!"
She took a hesitant, shaking step forward, her voice trembling as she attempted to weave her desperate lie.
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"She just... she lost her balance! She slipped on the wet stone. I tried to grab her arm, but she was too heavy. It was a tragic, horrible accident!"
Arthur didn't even blink in her direction. He didn't acknowledge her voice. His entire universe, his complete and utter focus, was locked entirely on his wife's pale, motionless face.
