The fire. Daisy. Aunt. It took Adam only a second to connect the dots. “Candlewick’s Candles,” he gasped in spite of himself.
M nodded. “I was its next heir. But it’s all gone. Nobody could find my father’s body in the mess. Not that it mattered—the ungrateful townspeople didn’t even show up for his memorial.” M’s face grew tense. His next words were barely a whisper. “With the snow globe in my possession, I can recover the fortune, grow it exponentially. I’ll be the wealthiest man in the country. I’ll even see my father again, and show him what I could accomplish. Candlewick’s Candles will be an empire once again!”
“But you can’t prevent his death,” said Adam solemnly, thinking of Francine’s words. “It’s recorded history.”
M’s scowl returned. “Shut up, you imbecile. I’m asking you one last time—the snow globe, where is it?”
M began flipping aside the stuff on Adam’s desk. Adam’s gaze flicked involuntarily to the dresser. M’s eyes narrowed, and he kicked the bottom drawer open. His grip on Adam loosened when he saw what was inside.
“The pendulum!”
M grasped the object with shaking fingers. The golden disk swayed on the chain.
“So this is where it went—proof of the snow globe’s magic!”
Stall him, Adam thought pleadingly. Help me stall him.
For a moment, M seemed to be mesmerized. The villain stared at the pendulum. “Father?”
Adam wasn’t sure whether he misheard. But M said it again.
“Father, it’s me.” M seemed to be talking to the pendulum. There was a breath of silence. “It’s me, your son. The heir to the Baron name.”
Then someone thrust M backward. M made a gagging noise and tried to push away the arm binding his throat. Adam broke free from M’s grip and watched in shock.
“Victor?” he cried.
The elderly man was supporting his weight with a cane in one hand; his other arm was locked around M’s throat. M swung the sharp pliers in his hand and jabbed the side of Victor’s body. With a yelp, Victor let go and doubled over.
But the distraction allowed Adam to grab his music box from his drawer. He now smashed the wooden box on M, straight in his face. M howled in pain, dropping the pliers and the pendulum. Adam snatched the pliers and whacked M’s head.
M was unconscious before he crumpled to the floor.
Victor was also on the floor, clutching his bad leg. The side of his sweatshirt was stained dark red.
Panicked, Adam rushed for the telephone and dialed 9-1-1, his nose still dripping blood. He found that his uncle was still knocked out cold, but breathing. Adam spoke with the operator, surprised they managed to understand him through his incoherent babbling. After shakily giving the operator the address and requesting an ambulance, he hung up and bent down next to Victor.
“Sorry I was late, sonny,” Victor wheezed. “Couldn’t get up the stairs in my wheelchair. Had to use my walking stick…”
“How’d you know we were being attacked?”
“I kept an eye out down the street. Saw a shady person breaking in, so I followed.” Victor gave a shaky cough. “How’s your uncle?”
“He’s okay,” Adam whispered. “The ambulance is coming. We’ll get you and Uncle Henry to a hospital in no time. It’ll be okay.”
The red stain was growing larger. Adam grabbed a towel from the bathroom and pressed on the wound.
Victor gasped for breath and managed a toothless grin. “Listen, sonny, there’s no need. I’m already old as it is…old and frail…”
“We can save you,” Adam said, pressing the towel harder. Tears pooled in his eyes. He blinked them away angrily. “Just hang tight, you’ll be fine.”
“The music box.…Remember what you told me? This was foretold.”
“You won’t die!” Adam shouted.
“My time would’ve come eventually one of these days, Adam…” Victor’s voice was fading between the rasps. “I’m glad I got to save a life in the process.”
“No, you’re going to make it. Just hold on, the ambulance is coming…”
Victor clasped Adam’s hand and said nothing more. After a few moments, his hand grew limp. All that was left was the faint trace of a smile on his wrinkled face.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWOOF WAITING ROOMS AND CEMETERIES
Adam had only been to the hospital once in his life. He had been eight years old at the time, and had accidentally burned his hand by spilling boiling water from the stove. He remembered hating the hospital’s hallways, with their smell of disinfectant and their colorless floors, and the waiting room full of crying infants and uncomfortable plastic chairs. Most of all, he hated the harsh fluorescent lights and windowless walls.
He sat in a windowless waiting room now, watching a toddler tear apart the pages of a golf magazine. Adam didn’t say anything (he probably would’ve torn out the pages too, as it was more fun than reading about golf) and merely sat there, silently counting down the hours on the clock. He had slept in the same waiting room the night before, and had somewhat gotten used to the smell and the bright lights. His neck was sore. The plastic chairs proved uncomfortable for sitting, and even more difficult for sleeping.
The events of the terrible night M attacked seemed like forever ago. In fact, only two days had passed on the calendar. Today was the day Uncle Henry would finally be released from the hospital. Adam didn’t remember the exact words the doctor had used, but he’d heard the phrases “severe concussion” and “two-night mandatory stay.”
A nurse appeared in the waiting room. “Adam?” she said with a smile. “Your uncle wants to see you.”
Uncle Henry sat
