The vote.
Dwight Nell felt a dilemma. He and Bev Hardy had planned to vote out the deranged Jesse Holmes, but now…
His gaze subtly flicked to Rosie Moulton, seated at the first chair to the left of the head, and he felt a surge of wariness.
This woman was the most dangerous presence here.
Rosie showed no hesitation.
Her quill scratched across the parchment, swiftly completing the task.
She set down the pen, placed her palm on her left shoulder, and spoke.
“Truth above, Mr. Bobby’s blood shall not be spilled in vain. The guilty will receive their due punishment.
I propose we vote for Herman Rhys today, to leave this murderer here.
Any objections?”
Dwight glanced at the handgun still in her grip, forced a smile, and agreed.
“I support Miss Moulton’s proposal.”
Rosie’s eyes swept over the group, and seeing no dissent, she nodded in satisfaction.
Then, as if remembering something, she grabbed the parchment and walked to Herman, now tied to a chair.
She waved the parchment with his name in front of him, asking politely.
“Mr. Rhys, do you mind us writing your name?”
“Hah—cough, cough!!”
Herman glared at Rosie’s face, his bloodshot eyes filled with venom.
Rosie nodded. “No objection? Then you agree.”
As if unable to hold back any longer, Herman thrashed violently, crashing into her with the chair and knocking her to the ground.
Bound hand and foot, he opened his mouth and lunged to bite her pale neck.
Dwight, the closest, made no move to intervene, silently cheering in his heart.
Go, go, bite that madwoman dead!
Unfortunately, Rosie reacted quickly.
Though men typically outmatched women in strength, Herman was restrained to the chair, relying only on his weight to pin her momentarily.
Rosie’s legs tensed, her knee bending slightly as she raised the hand holding the gun, slamming the butt into his cheek to thwart his attack.
Then, using her arm as leverage against the floor, she pushed hard and broke free.
Standing up, Rosie’s face was cold.
She kicked Herman’s back, then aimed the gun at him.
“Ah—!”
A woman’s scream from nearby caused her finger to pause on the trigger.
Rosie stared at Herman for a moment, closed her eyes, lowered the gun, and turned to smile at the middle-aged gentleman beside her.
“Mr. Nell, could you help me move Mr. Rhys back?”
The girl’s smile was sweet, but her eyes were icy, devoid of warmth.
Was she resentful that I stood so close yet didn’t help immediately?
She wanted to kill Rhys just now—who’s next, me?
Dwight’s spine chilled, but under pressure, he nodded and stepped forward to lift the fallen Herman.
Rosie moved to the head of the table, picking up the central table cover and holding it against her abdomen with the inside facing her, like a courteous server.
“It’s getting late. After the vote, everyone should rest.”
Herman Rhys had been mercilessly sentenced to death by the girl.
***
In the spacious dining hall, the others had long gone, leaving only a headless female corpse and a man tightly bound to a chair at the table.
Time ticked by, second by second, as Herman Rhys awaited his “redemption.”
Squeak—.
The door was pushed open, and “someone” entered.
Step, step, step.
Unfamiliar footsteps grew closer, heralding the man’s doom.
Soon, the dining hall might hold another headless corpse.
Dennis Sandek walked in, pulling a weapon from the open collar of his black coat.
He gripped the edge of the baton, gave it a twist, and drew out a slender blade hidden within.
Herman looked up, his burn-scarred face contorted in shock.
“Hah—hah?!”
Dennis’s eyes were cold, regarding the man as if he were already a corpse.
He approached Herman, reaching out to hold him steady for the beheading, when suddenly, as if sensing something, he stepped back. A sharp whistle cut through the air, silver flashing as an arc-shaped blade tore through his coat, drawing a streak of crimson.
The pain didn’t slow Dennis.
He steadied himself, twisted his waist, and used the strength of his hips and legs to deliver a swift kick.
Crack.
The chair toppled as Herman ducked, his forearm flexing to swing the dagger upward.
But he was too slow.
Dennis, not lingering in the fight, pulled his leg back after missing, stepped left, bent his right knee into a half-squat, and slashed the baton-blade downward, arms relaxed, shoulders lowered.
Faced with the powerful slash, Herman didn’t block with his dagger.
Instead, he retreated to a safe distance, keeping his right arm lowered, dagger in hand by his side, poised to strike.
Herman stared at Dennis for a moment, then spoke suddenly.
“Mr. Sandek, you’re impressive, reacting to such a sneak attack.”
Dennis showed little reaction to the mispronounced name.
His hand rested on his abdomen; though he’d dodged in time, he was injured, but not fatally.
He’d personally searched Herman’s body. Yet now, not only had he escaped, but he also had a dagger.
Dennis’s mind raced, recalling the moment Herman tackled Rosie to the ground. They’d been close enough for subtle movements.
His fighter’s heightened hearing kicked in.
Ignoring Herman’s sudden attack, Dennis blocked the dagger’s thrust with his left arm, refraining from countering.
Instead, he rolled to the side.
The expected gunshot didn’t come.
Dennis frowned, glancing toward the dining hall door.
At the half-open entrance stood a figure—a girl with wavy tea-brown hair and misty blue eyes. Who else but Rosie Moulton?
Rosie looked at the bodyguard, her expression complex.
She didn’t speak, only raised her gun and moved toward Herman.
It wasn’t that she didn’t want to shoot; she knew her aim was poor—firing would likely just make noise.
Better to use the gun as a deterrent, as she had during the earlier charade in the dining hall.
Herman pressed his left hand to his cheek, rubbing it before tearing off the charred, leather-like skin, chuckling lightly.
“How will you redeem me,
My dear Lord?”