Page 120 of Outcast’s Return

But before any of us can say another word, the door swings open again.

And in the doorway like a shadow?

Cromwell.

49

FABIEN

He’s fucking here. The man we’re literally talking about.

Cromwell stands in the doorway in silence for a long moment, blocking the only way out of the small room, his expression unreadable. We all stare back at him.

Does he know we’re talking about him? Does he know of the revelation we’ve just had?

Cromwell’s eyes slowly drift down to the desk. To the drawing of the ring and the tattoo. He takes it in without a flicker of emotion.

He’s wearing a suit. The Supreme Elder robe is gone, but he’s still a perfect picture of regal authority. He’s achieved everything he’s wanted. King of the universe.

I’m the first to speak. I know the line has already been crossed.

There’s no point in pretending anymore.

“Is it true, Cromwell? Are you the Masked Killer?”

There’s a slight smirk pulling at the edges of Cromwell’s lips. Composed, he lets my words roll off him like water off a rock.

There’s a long pause.

“What are you talking about?” he asks. His voice isn’t raised; it’s controlled. It’s almost as if this is all some childish game he’s stumbled into, and he’s simply humoring us.

“Are you the one who killed my parents?” I ask, my voice unsteady.

“What is this?” Cromwell questions. “What are you doing?”

“You know what we’re talking about,” Baptiste adds.

Cromwell pauses again before he speaks.

“Do you honestly believe this, boys? You think I’m the murderer? I’m the new Supreme Elder, for God’s sake. Let’s forget this wild talk, come out here, and enjoy my ascendancy party.”

It’s all smooth. Precise. Polished. A lifetime of practice for a man who can charm multi-billion dollar companies and heads of state.

“It’s your ring, Supreme Elder,” Baptiste replies, pointing at his drawing. “It’s the same tattoo I saw today when you were naked. It’s what I remember from New Orleans, from the man who tried to kill me. It’s you.”

Cromwell tuts.

“This is really getting out of hand now, boys.”

Clement is shaking his head in shock.

“It can’t be you, Father,” he mutters. “Say it’s not you.”

Cromwell tilts his chin toward the door.

“I don’t need to justify these insane accusations with even an answer. Come back to the party, boys, and I’ll forget all about this momentary lapse of sanity.”

Baptiste stands up straight and firmly glares at Cromwell.