Chapter 7 The Funeral Reunion

# Chapter 7: The Funeral Reunion

The air in St. Catherine's Cathedral basement was dank and smelled of centuries-old stone. Andrea's consciousness returned slowly, her mind struggling through layers of chemical sedation. Her body felt heavy, encased in something restrictive yet soft. As her vision cleared, she realized with horror that she was wearing her wedding dress—the altered version with monitoring devices sewn into the sleeves.

She tried to move, discovering her wrists and ankles were bound to an ornate wooden chair. Across from her, bathed in the flickering light of church candles, stood an antique altar table. Upon it lay a body dressed in a perfect tuxedo—Leland's body, removed from the basement freezer and arranged with macabre precision.

"Welcome back," Carl's voice came from behind her. "I was beginning to worry you'd sleep through your own wedding."

He moved into her field of vision, dressed in an identical tuxedo to the one adorning his brother's corpse. The parallel was unsettling—twin figures, one living, one dead, both immaculately attired for a ceremony that had transformed from celebration to nightmare.

"What is this?" Andrea's voice emerged as a croak, her throat parched from whatever drugs Carl had administered.

"A private ceremony," Carl replied, adjusting his cufflinks with meticulous care. "More meaningful than the public spectacle upstairs. The true union."

Andrea glanced around, taking stock of her surroundings. They were in what appeared to be an ancient crypt beneath the cathedral, stone walls lined with recessed shelves that had once held the remains of the faithful. Now the space had been transformed—white roses and candles placed throughout, creating a grotesque parody of a wedding chapel.

"The guests are arriving above us," Carl continued, checking his watch. "In approximately forty minutes, they'll witness Leland Montgomery marry Andrea Blackwell in a ceremony befitting the social occasion of the season." He smiled, the expression not reaching his eyes. "Meanwhile, down here, we complete the true ritual—the joining of souls beyond mere legal documentation."

"You're insane," Andrea whispered, testing her restraints and finding no give. "Someone will notice we're missing. The ceremony can't proceed without us."

Carl's smile widened. "Oh, but it can and will." He gestured to a small monitor set up in the corner, displaying a live feed of the cathedral above. Guests were indeed arriving, being seated by ushers in formal attire. "Modern technology makes so many things possible. Pre-recorded responses, cleverly timed entrances and exits, strategic doubles for distance shots."

He approached Leland's body, straightening the already perfect bow tie with brotherly tenderness. "The public ceremony is merely theater—necessary for legal purposes, for social expectations. This," he gestured around the crypt, "this is reality. The three of us, completing what was always meant to be."

"And what exactly is that?" Andrea asked, stalling for time while frantically searching for any means of escape.

"The transfer," Carl said simply, as if it were obvious. "Leland's essence to me, your essence to our joined creation. The perfect fusion."

From a small case beside the altar, he removed a ring—Andrea's original engagement ring, the one she had seen on the corpse's finger in the freezer. "With this ring, I reclaim my brother's promise. With this ring, I complete the circle."

As Carl slipped the ring onto the dead finger of his brother, Andrea noticed something she hadn't before—a faint inscription visible on the inner band, catching the candlelight as it passed over the corpse's knuckle.

"From Leland?" she asked suddenly, her voice stronger.

Carl paused, his hand still on his brother's. "What did you say?"

"The inscription," Andrea continued, watching his reaction carefully. "It says 'From Leland,' doesn't it? Not 'From Carl.' Not 'From your loving husband.' Specifically from Leland."

Something flickered across Carl's face—uncertainty, perhaps, or irritation at her observation. "A technicality. We are interchangeable in all ways that matter."

"No," Andrea pressed, sensing a vulnerability. "You're not. You never were. That's why you've gone to such elaborate lengths to become him. Because deep down, you know you're just a shadow—the lesser copy."

Carl's composure slipped, his carefully maintained mask cracking to reveal the rage beneath. "I am not lesser," he hissed, abandoning his brother's hand to stride toward her. "I am the completion, the perfection of what he began. Leland was weak—surrendering to his disease, accepting defeat. I found a way to preserve him, to continue his legacy."

"By stealing his life? His identity? The woman he loved?" Andrea challenged, recognizing that her only weapon now was psychological. "That's not preservation—that's theft."

"He asked me to care for you!" Carl shouted, his control fracturing further. "To love you as he would have!"

"To care for me," Andrea agreed. "Not to impersonate him. Not to lock me in a basement and turn me into one of your specimens."

Carl's breathing had become erratic, his perfectly styled hair falling out of place as he paced before her. "You don't understand what I've sacrificed. What I've endured. Watching him deteriorate day by day, while you continued your perfect little life, oblivious to his suffering."

He stopped suddenly, composing himself with visible effort. "But none of that matters now. We've reached the culmination." From his pocket, he withdrew a small remote control. "It's time for the ceremony upstairs to begin—and for our private ritual to reach its conclusion."

He pressed a button, and on the monitor, Andrea could see the cathedral lights dimming slightly. Music began to play—the traditional wedding processional she had selected months ago, in what now seemed like another lifetime.

"In approximately seven minutes," Carl explained, his clinical detachment returning, "the recorded explosion will sound, followed by the rose petal release. During the momentary confusion, our doubles will exit through the vestry door, ostensibly for a private moment before the reception. The guests will be directed to the reception hall, where strategic appearances by us—or rather, digital reconstructions of us—will maintain the illusion throughout the evening."

He returned to the altar table where his brother lay and opened a small wooden box beside the corpse. Inside gleamed surgical instruments—scalpels, forceps, a bone saw—arranged with the same meticulous precision Carl brought to every aspect of his life.

"Meanwhile, down here, the true transformation begins," he continued, selecting a scalpel and examining its edge in the candlelight. "By midnight, the fusion will be complete. By morning, what remains of Andrea and Leland will be transported to the private facility I've prepared upstate, where the final stages can proceed without interruption."

Andrea's heart raced as the horrific reality of his plan became clear. "You can't possibly succeed. Someone will investigate when we don't reappear. The police—"

"Will find evidence of the newlyweds embarking on an extended honeymoon," Carl interrupted smoothly. "Plane tickets, hotel reservations, credit card trails across Europe. Modern technology makes disappearances quite manageable, especially with the Montgomery resources at my disposal."

He approached her again, scalpel glinting in his hand. "Now, I'll need to make some preliminary incisions before the main event. Nothing too invasive yet—just enough to begin the bonding process."

Andrea struggled violently against her restraints, the chair legs scraping against stone. "You won't get away with this. Someone knows. Someone will stop you."

Carl laughed softly. "Who? Your maid of honor, conveniently suffering from food poisoning I arranged? Leland's mother, sedated in her private suite after an 'anxiety attack' this morning? The wedding planner, paid triple her fee to handle any irregularities without question?" He shook his head. "No one is coming, Andrea. No one even knows to look."

As he brought the scalpel toward her exposed collarbone, a tremendous noise shook the cathedral above—not the controlled sound effect Carl had planned, but a genuine explosion that sent dust raining from the ancient ceiling of the crypt.

Carl froze, confusion replacing confidence. "That's not right," he muttered, glancing at his watch. "The sequence wasn't scheduled for another three minutes."

A second explosion followed, closer this time, rattling the candles and sending several toppling to the floor. Carl rushed to the monitor, which now showed chaos in the cathedral—guests rushing for exits, smoke filling the main chamber.

"Impossible," he whispered, frantically pressing buttons on his remote. "The charges were minimal—theatrical effects only. This is something else."

The door to the crypt burst open, and through the settling dust strode a figure that caused both Carl and Andrea to freeze in disbelief. A man in a wheelchair, thin but unmistakably alive, a breathing mask covering the lower portion of his face and a pistol gripped in his trembling hand.

Leland.

"Step away from her, Carl," he commanded, his voice weak but determined beneath the mask.

Carl's face drained of color, the scalpel slipping from his suddenly nerveless fingers. "You're dead," he whispered. "You're in the tank. I preserved you myself."

"You preserved a genetic construct," Leland replied, wheeling further into the room. "A clone you grew from my cells, engineered to develop my disease at an accelerated rate. Quite the scientific achievement—I'll give you that."

Andrea stared at the man she had believed dead, emotions cascading through her—relief, confusion, hope, fear. "Leland? Is it really you?"

His eyes met hers, filled with a pain that went beyond physical suffering. "It's me, Andrea. I'm so sorry for all of this. For not telling you about my diagnosis, for leaving you vulnerable to... this." He gestured toward his brother with the gun.

Carl had recovered from his initial shock, his brilliant mind already recalculating, adapting to this unexpected development. "Brother," he said, his voice softening into the persuasive tone Andrea had come to recognize as his most dangerous. "You're confused. The disease has affected your cognitive function. You asked me to care for Andrea, to step into your place."

"I asked you to look after her," Leland corrected, the gun remaining steady despite his weakened condition. "Not to impersonate me. Not to turn her into one of your experiments."

Carl took a careful step forward, hands raised in a placating gesture. "Let me help you, Leland. You're not well. The ALS—"

"Is real," Leland acknowledged. "But not as advanced as your medical forgeries suggested. The diagnosis was eighteen months ago, not eleven. The progression is slower than average, not accelerated." His gaze hardened. "You altered my medication, didn't you? Added something to speed the deterioration."

A flicker of admiration crossed Carl's face. "Very good. I wondered if you'd figure that out." He took another step forward. "But it doesn't change the fundamental truth—you're dying, brother. Slowly or quickly, the end remains the same. I found a way to preserve you, to continue your legacy."

"By killing me?" Leland asked, his voice steady despite his frail appearance. "By stealing my identity and the woman I love?"

Carl's expression shifted, something like genuine hurt crossing his features. "I wasn't stealing—I was becoming. Completing. Fulfilling the potential you were losing to disease." He gestured between them. "We're two halves of the same whole, Leland. Always have been. I was simply... reunifying what biology had separated."

As the brothers confronted each other, Andrea worked silently at her restraints, finding that one had loosened during her earlier struggles. With careful movements, she managed to free one hand, keeping it hidden in the folds of her wedding dress.

"You've been planning this for years, haven't you?" Leland asked, the gun wavering slightly as fatigue began to affect him. "Long before my diagnosis."

Carl's smile was sad, almost tender. "Since we were children. Since Mother chose you over me, again and again. Since Father left his empire to you despite my superior intellect, my greater vision." He spread his hands. "But I never hated you for it, brother. I admired you. Loved you, even as I recognized I could improve upon you."

"By becoming me," Leland said softly.

"By becoming us," Carl corrected. "The best of both brothers, unified in one superior form." He nodded toward the corpse on the altar table. "That body—your supposed corpse—contains genetic material from both of us. A perfect hybrid, waiting for consciousness to be transferred."

Andrea had managed to free her second hand and was working on her ankle restraints when Carl suddenly turned toward her, his instincts alerting him to her movements. Their eyes met, and in that moment, Andrea knew her time had run out.

"Enough talking," Carl said, reaching into his jacket. "This reunion has been touching, but the schedule remains." He withdrew not a weapon, but a small device resembling a remote detonator. "I prepared for contingencies, brother. Always have."

Above them, a third explosion shook the cathedral foundations, larger than the previous two. Dust and small fragments of stone rained down from the ceiling.

"That would be the central support column," Carl explained calmly. "In approximately four minutes, the entire structure will collapse into the crypt. Poetic, don't you think? The three of us, entombed together for eternity."

"You're insane," Leland gasped, the exertion and dust affecting his already compromised breathing.

"I'm devoted," Carl corrected. "To family. To perfection. To completion." He pressed another button on the device, and somewhere in the distance, a final explosion sounded.

Andrea had freed one ankle and was working on the last restraint when Carl turned back to her, the scalpel once more in his hand. "We don't have time for the full procedure now, but we can begin the bonding at least."

As he lunged toward her with the blade, Leland fired the pistol. The shot went wide, grazing Carl's shoulder rather than stopping him. He staggered but continued his advance toward Andrea.

With desperate strength, Andrea broke the final restraint and dove sideways just as Carl's scalpel slashed through the air where her throat had been. She rolled across the stone floor, hampered by the voluminous wedding dress, and came up against the altar table where the hybrid corpse lay.

Carl pursued her, blood seeping from his shoulder wound but determination undiminished. "You can't escape, Andrea. None of us can now. But we can transcend—together."

As he closed in on her, Andrea grabbed the nearest object—a heavy brass candlestick—and swung it with all her strength. The impact caught Carl on the side of the head, sending him staggering backward. Blood began to flow from a gash at his temple, but still he advanced, the scalpel gripped tightly in his hand.

"Carl!" Leland's voice cut through the chaos. "Look at what you've done."

He had wheeled closer to the altar table and was holding something in his trembling hand—sheaves of paper that he had pulled from his jacket. In the flickering candlelight, Andrea recognized them as medical records.

"What I've done is ensure our immortality," Carl replied, momentarily distracted from his pursuit of Andrea.

"What you've done is poison your own brother," Leland countered, tossing the papers toward Carl. They scattered across the stone floor between them—laboratory reports, medication records, blood work results. "These aren't ALS symptoms I've been experiencing—they're arsenic poisoning symptoms. Carefully administered over months to mimic neurological deterioration."

Carl's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes hardened. "A necessary acceleration of the inevitable. The diagnosis was real, brother. I merely... expedited the timeline to suit our purposes."

"Our purposes?" Leland's voice cracked with emotion. "Or yours?"

Another tremor shook the crypt, stronger than before. Dust and small stones continued to rain down from the ceiling. The structural damage above was clearly worsening.

"We don't have time for this," Carl said, glancing upward. "The cathedral is coming down. We need to complete at least the preliminary bonding before—"

"Before what?" Andrea demanded, still gripping the candlestick. "Before we're all crushed to death? Is that how your perfect plan ends, Carl?"

For the first time, uncertainty flickered across Carl's face. The controlled collapse was clearly exceeding his calculations, threatening to entomb them before his "procedure" could be completed.

"It wasn't supposed to happen this quickly," he muttered, more to himself than to them. "The structural supports should have held for at least fifteen more minutes."

In that moment of distraction, Andrea struck again with the candlestick, this time connecting solidly with Carl's wrist. The scalpel clattered to the floor, and she kicked it away before he could recover.

"It's over, Carl," she said, backing toward Leland. "Your plan has failed. Let us leave before the whole place comes down."

Carl looked between them, blood streaming down his face from the head wound, his expression shifting from confusion to a terrible clarity. "No," he said softly. "Not failure. Adaptation."

With surprising speed, he lunged not toward Andrea or Leland, but toward the altar table. From the box of surgical instruments, he grabbed not another scalpel but a sealed vial and syringe.

"Plan B," he explained, filling the syringe with practiced efficiency. "Not as elegant as the original procedure, but effective nonetheless."

Before either Andrea or Leland could react, Carl plunged the needle into his own neck, depressing the plunger completely. Whatever he had injected worked with terrifying speed—his pupils dilated instantly, his breathing accelerated, and a strange smile spread across his face.

"Magnificent," he whispered, staggering slightly as the drug took effect. "I can feel it beginning already. The fusion."

Another violent tremor shook the room, larger chunks of masonry now falling around them. One narrowly missed Leland's wheelchair, shattering on the floor beside him.

"We need to get out now," Andrea urged, moving behind Leland's chair to push him toward the door.

"Wait," Leland said, reaching into his jacket once more. This time he withdrew a small velvet box—a ring box. "Take this. It's important."

As Andrea took the box, Carl began to laugh—a high, unnatural sound that echoed off the crypt walls. "Too late for rings and promises, brother. Too late for conventional bonds." His movements had become jerky, uncoordinated, as if his nervous system was misfiring. "The real union is chemical, cellular, fundamental."

The ceiling gave an ominous crack, a fissure opening directly above them. Andrea grabbed the handles of Leland's wheelchair and began pushing him toward the exit with desperate strength.

"What about him?" she asked as they reached the doorway, glancing back at Carl who remained by the altar, swaying on his feet, that terrible smile still fixed on his face.

"He's made his choice," Leland replied grimly. "As I've made mine."

As they fled through the door and into the narrow passage beyond, Andrea heard Carl's voice one last time, rising above the sound of crumbling masonry:

"From Leland? No, Andrea—from us. Always from us."

Then came the deafening roar of collapse, dust billowing through the passageway as the crypt ceiling gave way completely. Andrea pushed Leland's chair with renewed urgency, navigating the narrow tunnel that led upward toward the cathedral proper.

Behind them, buried beneath tons of ancient stone and modern explosives, lay Carl Montgomery and his grotesque altar of twisted science—a funeral reunion that had become a tomb.