Misfits

8.2 | the hands that take

His hands.

One is mangled and deformed, marred with purplish black blisters; patterned with fleshy coloured strips of skin, seared at the knuckles and running down the back of his hand. And as for the other...

Richard Masters flexes his wrists, using his left thumb to rub over the imprint of the cuffs on his skin. From his wrist downwards, his right hand is covered in large patches of charred ashen skin ending in an abrupt stump where three of his fingers should be.

"Oh," the agent beside my mother turns around to supply an answer. "His wounds were already infected by the time he was brought in for treatment. The ligaments there were severely burned, according to his records, and they didn't want to risk him going into septic shock so the team opted for an amputation."

"Oh," I murmur.

My gaze drifts from Richard Masters to Emma, searching for a monitor that allows me to see her expression. Initially, she is frozen, her eyes fixated on the burns that covered his hands. I can almost hear her come to the horrified realisation, 'I did that'.

The air in the room is tense. The silence is stifling. Even taking in a breath feels too harsh, too loud, too rash an action in such a tense moment. Maybe this was a worse idea than any of us could have imagined.

After several seconds, it seems Emma manages to muster the courage to look away. She squeezes her eyes shut, inhales and exhales deeply; rolling her shoulders to straighten her posture. Then she opens her eyes and asks Masters in a direct manner, "Why did you want to see me?"

My mother is the first to release her bated breath. This is good. This is following protocol. Emma is initiating the conversation — like she was instructed in order to maintain control of the meeting.

There is no immediate reply. Richard Masters slowly arches his head clockwise until his eyes come in contact with the nearest visible security camera. He stares at us through the surveillance camera, raising a brow as if he could personally see us watching him from the other side. And his lips slowly spread in a smirk.

"I was curious," Richard Masters admits once his gaze has settled on Emma once more. "I wanted to see just how desperate they had gotten to agree. And from the sight of you... it must be very desperate indeed. The other one is still not speaking, I presume?"

"The other one?" Emma questions. Her voice cracks at first, but she recovers quickly.

"Redhead, Redmere? No, Redmond, was it?" Masters leans forward over the table. "I'm sure there are far better uses for people's taxes than wasting time on her." His gaze flicks up to the security camera again. "You do realise she's not going to talk?"

"Why did he ask to speak to Emma if he just plans on talking about taxes, and making cryptic remarks at your mother?" Cole murmurs through gritted teeth.

He's not wrong. I'm still trying to figure out the purpose of this meeting.

"And you will?" Emma asks, drawing Richard Masters' attention back to her. "You'll talk? Why?"

He quirks a brow in response. "Well. A deal is a deal."

"But it wasn't a deal you were willing to make before," Emma talks back. "What changed?"

There's a shift in the ex-mayor's expression. "I am aware of when I am running out of options. I know when I've been abandoned — and my prospects out there are no more better than here," he says. "I imagine your Redmond is still in denial. Disillusioned with the notion she is still under their protection." He pauses. "Or maybe she is. It would explain why she remains so confident even after deviating from the original plan."