Sentenced to Life

4

The sun had set but Emory was enthralled.

"Does your husband not worry?" He asked quietly, pointed to her ring. She worried it feeling it cold around her finger.

"No. He doesn't."

Silas nodded. "I was not the best husband, but I would worry for you. Alone. Especially with a creature like me."

Emory couldn't let him know that her husband had no clue where she was and didn't care.

"Well..." is all she said, trailing off.

Silas looked over her body as she stretched. He stood, dragging his hands along the dresser touching things of interest.

"Is he expecting you back soon," he mused, looking at her through the mirrors reflection unbeknownst to her.

"Yes," she said confidently, but his eyes narrowed as she fiddled with her loose ring. It was the wrong size. Her eyes darted away at her lie. He smiled softly.

"I'd hate to keep you, but I'm loath to be alone," he said softly, "I've been alone for a lifetime."

Emory went quiet but didn't seem to notice his intense gaze. "Why don't you...send him a letter? Or perhaps a telegram? I'd hate to make him worry?"

Emory frowned deeply, the corner of her mouth twitching down. "We don't really use those. I could just call him but I don't need to do that—"

Silas observed her carefully. He'd cut his hair but not sure enough that he could not hide behind it. His dark wet strands his his gaze as he stared intently at her from the mirror, continuing to press her.

"It would bring me much peace, to know your loved ones knew you safe. Pray then, call him as you say?"

Emory's jaw ticked. "Let's just keep interviewing—"

Silas smiles softly. "I couldn't possibly."

Emory rolled her eyes and against her better judgment, called her husband, murmuring discontented, about his antiquated notions and thag her husband did not own her.

The phone clicked as Emory realized she should've just lied. He couldn't hear the phone he didn't know how it worked. She heaved a sigh at her lack of creativity.

"Where are you?"

Silas walked further away, giving a performance of giving her privacy, pressing himself against the mirror, watching her.

Emory rolled her eyes at the sound of his voice. "I'm gonna be late. There's food in the fridge. Probably gonna be a few days."

Silas noted her icy tone. He was no stranger to it. His own wife used it often. It was the voice of woman with no true attachments to the man she married save his last name.

"Whatever. We're almost out of clean dishes."

Emory's eye twitched. "Then wash them."

"I would," he droned on.

Silas ventured closer, grabbing a robe, and straying back to the mirror letting his towel fell. Emory's eyes strayed to him, startled. Silas made no outward expression, carefully pulling on the white robe.

"But I always mess it up. I don't wanna break the dishwasher again," her husband complained.

Emory's mouth was open, as she shook her head trying to gather her thoughts. "You're 36 years old, you know how to use a dishwasher."

"I mean I could but you do it better. I don't wanna fuck it up. I'll just use paper plates till you get back, but we only have one pack so hurry."

Emory sneered and hung up, tossing her phone on the table. Silas looked at her over his shoulder with an innocent smile.

"All is well?" He asked softly.

Emory made a vague motion. "Look, I can't put you up forever. But...I can get this coin appraised and give you the money."

Silas nodded. She would take a portion for herself he assumed and pretend she'd given him the full amount. But he didn't mind much. She was his guide, and an interesting woman.

"I am amendable to that arrangement," he stated, turning around. "We've done so much and yet I do not know your name. My apologies. Pray, what is it, that I may thank my savior personally?"

"Emory," she whispered.

He smiled. "Emory. I like it. Emory...what is your last name and station?"

"We don't do stations and just Emory is fine for now."

Silas nodded and smiled. "Emory could you procure me garments. I cannot stay like this forever."

She nodded and yawned, backing up her notebook and camera. "Yes. I'll come back tomorrow with clothes, and shoes."

"Don't you need to measure me?" He asked, following her as she walked toward the door.

"No, I have an eye for these things," she waved her hand. "Thank you Silas. I'm interested in learning more about your life story."

Silas smiled. "And I am interested in learning about you."

Emory looked back confused. "Hm?"

"About your country and it's people. How has America, wayward child that it was grown I wonder? How has the world?"

She nodded accepting his answer. "Then tomorrow I'll give you a run down of things you need to know and things you'll have to do."

Silas let the door shut behind her quietly contemplating the evening. He did not like that there was a record of him. It may prove troublesome later. But the fact she was not going to her husband and their relationship seemed strained at best was a welcome piece of information. She also didn't seem very aware of her surroundings, even though she was wary of him.

Count Silas Christopher Maxwell had been officially sentenced for the murder of his wife and daughter, and those, if only those he was unsure if he committed. But money had provided him many an excuse in his life time.

He may not have killed his wife and daughter. But he'd certainly killed others. He hummed a tune. A little rhyme his mother used to sing him.

"Ladybird ladybird, fly away home. Your horse is on foot...and your children are gone."