Sentenced to Life

8

By the time Emory's husband Thomas realized she had been gone for a week, Silas had already begun wriggling his way into the spot where Thomas used to be. Not that he'd known that. He frowned at the dim lighting on his phone as he squinted at the time, noting his wife had not called or texted him once since 3 days ago.

He wondered somewhat idly where she'd been, but not enough to do more than text a simple wyd.

Emory's phone lit up with the text but she was busy staring awkwardly between the camera and Silas' eyes. 

"My love is pure," Emory stated looking into the camera, her fingers tented. "Purely for money."

Silas raised his brows, a smile cracking on his face. "Come now, be serious."

Emory shrugged. "I am."

Silas' dark hair framed his face, mused and still somewhat wet, as he stared at her expectantly, raising a dark brow. Emory wondered how 300 years of no grooming had just...melted away after a few days. She shifted in her place and sighed. Why was he so interested in her?

Well, maybe that was a dumb question. He only knew her. She was his only human interaction. She chided herself, reminding herself that it'd be the same no matter who found him. She wasn't special."

"You're so special," he said softly, in direct contrast to her thoughts. "There is more to you than a love of money. Even the need of money. I have known those people all my life. You...you are not like them."

Emory looked away and scoffed. "Did that work in the 1800s?"

He smirked, his blue eyes glinting. "It did."

Emory rolled her eyes, standing. Silas tracked her movements across the hotel room. Her phone lit up behind her, drawing his eye. Her husband no doubt.

"Well in the present—we've all heard it. Sorry to say but you'll have be original."

"I fear even my originality may be outdated," he mused.  "So let me try again."

Silas caught her eyes. "When I gaze upon you, I cannot help but ponder...who is she. I am confounded by you, but I'm not vexed by my bafflement. Instead...I'm intrigued. I want to know you. I want an answer to the burning question: who is she?"

Emory's cheeks heated. She swallowed roughly, her heart beating hard in her chest, so hard she wondered if he could hear it.

"I...that was...that was original," she stuttered trying to laugh it off. It fell flat, her smile wobbling.

He smiled and let her off the hook. "I'm grateful you think so, Emory."

He stared at her through the camera as she shifted. "Now...begin at your beginning. Who were you born to?"

Emory stood pacing. "You want to know me?"

He nodded.

Emory sighed. "Then none of that matters. You know me. You know me enough. More than...probably anyone else at this point."

Silas narrowed his eyes and stood, walking toward her. "It isn't enough. I must know more. When I call your name I'd like to know who it really belongs to. I want to know you like you will know me. Every part of me."

He reached out, pausing an inch from his face before closing his eyes and looking away.

"How could I know more than anyone else," he asked softly. "You're married. Surely he knows you more."

Emory shuddered and shrugged. "I don't know what he knows."

Silas' eyes darkened. There were parts of her even her husband didn't know? That no one knew? Then he could own them completely. They would be his, his treasure.

It had been so long since he'd owned something, even his freedom, his autonomy. But her secrets could be his. He smiled softly. Emory smiled back.

"Then...will you tell me? Let us take one another's secrets to our graves." He offered his hand, extending it for a handshake.

Emory looked at it for a moment before taking it. Her small hand was engulfed in his. He held it tightly giving her a firm, but gentle shake.

"I'll probably get to mine first," she mused.
He grinned. "You definitely will."

Emory swallowed: she infected if he'd hate her knowing that she intended to take advantage of him. Somehow she had a half a mind to think he wouldn't.

"I've not had liquor or cigarettes in some time." He said, walking back to the camera, enjoying her rest ions.

"They found out nicotine is super bad for you," she wriggled her nose.

He shrugged. "I've got another lifetime in me. What about liquor?"

She sighed, getting up. He watched her hips sway as she opened the mini fridge.

"That we have. But I doubt you've got much of a tolerance anymore." She replied, pouring a glass.

He exhaled, taking the glass from her hand. "Hm you'd be surprised by the things I can tolerate."

Emory let the innuendo slide. "You're just as smooth as they come, aren't you, Silas?"

He smirked, sipping the brandy he'd been given with a wink. "Perhaps..."