Façade

Chapter 25

No one ever told Aiden he was worth something, or that he was special. At least, not since his sister was taken. Aiden was always second, or even third best. With Emily, he always played second to Daniel, and indeed Jack. With revenge, he abandoned his own mission for Emily's. Aiden needed to be first, to be best.

He had to get that evidence. He had to get Emily. He couldn't live through another day without her touch, without her love. His fingers brushed against her image on the screen in front of him, before expeditiously curling into a fist so tight his knuckles were white. He tapped viciously on the glowing glass screen, wracking his brain. Searching through all his memories of Emily, through all the many nights they spent together, locked in the kind of tender embrace that only two lovers as emotionally connected as the two of them could possibly share.

He walked silenty, not making a sound. Even his footsteps were muffled by the carpet beneath him. His eyes flashed from side to side. The room number he was looking for was coming up. 'Eighty-five, eighty-six, eighty-seven, and eighty-eight. He paused outside room number eighty-eight. Staring the door up and down, he removed the maid's master key-card from his pocket, swiped it, and readied a cannister of chloroform and two surgical masks. This would be a very interesting night indeed.

In a dingy prison cell, Victoria Grayson sat with her legs together on the stool bolted to the ground, in front of a small, metal desk that was securely latched to the grey, concrete wall in front of her. Pictures of her children littered the wall, along with newspaper clippings of her, her husband, her family, and one, clutching to the peripheries of her past life in print, of David Clarke. She gazed into his kind eyes, that, even though she was to blame for his demise, bore no malice, animosity, or ill will. There was only love, and fear. Love for his children, and, perhaps, Victoria, but an overwhelming fear of the future, the kind of dismay that couldn't be quelled by kind words. That particular news clipping, although bringing moments of happiness, also brought longer minutes of regret, and that disgrace often drove her to consider taking it down, however love persueded her to let it be.

She heard faint footsteps in the distance. Click, click, click. They grew louder and louder as they drew nearer, and came to an abrupt halt outside the door of her cell. 'Grayson? You've got a visitor' the guard opened the flap in the door, and Victoria backed up towards it, offering the guard her wrists. Victoria's head fell, and she watched her feet step, one in front of the other they made soft noises, as she carefully set them on the floor, making her way down the dim corridor, towards the barred door to the visitor's room.

She raised her head to address her visitor, only to find that she really didn't want to speak to him, she turned to ask the guard to go back to her cell, only to realize he was gone. She spun around, to see that her visitor was still sitting at the cold, metal table in the middle of the room. She sat down opposite her visitor, as he eaned in, she mirrored his action, and stared into his steely eyes.

© Sarah Egan 2013 - 2014 This story is subject to copyright and may not be copied or reproduced without the express permission of the author.