Façade

Chapter 27

Emily's eyes snapped open, to once again find herself bound, in an unfamiliar place. Only this time, it wasn't to a wall, but to a wooden chair. Neither arm was free, but tied to her sides with the ropes that held her to the chair. Behind her sat her husband, unconscious. His head dropped below the height of his shoulders. She could hear his deep, even breaths. She looked all around, in the corner to her right, was an old television, that she assumed was no longer operational. Directly in front of her was a tall wooden door, with a brass knob, cut into the shape of a small, disc. Cream drapes brushed the ground as they hung from above two windows on either side of the door. One thing she knew for certain, was that she definately not in Grayson Manor this time.

The last thing she could remember was going to sleep in the swiss hotel. She didn't know how long she'd been out for, but hoped she hadn't missed the party the Paulsons were throwing. She caught herself mid-thought. How could she possibly be thinking about social events at such a time? She craned her neck as far behind herself as she could, before seeing that Daniel, who was bound to a chair in the same fashion to which she was bound to hers, was donning a blindfold, for what reason, she could not know. The chairs on which they both rested, were trussed to one another too, a further precaution to avert escape.

She swung her head side to side, merely for something menial to occupy her time. As she began to get dizzy, Aiden entered the room. Daniel's head was thrown up, and shot from side to side, as the door slammed behind Aiden. The wind was bracing, and Emily noticed snow outside briefly before the doorway was sealed.

Aiden circled his hostages menacingly. His footsteps were slow, heavy, and precise. Nothing was going to distract him from his goal: to put Daniel in prison for obstruction of justice, and run away with Emily. Settle down, get married... you know, what every psychopath delusionally in love with his ex-girlfriend wants. The only problem being that Emily was already married to Daniel, an obstacle that he fully intended to irradicate. The only question being the timing. When? Or, quite possibly, how? The one thig he knew was that, once Daniel was out of the way, he could marry Emily, however, he mistakenly thought that Emily would actually want to marry him. It didn't occur to him, to his twisted, psychotic, self, that she wouldn't want to marry him, to settle down with him, after all the may times he'd deserted her. Emily, nonetheles, wouldn't let him know this, for fear of a violent outburst. No, she decided to bide her time, in the hopes of herself and Daniel being miracullously rescued. And with that comforting thought, Emily didn't care what callous and taunting words Aiden had to throw at her or her husband.

Victoria's eyes slowly eased themselves open, as she took in her surroundings. She was handcuffed to a hospital bed, with white sheets and a blue blanket on top. the walls surrounding her were of a peachy tint, and she could barely make out the edge of the back of a guard's head, outside the window in the door of her room.

Her head returned to the pillow, and she stared at the ceiling, wondering what had become of her. She was a convict. She was prison-bound just as soon as she was well enough to return. And the only thing keeping her strong enough to merely open her eyes every morning was the thought of her only remaining family member; her son, Daniel. The hope that he's eventually open his eyes and see what he was married to, and leave.

But, alas, that objective had been thrown onto her mental back-burner as of late, well, as of the previous week. She had bigger fish to fry (figuratively speaking, because, in truth, Mason Treadwell was rather small in stature). She let out a pure, unadulterated laugh. This was it. She had arrived. She, at last, did not care what anyone thought of her. And it felt good.

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