Once Upon A Twisted Fate

Seven. - Time Bomb

Hey, readers! So, this story has exceeded 300 reads and has gained more than 50 votes. I know the numbers aren't that big compared to a lot of other stories on this site, but this being my first story and all, I just feel so happy. Thanks to those who commented, voted, and even those who silently read my story without me knowing it :) It really does motivate me to keep writing.

Also, I'm dedicating this chapter to WritePerfectMemories for being such an awesome and supportive reader/fan :) 

Okay, I'll stop now. Enjoy reading this chapter!

                                                          .'~.'~.'~.'~.'~.'~.'~.

My whole body felt hot and throat burning dry. I wasn’t prepared for this. It would seem I was, having talked to Cassandra about it and having her write a script and all. But no, I wasn’t. When faced with my problem hands on, I was positive I wasn’t.

                “Why are you standing there? Come on in,” Mr. Gardner prompted me. I did as he said, flinging the door wider with a push of my hand. Dillan was revealed behind, standing beside Mr. Wetherill. He looked at me with an indifferent expression. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. I took baby steps into the office, standing next to him. I realized my legs were shaking so much I was losing my balance. I had to support myself with a hold of Mr. Gardner’s table.

                “Eryn,” Mr. Gardner said in a tone that reminded me of my parents when strangers came to our house and they wanted me to behave. “I’d like you to meet Mr. Thomas.”

                Who’s that? I thought. That still didn’t bring any relief to my out-of-control nerves. The man in the suit turned towards me. It was the first time since I stepped into the room I saw his face clearly. And what I saw was no resemblance to Dillan whatsoever, besides the blonde hair, although his didn’t have as much depth as Dillan’s. He had a square face; Dillan had a round face. When he took his sunglasses off—God knew why these people wore sunglasses indoors—I saw he had narrow, green eyes; Dillan had wide, light blue eyes. Who could he be then? “Call me Paul,” the man introduced himself with a smile. At least he looked friendlier than how he came across.

                “Nice to meet you,” I said casually, “What brings you here?”

                “I’m here under Mr. Wetherill’s orders to interview both Dillan and you, as well as invite the rest of the staff of the café to a dinner at the Wetherill’s residence.”

                This person’s associated with Mr. Wetherill. That, I could interpret. The rest I thought he was babbling rubbish. From the way he put it, we were like some sort of celebrity cast in a movie and had to go for interviews and then to some fancy dinner.

                Paul took notice of my questioning look. “The interview is for determining whether to continue pressing charges or taking them back,” he explained. “The dinner further determines that.”

                I swallowed hard when he mentioned charges. The interviewing me part sounded comprehendible, whereas the rest didn’t make much sense to me, although I doubt Paul was lying. Why did Mr. Wetherill had to ask Paul to interview Dillan? Couldn’t he just ask his son himself? And how could one dinner be affect to my final verdict? What was Mr. Wetherill trying to prove? I was certain Paul knew nothing of these. He was just here under orders. Merely a servant. “I’ll be there,” I said.

                “Good. It has a formal dress code so make sure you dress up accordingly,” he said, almost strangely excited, “As for the interview, it will be taking place later tonight. Don’t worry, you will most definitely be informed.” His formality reminded me of a TV host. He then excused himself and Dillan and I continued our work outside.