Three played a 'Wicked Game.' Now, it's time for round two.
One will fight. One will meet The Maker. And one will try to keep them all safe.
The world may be black and white but to win this game, they'll have to play in the gray.
Isabeth liked Sundays. They were easy and without fuss. No doubt the day had its own requirements with traditions but she had the day's routine down from many years of practice.
She sat in Jade Park on the bench under the big green tree as the sun drowned the town under its magnificent light. As the Mount Glory Baptist Church bell rang she knew most of the town's souls would be flocking to the church, to the beach, or to fill their bellies. She, on the other hand, was waiting for a nameless man that she'd rather she didn't know.
Isabeth wished she could be one of the parishioners huddled around the church doors scuttling in, to find a seat on a pew. She'd sit on the wooden structure fanning through the hymn book stopping at a page she read hundreds of times while waiting for Faith, who'd be in the back running through Chance's sermons about wisdom, charity, or love.
"A punctual dame." The deep, mysterious voice yanked Isabeth out of her mind. A cold chill like the tip of a knife's blade on unexpected skin snaked its way down her spine. "Gotta love that."
Isabeth flexed her shoulders trying to rid her body of the fearsome anxiety plaguing her. "Can we just get this over with? I don't have a likening for games." She didn't get much sleep last night wondering whom she'd pick, Alex or Faith. Faith or Alex?
He let out a light laugh making Isabeth clench her teeth. He placed his hands on the back of the bench and leaned towards her ear, "What do you think we're about to do?" Isabeth drew back with a face marred by fright and anger. His smug smile grew a little wider, "Play a little game with me." He puckered his lips and tossed a kiss her way.
Isabeth jumped out off the bench, "Can we just get to the point." She shook her quivering hands. "Just ask me who I picked so you can pass the messenger on to your master."
The Messenger humphed cocking his head to the side as he folded his arms—muscles bulged pushing up the sleeves of the plain white t-shirt. "I only take orders from one bitch." He winked. "And it ain't you."
Isabeth snarled at the eye and gestured, "Are you implying your Maker is a female or is bitch a term you use to disrespect any red-blooded person?"
The Messenger guffawed dipping his head back then he refocused on Isabeth, his mouth still curved with humor. "Is it the wealth or the beauty that tricks you into thinking you have the power to ask me questions?"
"It's an equal portion of both." She flashed him a bullshit smile.
He matched it with his own, "Witty repartee aside, who do you wish to play for."
"I don't wish to play for anyone." Isabeth narrowed her eyes teeming with disdain. "But I've been enlisted in this wicked little game so..." She flexed her neck trying to stretch out the guilt of picking one person over the other. "I choose...." She stopped, bile forced its way up her throat. "I-I choose...Faith."
The Messenger nodded, "In this age of feminism, I should've known."
"I think women should stick together but that's not why I picked her," Isabeth informed catching the procession of cars flocking to the church's parking lot.
"Then why?" He asked generally interested.
Isabeth smiled her voice feeling strange from the action that has been foreign for the past few weeks, "I don't answer questions from bitches so be a good henchman and take your answer to the Master." She flicked her hand urging him to run along.
"Hmm." He tilted his head, clenching his jaw trying to fight the desire to wrap his hand around her narrow neck and squeeze tight. "Stay ready. Your task is soon to come."
"I'll be waiting." Isabeth rolled her eyes throwing up her arms, "Are we done?"
"For now." The Messenger stepped away from the bench, "Smile. We're going to have some fun, Princess." He departed with a laugh cajoled with devious charm.
Why do you think Isabeth picked Faith over Alex?
Did she make the right choice?
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