Amelia

Chapter 20

The house looked exactly as it had when I'd first seen it.

Everything was immaculate. Gone were the scuffed-up stairs, muddy with Fin's footprints and my blood. Broken pieces of wood no longer littered the floor; in fact, it appeared as though the entire door had been replaced, at least, from what I could see from the first floor. There were fresh flowers in the vase on the foyer table.

I felt the temperature drop as soon as I entered the house, my heart following its direction.

I had escaped. I was free. Except I hadn't been, had I? Sure, I'd left my prison, but living a life in hiding wasn't exactly considered "free."

Alexander dropped his coat into Sarah's awaiting arms. It was a shock to see her again; I'd not really imagined life back at the house to feel so...mundane. In truth, I had painted the place so bleak in my own mind that it seemed wrong to think of normal people, people practically unassociated with the dark deeds of this house, still living in it.

"Amelia. Come." Alexander's voice was cold and hard, and I felt it like a blow to my chest. I heaved air into lungs that wouldn't comply, then trudged up the newly, polished stairs. Alexander had disappeared into the spare bedroom, and I knew he'd be waiting for me there.

Crossing the threshold into that room was like walking through muddy waters with weights strapped to my feet. I could feel the fear pushing on my chest, constricting my airways and crushing my windpipe. But fear of the present was greater than fear of the past, and somehow I made it into the room.

Like the stairs, the room had also been repaired and freshened up to appear as though nothing had happened. My makeup table was still set up, taunting me, as if it were waiting for me to be dragged back by my feet. A few tubes and bottles were missing, and the mirror looked a little different than the one that had previously been hanging, but everything else was the same.

I looked to Alexander, not daring to say anything.

His eyes were as cold and hard as his voice had been, the expression chilling me to my bones. "You are confined to this room. If I catch word that you even so much as breathed out the door, you will be so severely punished that you'll think what happened before was child's play." He walked over to the bed and revealed a five foot long length of chain wrapped around the post. "Just to be sure." He came over and clasped it around my wrist. The shunt of the lock clicking in place felt like ice pumping through my veins, but I couldn't move. All I could do was stare wordlessly up at Alexander, feeling the room grow smaller and smaller.

He tugged at the chain, making certain it was secure before walking to the door. Nothing else was said; there were no parting words, no grand speech about how the villain had won and the hero would perish. No talk about how foolish I'd been, how he couldn't wait to watch me suffer as the man I loved went back to prison for a crime he didn't commit. For trying to save me. For loving me.

The only sound was the soft click of the lock as it latched in place.

...

Mrs. C. was furious when she saw me the next day.

To say I was shocked to see her would be an understatement, but considering the circumstances I was more than glad at her presence. She told me that after I'd left – neither one of us had the courage to say 'escaped' – she'd planned on letting things calm down before handing in her resignation to Alexander. He was a powerful man, and she knew that quitting after I'd left would be suspicious, plus she'd wanted to find other employment first. I understood; the Quincy's paid well, and one's conscious could only stretch so far.