Devil In A White Dress

Seventy Six

"Emma?", Mrs. Summers called out calmly," That's yo' name, right?"

She wasn't convinced by the sudden tone at which Mrs. Summers spoke, but judging from the facial expression, Emma couldn't quite wonder why she was looking so familiar.

"I'm sorry," she said. Apologizing?

"I'm sorry for what I did. I didn't mean to attack you. But now you're free to do whatever you want with us. I'm not gonna fight you anymore, you can tie both of us back again, that way it'll make whatever you're planning to do......It'll make the night go faster."

Tension rising in her, Mrs. Summers pleaded for a quick response, and Emma pointed the bat at her then directed it downstairs. "Go sit!", Emma barked ferociously, in the similar way Mrs. Summers ordered Carl to play dead or roll over. "Okay," she replied and nodded. Carefully, Emma dragged Mr. Summers' body but during this, Brianna, Austin and Timothy failed to release themselves from the ropes.

Emma was delighted to see how desperate the teenagers were. Austin and Brianna fell from the couch, and low and behold, a handgun was seen under the sofa. Brianna, relieved to know that there was a God, slowly reached for the firearm and hid it underneath her panties. She made sure the bitch didn't see her while doing it.

"Help me tie him up on the table", Emma gently ordered with a grin, extending her hand to give her an end to the ropes. Mrs. Summers had dared not defy her. Without hesitation, she held unto one end and together, they laid down Mr. Summers and began wrapping the strings round from head to toe. Mrs. Summers couldn't embrace the pain while tying the knots.

"What are you going to do with him?", she quietly asked. It fell on deaf ears.

"You can feel free to sit on the couch," Emma ordered her. Sluggishly, Mrs. Summers joined Timothy, Brianna and Austin on the Loveseat. Praying the silent prayer that God would just make this nightmare end. She grabbed Mrs. Summers' hands ferociously, carefully tying the rope around.

"I'm sorry for what I called you, by the way," she apologized to her, I didn't mean what I say. I mostly don't mean what I say. Lots of times." It was as though she expected a "I'll forgive you", reply, but Mrs. Summers gave the impression of someone who wanted to blow her brains out at the moment. Now Emma was starting to feel offended. Emma started to giggle at everything that had happened so far. Her sick, twisted fantasy world had come true. From her view, it was like she was about to take the perfect family photo of the disoriented Summers, who were held hostage.

What felt so hilarious was the angle at which Austin and Brianna were hunched together at the left side, Mrs. Summers in the middle with a big upside-down smile etched on her face, and little Timothy, eyes bulged and frightened as hell.

They nervously watched Emma wander off to the vase where the Semi-Automatic shotgun was hidden. Brianna found this position she was in extremely uncomfortable, because she had no idea whether the handgun in her pants was loaded or not. If she accidentally pulled the trigger at any minute or second, her whole ass would explode.

"Don't worry. I won't shoot you," Emma said coldly, before putting the shotgun away, "You're all going to die, but in a more creative way. I need to figure out which one of you I'm going to kill and eat first. I've had a really long day, so don't make it hard for me."

The four watched Emma's motion. The scissors in her hand was shaking from left to right. From that angle, the Summers could feel the seriousness and determination. She meant every word she uttered. Emma kept her cold gaze at Mrs. Summers.

"You really look familiar," she said, "But I don't believe we've met before. I believe I've met your mother."

At once, Mrs. Summers grew alarmed. She was talking about her abusive, bipolar mother; the same woman Emma had been placed in the asylum with. It was like this psychopath was finally someone Mrs. Summers could relate to.

"You know my mother?", she asked.

"Ivana. Ivana Sondermann," Emma recalled, "Back in the hospital, we called her "Mama". She used to talk about you a lot. She told me, once, that she'd regret all the horrible things she did to her daughter. And there was not a single day that she didn't wish she'd take it all back. She called you Beckie. Beckie Sondermann."

Mrs. Summers wasn't relieved at all. For the past weeks, she hustled trying to remember her own name, now Emma was the one to remind her of who she was before her death. How ironic.

"Jesus Christ, whatever you want to do with us, you better do it quick. You're boring me to death," Brianna angrily interrupted.

Emma ignored her and went on, "Dr. Cowen never liked her. I could tell."

"You know Dr. Cowen?", Mrs. Summers inquired, "I met him years ago. After my mother was sent to the asylum, I got suicidal as a teenager, and I went to go see him."

The realization that both women had met Cowen on separate times allowed Emma to pay them some form of respect. "You're feeling uncomfortable, I can tell. You can go sit at the other table in the kitchen", she suggested. All four felt relieved and slowly marched to take their seats in a slavish manner.

Timothy was the only one to see Brianna struggle to conceal the gun in her pants as hard as she could. He kept his silence.