Devil's Advocate

one . goldworth's infection

"I don't think you heard me."
The morning dawned cold, the sharp contrast in temperature carrying to the late evening. The remains of a warm, blissful summer released their short reign, allowing themselves to be drowned out by torrid downpours, a weatherly routine the townspeople had become accustomed to. Slim rays of the brilliant sunset managed to escape from the clouds, coating the landscape in a vibrant hue of red. One might call the effect post apocalyptic, and the deep grumble of thunder echoing throughout the sky, a harbinger for another storm yet to come, only intensified the illusion.
However, in most apocalyptic scenarios, one certainly wouldn't find a man adjusting the sleeves of his suit in an alleyway.
"I want the best house in the neighborhood and I want it stocked with food."
The spiteful chill that snaked its way down August's spine entwined itself in the man's words. His companion shifted slightly, moving out of a particularly intense ray of the sunset that was shining in his eyes. The other man, however, had no such problem with the issue. On the contrary, every beam of light that touched him seemed to bend in his favor, creating cascading shadows under his cheekbones whilst accentuating his unnervingly dark eyes.
"Rick," the other laughed nervously. "You can't expect me to just-"
"The best house is on Maxwell Street, correct?" The man called Rick ignored the reply and continued. "Furnished... and I want servants as well.." He paused to correct himself, gazing thoughtfully at the person in front of him. "I want butlers, and you're going to be one of them."
"Rick, you can't- I'm not going to be a butler! I'm the mayor!"
It was odd to see a man wise with age, let alone a man of authority, practically crumble as a much younger and shorter man demanded him to do his bidding.
The cartoonish expression of confusion on his plump, wrinkled face would've been hysterical to an outsider. Of course it would've.
"That's not how this is going down. If you want to keep your head, you're going to follow my orders."
"Rick, what are you-"
"You have a wife, am I mistaken?" It wasn't a question, and the mayor blinked twice, fear overtaking over his confusion. "Yvonne? And three children? Josie, Michael, and Ashton?"
"Ri-"
He leaned dangerously close, his next words a clear, precise threat. "Call me Rick one more time and I'll have them all murdered in a heartbeat." He paused, a taunting smile contorting his face. "Wouldn't a handcrafted silver bullet look nice as it collides with a skull? The juxtaposition of colors and textures would coordinate beautifully, don't you think?"
The mayor just stared at him, his mouth hung open from shock. Rick took this with a sinister smile and continued. "You're going to address me as 'sir' from now on. You're going to become one of my butlers, and you're going to serve me dutifully until I no longer need you. And if you don't... well, I'll leave that for you to find out."
"R- sir, what do you mean by-"
"Did I stutter?"
"I- no, sir, no, you didn't." His head fell in an odd mixture of confusion and submission, while Rick smirked, nodding at the older man.
"Yes... I'll expect you at my house later... at eight A.M. I'll leave the keys under the doormat." The corners of his lips lifted into a grin. "And lighten up, Oscar. You look pressed."
"Yes, sir... Mister Goldsworth."

"Mommy, where are we going?"
A small smile etched itself onto the young woman's face, and she pressed a quick kiss to her daughter's forehead.
"Somewhere safe," she whispered, praying that, against the odds, that's exactly what they would do.
Despite only being twenty-two, Lainie McAllister was wise beyond her years. Armed with quick wit, attentive ears and eyes, and a Beretta M1934, she knew trouble before trouble even knew it was trouble. And this was trouble.
The words of her close friend Penelope Quince rang in her ears as she fervently packed.
"Goldsworth ejected Oscar. He's the mayor now. And he's calling for a reform of the town."
She hadn't stopped shaking since then. Her hands trembled as she folded a few shirts and tucked them into a book bag.
He couldn't control her. Not again.
She gaze shifted towards her five year old daughter Adrianne, and the knot in her stomach tightened. The little girl watching TV with a fuzzy blanket wrapped around her stood as a firm reminder of all she had at stake.
Tucking a strand of her short black hair behind an ear, Lainie squared her shoulders and looked at herself in the mirror.
Long gone was the vivacious, flirty sixteen-year old who thought she could dance with the wolves. Six years ago she got trampled by them, convinced she could play their game.
Never again. She bit her lip.
'You have everything on the line,' she told herself, sorting through the contents of her closet. Plucking a light sweater off a hanger, she threw it into the suitcase splayed on her bed. Her deft hands hesitated on her trench coat, a large, tan garment that nearly cost her $300. When she was sixteen and carefree, it seemed like a good idea. Now it was just frivolous. But...
She glanced back at Adrianne, who was preoccupied with the TV in front of her. Then Lainie took the coat out of her closet, her fingers automatically darting to the concealed pockets in it.
Her mind already had the terrible, glorious number in it. $18,000.
She almost passed out at the thought of it.
Lainie McAllister, the reclusive teen mom, had 164 grams of cocaine hidden in her apartment. $18,000 worth of cocaine.
Her mind immediately jumped to the other places she had it stashed.
It was a dangerous idea.
It would give her money, something she never had enough of.
It would put their lives on the line.
It was a risk.
A sudden burst of recklessness coursed through Lainie, and she spent the next fifteen minutes dancing out of Adrianne's view, collecting it and stashing it in a separate suitcase. The first bold move she had made in multiple years would turn out to be the deadliest.
Because one turn away from the intersection, one turn away from freedom, she was stopped by none other than the people she feared the most.
"Where are you going, miss?"
"To the countryside to visit my sister," Lainie forced her voice not to waver, and she smiled at the man who leaned on her open window. In his hand lay the leash of a large, dark brown dog. A bright orange phoenix stitched onto its collar sneered up at her. A drugger. Her pulse accelerated, and her grip on the steering wheel tightened, her pale skin turning stark white.
"That sounds nice. The weather here's abysmal as it is," he nodded, scribbling something on his notepad. "Name and address, please."
Lainie coughed slightly, panic threatening to override her senses. "Pardon?"
"I need your name and address, miss," he smiled sympathetically. "It's mandatory due to our change in mayor."
"Oh. I've never had to do that before." She took in a breath. "I'm Simone Baylor. And my daughter is Avery Baylor. We're 173 Chestnut Street."
"Simone and Avery Baylor," he repeated, writing what she presumed to be her name in his notepad. "And you're headed to the countryside to visit your... sister, you said?"
"That's correct." Lainie nodded, her posture relaxing a bit.
"Okay, and I'm going to need to check your trunk and bags briefly." She stiffened.
"What?" Her pulse started racing again.
"It's another safety call, miss," he smiled again, flaunting his white teeth. "We've had some theft issues from Blackburn Mansion and we're making sure no one's smuggling anything through their vehicles. Surely you've heard the story of smugglers stealing $1.6 million worth of Virginian moonshine from Mister Goldsworth's home?"
"I think I heard something of the sort," she breathed, her voice coming out higher than she would've liked.
"Terrible, really." The officer shook his head. "I don't know a single person foolish enough to cross Goldsworth." The dog tugged on it's leash, a whine escaping its sharp teeth. "Huh, this one's eager to get a move on with the search. Is there any food in your trunk?"
"Um, yes, I packed a few containers of jerky and biscuits for my in-laws." Lainie quickly spun a lie out of adrenaline and lip gloss, her mind already reeling with dozens of escape plans. She could hit the gas pedal and never look back. She could fire a bullet right in between the man's eyes. She could bribe him with 30% of the profit. She could...
"That'll do it," he chuckled, letting the dog pull a bit more on the leash. "If you could step out of the car and pop the trunk open, Miss." Lainie's pulse raced, and she stole a glance at Adrianne through her rear view mirror. The five-year old met her gaze with solemn eyes. In that instant, a fierce wave of determination crashed upon the young mom, threatening to drown her. She steeled her nerves and grabbed her purse before stepping out of the car and towards the trunk. Her heels clicked on the pavement and, for a moment, Lainie felt like the badass female protagonist in a cliché Hollywood film. She would twist her way out of the situation with daunting ease, coolly placing a bullet between the officer's eyes and strutting back to her car. Eventually, she'd find a nice husband to settle down with and have some more badass kids. But the sequels would never compare to the original. It would be a tale loved and adored by all.
Little did she know, her rebellious character would never get a sequel.
Because Lainie McAllister was found in a ditch two weeks later.