10-26-2020, 06:03 PM
The Bentley sailed quietly up the long driveway, finally pulling up just outside the home
of Mrs. Vickie Meyer. The well-manicured Mr. Rosemont exited the vehicle first to attend to
Ms. Atwood.
"Please" he said as he carefully opened her door. "She's waiting" he continued.
Gail was taken aback by the immaculate home. She knew Vickie had been set up quite handsomely
by her late husband and oil tycoon but this was something unexpected. Its castle-like appearance
harkened back to the days of horse-mounted knights and fair maidens milling about their daily chores.
"Right this way, mum" said the always polite chauffeur as he led the way up the finely chiseled
marble staircase.
Atwood's eyes were almost rolling in her head. She'd never seen such beauty and grandeur in one
place before. It felt like a fairytale. But she was no princess. And that reality came crashing down
upon her once she crossed the threshold of this palace's front door.
"All the way back and to the right. She's expecting you" Clive said.
As Gail walked the long, old-world-styled hallway, a feeling of panic set in, her stomach suddenly
twisting in knots. This wasn't her usual experience. She was used to always being the aggressor.
Oh how perversely the tables had turned. The fear gripped deeper as the light in Vickie's back
study grew brighter. Closer. Closer she came. She could almost taste it. It was bitter on both
tongue and soul. There was a reckoning about to take place. Such a feeling of finality.
"Good evening, Gail" Vickie said with an almost child-like enthusiasm. "Welcome to my home."
Atwood stood paralyzed in the study's doorway. Unable to move or think.
"Please, come in. Have a seat" Vickie said gleefully.
Operating on auto-pilot now, Atwood mechanically jutted across the floor to sit down on an old
Victorian style chair. It probably valued higher than her own home. It was soft, but didn't let you
forget it's many years.
"We have some things to discuss" Vickie said in a now much colder tone.
Here it was. The end Atwood had been afraid of. First in word, then by deed.
Vickie's words frothed in Gail's ears like heavy, dull static. She felt faint.
This was true terror.
of Mrs. Vickie Meyer. The well-manicured Mr. Rosemont exited the vehicle first to attend to
Ms. Atwood.
"Please" he said as he carefully opened her door. "She's waiting" he continued.
Gail was taken aback by the immaculate home. She knew Vickie had been set up quite handsomely
by her late husband and oil tycoon but this was something unexpected. Its castle-like appearance
harkened back to the days of horse-mounted knights and fair maidens milling about their daily chores.
"Right this way, mum" said the always polite chauffeur as he led the way up the finely chiseled
marble staircase.
Atwood's eyes were almost rolling in her head. She'd never seen such beauty and grandeur in one
place before. It felt like a fairytale. But she was no princess. And that reality came crashing down
upon her once she crossed the threshold of this palace's front door.
"All the way back and to the right. She's expecting you" Clive said.
As Gail walked the long, old-world-styled hallway, a feeling of panic set in, her stomach suddenly
twisting in knots. This wasn't her usual experience. She was used to always being the aggressor.
Oh how perversely the tables had turned. The fear gripped deeper as the light in Vickie's back
study grew brighter. Closer. Closer she came. She could almost taste it. It was bitter on both
tongue and soul. There was a reckoning about to take place. Such a feeling of finality.
"Good evening, Gail" Vickie said with an almost child-like enthusiasm. "Welcome to my home."
Atwood stood paralyzed in the study's doorway. Unable to move or think.
"Please, come in. Have a seat" Vickie said gleefully.
Operating on auto-pilot now, Atwood mechanically jutted across the floor to sit down on an old
Victorian style chair. It probably valued higher than her own home. It was soft, but didn't let you
forget it's many years.
"We have some things to discuss" Vickie said in a now much colder tone.
Here it was. The end Atwood had been afraid of. First in word, then by deed.
Vickie's words frothed in Gail's ears like heavy, dull static. She felt faint.
This was true terror.
