Crazy but Sweet, Sweet but Crazy

34: Tipping point

The housing was a plain, cream-colored terrace that didn't look like it belonged to this semi-wild, seemingly abandoned place.

Its ceiling-to-floor windows, lace curtains, spotless cream color of the walls and the sturdy, large frame, was a tad too luxurious in the backdrop of knee-length tall grass, wild flowers and stretches of dirt road.

But upon entering the house through a pair of French blue doors, it was obvious the house didn't belong to Elliot's neighborhood, or mine either.

In the first place, this was no house.

Filling the first floor of the terrace were about five to six suited brawny men who unmistakably didn't belong in an ordinary home.

They were seated around an oblong wooden table, some talking inaudibly amongst themselves, some typing away on laptops. One of them was on the phone, talking in a volume that would be suited for a chapel.

Across the table was another coffee table, where a bespectacled man who looked like he was in his mid-sixties, sat, leafing through a book of encyclopedia thickness.

Sitting next to him, was Elliot in the bandages and cast, his eyes lowered to the floor.

Taking in the peculiar interiors of the first floor, I heard a click from the front door of the house, then another click. It'd been double locked.

Only then did I realize the windows, had bars.

At the sound of the locks, all pairs of eyes diverted to Gerald and me, standing at the entrance. I took a small swallow.

Elliot's reaction was slower. He looked up, slowly. Dark circles colored the pale skin under his eyes. When he saw me, he flinched.

"Who is she? She visiting?"

The man who'd been on the phone, hung up, and came up to Gerald.

The suited man had a long chin, and deep-set eyes that scrutinized me with overwhelming intensity.   

"It's Ms. Clare Horan." Gerald spoke, in a clipped, level tone. "She'll be waiting at the lobby."

At that, the bespectacled man who'd been sitting across Elliot stood, and started going up the stairs, one step at a time, slowly.

The sound of his slippers thudding softly against the carpet covering the staircase, echoed.

"No, she'll be leaving." Pulling himself up with his hand on the coffee table, Elliot rose to his feet. His face hardened, he gestured to the door. "Clare-"

A scream, forcefully ripping through a woman's throat, pierced the thick air of the house, followed by the shouts of a male voice. Beside me, Gerald flinched.

Just as the six suited men got up from the table, followed by the quick sound of slippers against the carpet, the bespectacled man rushed down the stairs.

With visibly shaking hands, he pushed his spectacles up his nose.

"She-" Another scream, this time followed by audible words, came. "-I said, bring him here! Or I'm going to do it- get back, I said get back!"

That moment, I couldn't help but look at Elliot's face. His face was calm as it usually was, but the eyes were the color of bruise.

The suited man with the long chin who'd asked for my name, shook his head, was unperturbed by the screaming that continued in the background.

"Dr. Martin. You know the rules."

With a curt nod, Gerald assented. "Being in his company will only worsen Mrs. Lockwood's condition."