Chapter 3
As if this answer had been expected of me, a section of the wall melted into nonbeing with a high pitched keen, and a smooth path of illuminated floor lighting the way, as if I needed directions. Hesitantly, I stepped onto the path way. My cowboy boots and calves were bathed in a soft, white light. I walked down the path with false confidence. Pretending I wasn’t afraid of what was through that doorway. Pretending I wasn’t scared that Viola would be hurt. Pretending that I knew everything would be alright.
Everything would be alright. It had to be.
So on that encouraging note, I stepped through the flawless door frame. As soon as I crossed the threshold, the doorway behind me mutely closed up, leaving the severely diminished light as the only thing to note me of it’s disappearance.
I felt fear prick at my stomach, but I stoically ignored it, continuing on down the narrow, sleek walled hallway. My stomach churned in unease as I spotted a glimmer of luminous light.
My pace quickened somewhat, my resolve hardening. There was no going back.
There was no going back.
Finally, I reached the end of my passage. Light cascaded over the entrance way. Blazing, natural, and refreshing.
“Jaylen,” I was greeted instantaneously by a man in an impeccable black and white suit and styled hair. He was young, maybe twenty-five at the most.
“Thank you for joining me for breakfast,” he said primly, gesturing sweepingly to the large, oval table that was fitted in the exact center of the spherical room, shaped to match. It was gently lit by a disturbingly red chandelier, bathing us in the colour of blood. It occurred to me that this illumination was nothing like the light I had seen from the exterior of the dining room. Although my surroundings appeared to be white, the taint of the lighting drastically changed this view.
I blinked in uncontained surprise. I certainly hadn’t expected this particular welcome.
To shocked to protest, I slid into the chair at the tip of my end of the table.
Nodding,-in thanks or satisfaction, I could not tell- the man sat at the other tip.
“Voices carry well in here, so I shan’t worry about hearing you,” he said casually. True to his word, his voice floated across the table with ease.
I swallowed hard, staring forcibly into his grey eyes. Behind the initial glitter of sociability lay a flat, uncaring determination. His mouse brown hair had been been combed back with utmost care, set above his full face and thin lips. He could be handsome, but he held no appeal for me.
“I am Mr. Smith, pleased to make your acquaintance,” Mr. Smith said, smiling with a conviction that barely reached his eyes. He seemed pleased by my wide eyed, vulnerable appearance.
But appearances can be deceiving.
“Smith is the name of a man who does not wish to attract attention, sir,” I said quietly, timid with a hint of cool confidence.
Mr. Smith’s easy smile faltered for a moment, but he regained his composure so quickly I nearly missed it. Nearly, but not quite.
His stumble in posture infused me with the smallest morsel of hope. Mr. Smith’s bravado seemed to be no more then show. He was young, inexperienced, and maybe even scared. He could have smiled wider, or raised an eyebrow. He even could have laughed. Only he didn’t.
I thought all this through in the fraction of a second before Mr. Smith began his practiced dialogue once again. I felt like an actress on scene who didn’t know her part.
