Sorrel and Myriana

Chapter 10: To Host a Murderer

8 March 1933

The dawning of the sun welcomes my return to Dalltop City. I endured a comfortable train ride. The tarts that Flynn gifted with me were sweet and acidic in dainty wonder. I shared a booth with no soul for my soiled appearance appalled company. Memory served as my escort towards my residence. I now stand before its tormenting gates lovely in form. The gates bear a row of perpendicular bars with arrow tips at their pinnacle. They form an engorged bump upon the uniformity of the fenced structure. There is a grand letter B metallically welded at the heart of the two gates. I approach it only to have my steps halted by two security guards who emerge from the small white building situated left of the gates. One holds his hand in the air as to command my stop. They are both dressed in navy suits and wearing full holsters.

"State your business," one of them commands. His tone is loud and austere. I hesitate in panic.

"I'm Myriana Borchardt," I say in desperado, "Sorrel's wife."

"Wife?" he questions. I get a sense of déjà vu from the response. They exchange a puzzled look then nod in silent understanding. I fear that the events at Avendale General Hospital be mirrored here today. It is clear that they do not assent to my claim. I step forward as my face utters dejection.

"No, no, no," the second guard repeats whilst shaking his head. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"But I live here," I state my case, pressing forward in small strides. "Please just let me see him. If you just let me talk to Sorrel, I'm sure that..."

"Step back!" the shorter guard positions his hands to the front and rocks them back and forth.

"But if you could just...." I say before they both empty their gun holders. I stand in a familiar position - metal nozzles ready to blurt out their contents into my fleshy innards. I am at an immediate standstill. I swallow as fear draws in my retreat.

"I'm not going to ask you again," says the stubby guard. "Please step back." I hold my breath in contempt. My hands lift up in surrender. My efforts as well as all that I believed in are subdued once more by metal pellets and their risky millisecond travel into my heart. I take no further risks with their games and take a quick leave. Futility leaves little words for me to utter. As I make further distance, I look back at the gates to see the two guards still standing about in caution. Their eyes focus upon me, and their faces read unwelcome. I walk around the metal fencing. It is solid. There is no kink in its structure. The barricade stretches on and on, taking me minutes on end to trace. Yet, not a single imperfection can be found.

The hours fritter away as I circle the enclosure in vain. I stand at the very back of the manor where the fence is lining tall hedges. I rasp my voice trying to call for Sorrel. There is no response. I try to visualize what lies beyond the hedge. This must be the furthermost end of the garden. The manor has an immense backyard with beautifully well-kept foliage. Aside from the brilliance of tulips, roses, and pine, there is also an eerie maze lined with thorny hedgerows. I dared not take a step within it for it is vast, and souls could easily be lost within its compounds. Beside the maze, there is a large metal storage house. I would see smoke pour from its exhaust pipe on occasion, but it is not an area that I have ventured. The zone just beyond this point is rarely visited upon. My calls are lost to hollowness. My energy is draining as the daylight dims, and the sky darkens. My head is beginning to obscure. Pain is apparent in every corner of my being. I let my knees keel over and sit upon the cold cement. I tilt my head up as I gawk at the towering barrier. A drop falls from the sky and tickles my forehead. I blink rapidly as more drops join in. It is beginning to rain. The universe can be so cruel. Behind me is an empty road. I had only seen about two cars dash by and one pedestrian during my rounds. This district is fairly devoid of visitors. What now? I question in my head, empty with answers. No one will believe in the words of a deranged woman. My health is not in a condition where sleeping outside in the rain would leave me unhindered. My eyes swell with tears making them bright red. The more I think about my situation, the more I pity myself. I cry – alone, afraid. The tears blend in with the drizzles. The sky and I, we cry in synchrony.