⚠ Warning: This chapter and several following chapters contain mentions of suicide/murder/death. Reader discretion is advised.
"Well, well, well," the woman says as Cora's eyes slowly blink open. "Look what we have here."
Cora tries to sit up but finds that she can't. Looking around the room, she realizes she's lying on the floor of her bedroom. Upon recognizing the face of the woman menacingly staring at her in her own room, Cora's eyes widen in a combination of fear and shock. A sharp intake of breath has her head spinning, and her hands immediately reach upward in an attempt to soothe the pain. Her limbs feel heavy, however, and they refuse to cooperate with her, remaining unmoving at her sides.
She must have drugged her.
"What's happening?" Cora asks, her throat feeling like she inhaled an entire sheet of sandpaper. She tries to swallow, hoping it will force her mouth to create the moisture she so desperately needs. Unfortunately, it just makes the feeling worse, both scratching her throat and sending another aching wave through her head.
The woman chuckles soundlessly to herself, enjoying the view before her. "It's time, Cora. It's time to finally rid the world of you."
Before she can respond, a familiar man enters the room. His dark clothes do nothing to hide his identity, but Cora realizes that she isn't supposed to live through this to turn him in for the part he played. She's going to die; therefore, it's useless to disguise themselves. The man holds a knife in her direction as if offering it to her, and Cora looks at him in utter confusion.
"Take the knife and press the blade against your wrist," the woman commands, the ease of which she orders it wholly frightening. How can someone be so uncaring about the loss of life? When Cora doesn't move, she angrily prompts, "Do it." The gun suddenly in her hand and pointing at Cora's head leaves no room for compromise.
"But Gideon is asleep in the next room," Cora states, her tone pleading and eyes filling with tears.
"He's not yours!" the infuriated woman replies sharply, her finger hovering over the trigger in warning. "Press the blade against your wrist," she repeats. "I won't say it again."
Reluctantly, Cora does as she's told while still holding onto a shred of hope that she'll somehow be saved from these people. With a shaking hand that requires considerable effort to move, thanks to the drugs they've injected her with, she takes the knife from the man's gloved hand and gingerly places the tip of the sharp blade against her wrist. Her hand trembles as the drugs course through her veins, weakening her.
"Good," says the woman with the gun. She gestures to the man, signaling him to assist.
He steps closer to Cora, his hand wrapping around hers. He presses downward, the steel blade slicing through flesh. Blood begins to pour from the incision, staining the silver crimson. After the first is done, he transfers the weapon to Cora's other hand, repeating the action. Dropping the knife onto the sopping, red carpet, he steps away to observe his handiwork.
Bleeding from her wrists, Cora lies crying on the floor. Her body weakens as the pain surges through her, the blood spurting violently from her sliced forearms. Before her stands the man and woman with maniacal smiles plastered to their faces. The two watch in unadulterated pleasure as she dies slowly in front of them.
"W-why are you doing this?" she asks, her voice barely a whisper as she struggles to keep her drooping eyelids open.
The woman, dressed all in black, laughs loudly at the question. "You took everything from me, Cora Dalton," she replies, her tone filled with malice. "It's time I returned the favor."
Too weak to object to the harsh words, Cora simply turns her gaze to the man. He stands beside his partner, his hands shoved into the pockets of his dark slacks, offering a broad smile. "And you?" asks Cora.
His shoulders rise in a shrug as he carelessly replies, "I did it for love." He looks adoringly at the woman beside him. While she doesn't return the affection in his gaze, she leers at the man lustily; he doesn't seem to notice the difference.
"You know, this plan really works out to our advantage," the woman says, swiftly changing the subject. "At first glance, your death will look like suicide. It will take further digging to realize that's not the case, and even then, it will be your beloved Andrew who is implicated."
His name alone has Cora's heart clenching. Andrew. Will he be home in time to save her? She suddenly wishes he hadn't been called into the office today for that emergency meeting. And what about Gideon? They won't harm him, will they?
"While we wait for the main event," the woman says, interrupting Cora's thoughts, "why don't we take a look at these rather interesting photos I've acquired." Littering the floor with a handful of papers, she smiles widely, the evil glint in her eyes reflecting the setting sun as it floods through the window.
Indescribable pain clutches Cora's heart as she takes in the photographs, a pain much worse than the physical hurt she's currently suffering.
How could he?
Noting the expression on Cora's face, the two criminals erupt into loud peals of laughter. Their amusement at her suffering is disheartening, but it doesn't surprise Cora in the least.
"Go on," the woman says haughtily. "Now you can die knowing exactly what kind of person you devoted your life to." She pauses for a moment, watching as Cora's breathing slows. "You'll die knowing that your precious Andrew never loved you."
Feeling herself slipping away, Cora releases the hope that someone will find her. As death takes hold of her, she accepts it, unable to fight any longer. A silent gasp escapes Cora's lips as her eyes close, and her chest refuses to rise.
"Let's get out of here," the man says, taking the woman's hand in his and leading her toward the doorway. "Don't worry, we'll find good seats for the rest of the show."
With one final look at Cora's unmoving body, the woman nods, a satisfied smirk on her lips.