The phone slipped out of Lady Greenbrook's hand and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud. Her body had gone rigid and her gaze was transfixed ahead, seeing but not looking. Sounds of families chatting and eating, businessmen clinking glasses, waiters bustling to and fro, amplified by a hundred times, convulsing and buzzing in her ears. The world around her spun and turned and swirled at an alarming rate as if she was on a ship about to sink.
It wasn't until several seconds later that the world slowed back down to normal and the booming clatters of cutlery subdued to tinkles. She blinked, her senses flooding back, and brought her phone back to her ear. "How much do you want?"
"A billion."
She tightened the grip on her phone to prevent it from dropping again. "What?"
"No negotiations, deadline tomorrow night. You'll only waste your breath calling the police." With that he hung up, and cued his partner to move on to Violet.
Feeling the cool metal pressed onto the side of her forehead, Violet covered her eyes with her hands, her small body shaking violently. It would be over soon. In a quavery voice she started to list her mother's phone number. Unfortunately, her mind went blank at the last digit. Trying each number for a feel didn't help.
Number 5 gave her an impatient whack on the head, causing it to hang on one side. "I'm really sorry," she said feebly.
"You moron," spat Number 4. "Now we have to test every single number." He tapped on 1 but it didn't go through. 2 turned out to be a kid who just got his first phone, his overexcited voice a complete contrast to the melancholy atmosphere. 3 was a useless advertisement. Finally a normal voice for 4—
"Officer Johnson here."
In a flash Number 4 rang off. "The goddamn police! Are you kidding me, you foolish girl?"
Richard and Beatrix glanced at each in stifled laughter. Violet, too consumed by fear to realise what was going on, gazed at Number 4's fiery eyes, lips quivering. "I didn't know—"
She was cut off as the next number dialled was met with a feathery voice. "Yessss?" came a slow purr.
Her cheeks warmed in embarrassment.
"Is this Violet's mother?"
"Yes, my dear. Do hurry as I'm having a manicure," she replied, completely oblivious.
"Your daughter's kidnapped." He cut straight to the point.
In the nail salon, she tilted her head back and shook in laughter. "Junk calls are getting loopy, aren't they, Jem?"
The manicurist nodded fervently as she applied more glittery nail polish on Violet's mother's nails.
"This is not a junk call," growled Number 4.
"Which junk call would admit its true nature?"
Jem gave her a thumbs-up and mouthed, "K.O.!"
She smiled triumphantly. "If you haven't got anything important to say—"
"We do. It's about your daughter, who is k-i-d-n-a-p-p-e-d kidnapped. We want a ransom of a billion dollars."
"I know how to spell, you imbecile of a junk call. My answer to you is, bugger off." By that, she ended the call.
Number 4 slammed his hand on the table, which rocked on its legs. He drilled his eyes into Violet's, as if addressing her soul, "You're going to get it if no ransom is delivered."
Sweat dripped from her forehead. The silence that followed was killing her. However, it only lasted until Number 4 spoke to the phone once more, "Beatrix has been kidnapped."
"Oh..." — It was Beatrix's agent — "I can't stand her constant wailing. I was planning to resign."
Beatrix's face was a look of pure horror. Violet patted her shoulder.
"Are you serious, woman? Her life is in my hands."
"Look, I'll get someone else on the phone, okay?"
"You are not going anywhere," seethed Number 4.
"Al-alright."
"Keep your mouth shut and shove what I'm about to tell you into that stupid brain of yours. I want two million dollars by tomorrow night, or she'll never be able to sing again."
"But I'm quitting—"
He hung up on her.
"For God's sake, shut up," he spat at Beatrix who had begun to cry. She sniffed and dabbed her eyes, trying and failing to stop. He kicked her and her sobs ceased as she gave a gasp.
The gangsters tied their feet together before retreating to the table on which they placed a deck of cards. Number 5 lit a cigarette and handed the lighter to his accomplice who did likewise. As they shuffled the cards, puffs of smoke flowed out of their mouth and dissipated in the stuffy room. Sometimes it even came out through their nostrils, a scene Richard stared on, enraptured. He added another sentence to his invisible piece of writing:
Smoke came out of the chimney like cigarette smoke through a man's nose.
He would refine it later.
Despite killing time this way, he gradually grew bored. Now playing their third game, the men were ignoring the three who sat in uncomfortable positions. Richard tried to tuck out his leg from underneath, which was bearing all the weight of his body. Alas, to no avail. He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes as the leg went numb. God, he hoped it wasn't dead by the time he finally got it out.
"Violet," he whispered, "could you free my leg?"
She looked up in surprise and took in his situation. "I'll try." She lowered down her torso, stretched her legs and tried to nudge his leg out. He choked as she accidentally hit his shin, but eventually she succeeded.
"What are you doing?" came a bark.
Violet shot up and was met with Number 5's steely gaze. She opened and shut her mouth, forgetting how to speak. A rush of red burned her cheeks.
"She was just tired," chimed in Richard, anxious to solve the mess he created.
Number 5 sneered. "Likely story. There will be no scheme-plotting or jiggery-pokery, do you hear me?"
"Y-yes." It was like they were at school.
Although he dropped the matter, Number 5 kept a hawk's eye on them.
***
George limped a few inches forward, pain written all over his face. At this Kassidy decided to carry him on piggyback. Her pace, although slackened, would still be faster than simply holding his hand as he struggled on his own. She knelt down in front of him, brought his hands on her chest, and got up with him successfully on her back. Despite teetering on her scraped leg she held on, heading as briskly as she could towards the woods.
Soon miles of grass yielded to equidistantly scattered trees. Her field of vision shifted from a general mass of green and brown to long individual tree trunks. As she'd anticipated, at the mouth of the woods was a bush of yarrow. She picked off a small cluster of the white flower and chewed it, trying to retain the taste in her memory. Spitting it out, she applied it to George's wound.
He had been watching with fascination during the process. "That's gross," he said finally.
"That's what Mrs Patton taught me." Ever since they drank breast milk she'd been their nanny, and later the audience of their first words. Even when Kassidy grew into a teenager, there was no mention of letting the nanny go. After all those years she'd become part of the family. Mrs Patton was more than happy to spend her time teaching the children all sorts of "life-saving" remedies they thought they'd never use.
Right now, it was the first time they put one to use. The yarrow did an excellent job in stopping bleeding, and according to George, it was cool and comfortable on the skin.
They sat resting for a few minutes, before continuing to explore the woods. If they had luck they might be able to find a new escape route. But before that was familiarisation with the woody environment, also known as their only lodging in the houseless place.
There was no trail so they trod on grass and leaves, stepping over the occasional twig. By now George could almost walk like any normal person, which untangled the knot in Kassidy's stomach.
The deeper the woods, the denser the trees. From afar came a low rumble, dark clouds gathering. The sky cracked and pelted water droplets through the foliage. Hands over their heads, they broke into a run. Dashing around in turmoil, they stumbled upon a patch of open space between the edge of the woods and a river.
Circling nearby, they collected some logs, fallen branches and twigs, along with a handful of dry leaves (which were painstaking to find since the rain ruined everything). They settled down to building a makeshift shelter while the storm had yet to come.
It wasn't long before they stood back to admire their little wooden hut. Logs crossed at the top like cowlicks. The hut was heavily covered with soil dug from nearby for a more stable and enclosed shelter.
A clap of thunder sounded. They dove into the hut, pressing their chests to their knees. It was still a bit chilly, though slightly warmer. As rain fell, they gave each other a high-five.
Going through the remaining twigs, George picked the one most resemblant to a Y-shape. Kassidy attached a spare hairband before handing it back to him, who put it in his pocket.
Low but loud rumbles propagated across the fields. In their limited vision came and went a flash of light, as if an indoor light was switched on and off without a moment of pause. Judging from the time difference, there was a possibility the thundercloud was directly above them.
They slumped against the wall of the hut, waiting for the rain to stop.
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A/N:
It's all about surviving now. The scenes are kind of slow this time, so I hope you aren't bored stiff... but the last few chapters were intense enough so here's the balance.
Comment on anything you want! I love reading them <3. Also vote if you like the story.