"Nobody will come for me." She says absentmindedly through her heart and onto her pretty face. "Call me, please." She begs. Tears flowing puddling in her eyes, while clutching her cellphone tightly.
Why is it the one who knows nothing is sent to a thriving deathtrap, and she sits helplessly here in an environment in contradiction to their nature? Nobody cares he's gone. It's as if this family never acknowledged his presence to begin with, at least never in a positive way.
Independence is a good thing; She desperately reminds herself. It won't only be the two of them forever. Even so, everything about this feels wrong. Every day she begs to join him, rescue her away. Instead, all pretenses are long kept up with nobody giving her the time of day. Sooner or later, that will change.
The last thing Johnthan Riggs would want is a relative of the main family pissed off. Keeping that in mind, Chess manages to calm herself down.
***
"I need a cell signal." Waylen moans, opening his almond-colored eyes. Someone needs to take him away from this pretty prison. A statement in complete contradiction as to what he said last night, then again, he had the delicacy of human blood between his lips. No shred of rationality connected his brain to his beating heart.
After rolling around for ten minutes or so, Waylen changes into one of the many variations of blue outfits without completely wearing the color blue. How else would he start his day than some scrambled eggs and an act of defiance. Meaningless in the eyes of others, but in a creepy place filled with what seems to be magic, the meaningless has meaning.
Then it occurred to him. He could simply ask for a landline or cell signal aloud, and maybe this house would graciously give it to him... Waylen smiles, shoving eggs from unknown origin into his mouth.
"Is there a landline?" Waylen asks in a soft, monotone voice, pointing his egg filled fork into the air like some sort of idiot.
Bong! Bong! Bong! Screams the large clock, its hands spinning six times the speed it's supposed to. A series of different ticking noises softly crept into his pair of ears, gradually making its way up to a forte. Each rhythm pounded his brain, till his eyes slowly fell.
Suddenly he felt as if this wing is completely unreasonable. That this whole place is like that one ass at the grocery store.
Then it all became quiet. So quiet that the past thirty seconds felt like a lie. No ticking or tocking. No birds chirping. Only the soft sound of his breathing could be heard, reminding him he is alone. If he died here, nobody would find him till the first of next year at the earliest.
"Show it to me." Waylen orders, his tone firm and his fork back in his mouth.
BR-RING! BR-RING! BR-ING! Sings the telephone graciously from the corner of the kitchen, attached firmly to the wall.
After making several mental notes in his head, Waylen finishes his breakfast in the uncomfortable silence of the estate. Only after every bite sat in stomach did he stop to remember the possibility of danger or disgust in the mysterious eggs. Truth be told, he most likely wouldn't die in the place that seemed to cater to his every whim. Unless this is nothing but an illusion to keep him here seemingly willingly for the purposes of human sacrifice.
The role of sacrificial pawn amuses him. If that would be his purpose here, frankly it deserved a small laugh. Separate the inseparable twins to be used in a ritual for some family in the middle of nowhere. It sounded like some ridiculous book plot that he'd find himself reading on a random Sunday in June and Chess would be right there with him tapping her drumsticks on the floor.
Unable to dawdle any longer, Waylen walks over to the land line. It looked like something right out of the 1920's, both old and ominous. He plays with the dial for a few moments, before successfully dialing Chess's cellphone number. BR-RING! BR-RING!
Two rings go by before Chess answers the phone at the opposite end, staying quiet. "Chess, it's me." Waylen greets quickly, unsure as to how his sister would react to the unknown number.
On the opposite end
Chess watches her cellphone vibrate, with a peculiar caller id flashing on the screen. It had no numbers or letters, just hashes. Clicking the green accept button, Chess slowly brings it to her ear for an old, deep, husky voice to come through. Speaking the words, "Chess, it's me."
A prank call, someone had the audacity to prank call her. She swiftly moves her finger over the red button, pressing it before proceeding to block the number completely. Tears resurface in her crystal blue eyes, pooling at the lids on the verge of flooding.
"Call me, Waylen." She says quietly, before giving into the acquired drowsiness. Tucking herself back into bed, tightly clutching her cellphone and her head smashed into the fluffy pillow.
Waylen frowns before putting the phone back on the ringer, leaving the kitchen and heading back to his bead. His sister answered the phone, then hung up. She had never treated him that way before, a wave of sadness floods over his body temporarily immobilizing him from shock. "Does she hate me that much?" Waylen thinks to himself, unwilling to discuss this matter further with inanimate objects.
The caretaker, Johnthan Riggs, stands outside the private wing with a grinch like grin, reaching up to his nose, plastered all over his crinkly white face. Not the affect he wanted to craft. However, this outcome suited his needs fittingly. The silver haired man will most defiantly be pleased.
The house of red shall be victors once more, and nobody will be able to stop the trajectory of this game. In a true state of chaos, primal urges will immerge allowing the result of right and wrong.