The Bad Gentleman
It’s a modern kitchen, white, like the rest of the house, with appliances I can’t afford, and an older woman in a black apron is staring at me, her sharp brown eyes cutting, like she caught me red handed, committing a crime, and she can end my life at any time.
“I—” I start to say, but Ricardo beats me to it.
“Feed her, Madam C. Not poison, feed her.”
My eyes widen in horror, and Madam C doesn’t respond, she doesn’t even make a sound.
I grab on to Ricardo’s arm.
“I can’t die.”
He stares down on me, annoyed, but before he can speak, no doubt send me away from him, a prickle of awareness rises up to my brain, and I know, even before raising my head, that Mr. Green eyes is around or close.