Freya's Plight

Where I'm I?'

Freya thought as she peered around the dark room. Her arms were bound behind her; held so tight she could feel the forming blisters.

Maybe she could cut the binds? Her glasses still rested on her nose.

Why wasn't she yelling for help? Her voice hurt from her futile attempts, her knees ached and the grounds were cold; colder than she'd ever felt them and it inspired fear in her heart; though she'd never admit it.

The place was deafened of noise, but she knew she was outside; the calm rush of water was her indicator. Perhaps she was in a shed by a stream, Freya didn't know.

The glasses fell and she painfully shuffled them to her hands -if she was by a stream, escaping would be a lot harder, she didn't know any streams in town.

Her palms felt like the talcum powder she used frequently in the library as she picked the glasses. She would do anything to hold a book instead, right now.

Freya shook her thoughts free, she needed to focus on escaping, thinking about anything else would break her. She was here on her own; she needed to get to her daughter.

Freya paused.

A sound... Ruffling of leaves somewhere outside the shed. Someone was coming; an animal?...a passerby?!

"Anyone!" She yelled,

"is anyone out there?!" Her voice hurt, but her spirit was much alive.

Spirit didn't do much for her when she heard chains rattle in the room. Freya scarcely dared to breath when a low growl followed. Something was in here. She shut her mouth and shuffled back. Right then, a door opened.

No light came through but she heard it; the door shut, and Freya knew someone was here. She had nothing to go off of but her ears, she scantly heard the sound of footsteps but couldn't be certain, so she dared peer deeper into the darkness.

Freya gasped when a mask came before her. It had no slits, none for eyes or nose or mouth. They stared intently at her before moving from her sight.

Were they setting her free? She hoped.

A slice was made across her wrist, and ground her teeth in pain. Dripping followed.

Why were they collecting her blood?

Her mother's persistant warnings rang in her mind. She was not to let anyone take her blood.

The ramblings of an old woman, she convinced herself.

"Who are you?" She asked bravely, "what do you want?"

Chains rattled in the corner again. Freya leaned her ears: metal locks clanged on the floor, gurgling echoed and her blood ran cold when a red gaze brightened in the dark.

The height at which it met hers caused an involuntary shudder.

Chains dragged torturiously on the floor as the gaze drew closer. Freya shuffled back. Hard-pressed against the wall, she called out:

"Please. Wait. Stop!"

Whatever this was, she knew in her bones not to let it close; but it wouldn't listen.

She was gripped and lifted. Her binds tugged in protest, but it pulled harder; Freya's arms give way, but her screams were silenced when it ripped her throat open.

___

'Once again, death strikes the Cline family,' the lady from the tv spoke as August picked his coffee mug. He spared it a glance; the reporter turned to her partner on the news desk,

'some may not know this but the Cline men, as seen in recent years, never age passed the threshold of thirty,' she continued with a sympathetic shake of her head.

Her gaze returned to the camera, 'Gregory Cline was found dead in his apartment two nights ago. His will, publicly announced, he's handed Cline Corp over to his brother, August Cline.

'this young bachelor of twenty-nine, has his brother to bury and a multi-billion dollar company to keep afloat. Some wonder if he'll get a chance to enjoy his legacy. Rumors say, investors are considering pulling out as there are no more...'

"Turn that off"

The workers blenched at his voice. August put the cup down. It was cold.

"Watch the news at your own time." He spoke grimly

"I am so sorry, Master Cline! I'll make you a new one," Irene, the housekeeper, spoke fervently.

He looked around, the others wouldn't meet his gaze. Gossip was all that surrounded his family these days. He'd rather they kept it out of his house.

"Where's Jeffery?" He asked, there was no need for another cup.

"I'm here," the older gentleman said as he walked in. "The car's ready,"

"The reporters in the press conference are ours, a few from outside the state but the questions are listed out" Jeffery said when they got on the road.

August grunted in reply. Human crowds weren't his style, they weren't Gregory's either. Still, his brother had more patience than he did.

"You look good in that seat," Jeffery's voice pulled his attention.

"I never liked this seat," the old man's smile reflected through the mirror.

"Only Gregory liked that seat. Your father hated it." He said with a lingering smile.

August stared at him a while, before returning to the papers. He knew the sight of grief all too well.

There was no point dwelling on that, at least not now. He pushed down the Stock report and pulled out a file; 'CONFIDENTIAL' on the cover.

Kelly Richardson. August's gaze trailed to the top right corner of the paper: this brunette, plain-looking girl was his cure, at least according to Gregory.

"We're here," Jeffery said as they entered the gates.

"Be yourself," he joked.

For the first time, the young cline actually flashed a smile. He shook his head as he reached for his pocket.

Using the mirror for help, he inserted the green contacts. His real eyes always scared the humans.