A Dangerous Woman

Chapter 2

Blaise Taylor

From experience, I knew that the door to the basement was always locked and this meant that I had to get the keys to unlock it and be the hero for the boy. But unluckily for me, the only set of keys for the door, were found in my father's office, where he always was.

I slowly found my way to my father's office; already the strong scent of cigarettes and whiskey could be smelt from outside. Despite the strong smell of alcohol, my father was never a drunk and had never been one. He knew his limits but as he always said, he liked to enjoy the luxuries life had to offer. However, I think being sober and aware of his actions, made everything he did so much worse.

I took a deep breath in and without releasing it, tapped my knuckles on the door. There was a large part of me that begged for him not to be in there, that somehow, he had magically disappeared.

But his loud, intimidating voice quickly dashed my hopes when it came booming out of the room, "What the f**k do you want, Blaise?"

He already knew it was me before I had even entered.

I crept into the room after gradually creaking the door open, taking his previous question as a granted request to come in.

Upon entering, instantly my eyes fell upon him. The posture of his back was straight despite being sat at his desk, showing off his strict discipline. His eyes remained focused on the desk in front of him as his hand, heavily scribbling away across the documents that laid before him. The crisp black suit that I'd never seen him without, sat neatly upon him. Leaving no creases visible.

His whole positioning screamed intimidation

My father's skin was noticeably pale and sunken, a result of years of stress and anger. His hair was once a jet black but now had traces of grey running within it. He was a powerful, well-established leader, but the years had taken a toll upon him.

Thankfully, my looks mainly came from my mother, who had a warm face, accompanied by golden locks. Her body was slender and her eyes were a deep warm blue that told a story of happiness. My Father's eyes however, were an icy blue, an ironic reflection of how cold his heart was.

As I reminded myself of why I was there, I broke from my in-depth observation that had spiralled into a glance at my life and began frantically looking around the room for the keys.

I eventually found them openly laying upon his desk. They were nonchalantly placed next to a half-empty bottle of whiskey and a picture frame. The picture frame held the photo of my dad, my mum, and my brother. I was not present in the photo as my father always saw me as an embarrassment because I was a girl. He viewed girls in general, as weak and inferior, so my existence was constantly attempted to be hidden.

My father's head tilted upwards to glance at me and I frantically replied to my dad once realising that I had not yet done so. As the words died in my mouth, I knew that I should have prepared what I was going to say before entering the room.

"I'm sorry to bother you, Da...Sir, I just was wondering... what we were having for dinner?'

He dropped his head back to the work he had sprawled out in front of him, bored by my presence. Yet, his words still spat venom and made my blood run cold.

"So, you decided to bother me with your useless words that could have easily been wasted upon the chef currently in the kitchen. You used that small brain of yours to choose to come here and waste the air in this room. You disgust me. Your mother would have been ashamed. Don't worry about what we're having for dinner because you are no longer welcome to eat it. Get out of this office, before I get out of my seat and kick your skull in."

I sprinted out of the room as fast as my body would allow. I refused to let the tears that threaten to fall, break free. I should not have expected anything not spiteful to come out of that man's mouth. But despite his words, my new knowledge of where the keys were, turned the cogs on a plan.

I had been given a window where he would be eating dinner and not be in his office, leaving me a chance to grab the keys and free the boy.

That evening, while my family ate dinner and my stomach rumbled in starvation. I had rushed to my father's office. I crept in, making sure that I made no noise which would have informed my father that I was not imprisoned in my bedroom.

After I had spotted the keys, I grabbed them and silently bounded away until I had knowingly found myself face to face with the basement door. My hands shook as I freed the keys from my pocket and I placed the correct key in the door's lock. As I twisted the key, the door slightly pushed open, I pushed the door further and walked in.

There was no time for fear.

The room in front of me was dark, with a few dull lights becoming the main source of visibility. I stepped forward and a pungent stench, which I soon came to know as blood, filled my nose. The smell ignited my gag reflex but with no food in my stomach, nothing came out.

The lights luminated rows of cells on either side of the long room in front of me and a large door to the left of me. The door was slightly ajar and the noise of incoherent chatter came from inside. Through the gap, many men, all with tattoos littering their bodies and muscles filling out their black clothing, could be seen. None had seen me yet and my quick scurrying forward down the middle of the room, in between the rows of cells, made sure that I was out of sight. 

Already, I was regretting my choice of coming down to the basement but I knew that I had to continue.

In the nearest cell to me on my right, there was a small item on the floor that caught my curiosity. I edged closer and I crouched down to get a better look at the item. The item oddly resembling a finger. At first, I convinced myself it couldn't be, as fingers usually find themselves attached to hands, which are of course attached to people but soon enough I realised I was fooling myself and the finger had simply been cut off someone's hand. 

I knew I should have been more disturbed but I simply and worryingly, wasn't.

I carried on walking until I noticed a small figured curled up in the corner of a cell located towards the back of the room.

After getting closer, I realised that it was the boy I had seen the night earlier. His face now mildly deformed, as large purple and blue bruises covered almost his entire face and swelling that was causing his left eye to close. Dried blood had stained his mouth and nose, while a deep cut that lay across the top of his cheekbone, still dripped fresh blood.

He looked up at me instantly once I had gotten close enough for him to hear me. His speed of looking up, showed how scared he was of whoever had caused his injuries, but as he had begun to recognise me, a small smile touched his lips.

I cautiously placed myself opposite the front of his cell and we both curiously stared at one another in silence. The only noise came from the room at the beginning of the hall, that now seemed miles away.

He was the first to speak, as my nerves had overwhelmed me, his voice croaked as if dehydrated but his Italian accent was clear, “My name is Aidan."

I unconsciously tilted my head slightly, as I mentally questioned why he was speaking to me, only to remind myself, it was I that decided to bring myself to him. 

Before I said anything in reply, he painfully croaked again, “My favourite colour is green, what's yours?"