WALTON'S SECRET DOOR
1073 Words
Thomas lay stiff on the plush sofa. The lights in the spacious living room illuminated the horrifying red stain blooming across his expensive shirt.
Amy had never felt so helpless, her hands shook violently as she knelt beside him.
The chief housekeeper paced frantically behind her, unsure of what to do this time.
She had seen Thomas shot before, and the doctor was so quick to come and take care of the wound.
But tonight, it was almost 30 minutes and the doctor wasn't even there yet.
The other house workers scrambled away behind the walls, their indistinct conversations heard in hushed tones.
Fidelis had taken Clara to one of their safe locations where Thomas' attackers couldn't access; it seemed like they would come for his mother after realizing they had failed to kill Thomas.
Her gaze focused on him. She worried he was losing a lot of blood fast.
“Thomas? Thomas, can you hear me?”
His eyes, usually so sharp and assessing, were squeezed shut, his face pale and slick with sweat.
His jaw clenched, and she heard his breathing once again, more ragged.
She exhaled in relief; at least he was still breathing.
He raised his head and made to sit up but Amy held his shoulder.
“No, please. Don’t move. Just… just stay still.” Her voice was higher than she intended, a thin thread of panic weaving through it.
She fumbled for his phone to dial 911, but he weakly reached out, catching her wrist.
“No. No hospital.” His voice was raspy, strained.
Amy's heart sank. She knew what that meant. Whatever he was involved in, it wasn’t something the ER could be called into. Not without complications.
Fear, cold and sharp, pierced through her initial shock.
She remembered Clara's words at dinner, about “dangerous men who killed his father and want to kill him too.”
Who was Thomas Walton, and what had he gotten himself into? She wondered.
“Okay, okay. But…what happened?” She probed, her voice gaining a fragile strength.
“Doesn’t matter. Help is on its way. Sharlene, I want everyone dismissed to their rooms. Now,” he bit out, clenching his jaw.
Right. Even in the face of probable death, he still had his cocky behaviour.
The house workers complied, filing out of the mansion into their quarters and soon the whole space was quiet.
“I said everyone.” Thomas looked at Amy who was still crouched beside him.
She stood up too, not sure if this was one of the times she ought to obey him.
“When you said help is coming, did you mean Fidelis or who?”
He was silent.
“What is wrong with you? Do you want to die? Let me call an ambulance, you'll get proper treatment, and you can leave whenever you want to afterwards!”
She raised her voice at him this time, overwhelmed, desperate, laden with so much panic she never knew had been pent up inside her.
“You should be happy I'm dying, Wilson. You'll be free.” He whispered with a little smirk on his lips.
“Stop talking. You've lost too much blood,” she retorted.
Just then, his phone screen brightened up with a notification.
It was an SMS. She nudged it over to him and he unlocked the phone.
Amy watched his countenance fall into despair as he read the contents of the screen.
“What is going on?” she asked.
She collected the phone from him to take a look. It was from Fidelis.
DOCTOR'S LINE GOING TO VOICEMAIL. MIGHT HAVE TO CALL AMBULANCE?
So this was the help he was waiting for all the while.
She looked at him, hoping he would change his mind at that point.
“Fine. Now you'll let me call for help.”
“Don't.” his reply was still curt.
He reached out into the pocket of his blazer and brought out a gray card.
“Go to the room just next to yours. Swipe this card at the door to enter. Go in to the closet, there's a black first aid box at the base of the wardrobe. Bring it to me,” he rasped.
She collected the card and headed upstairs hurriedly. She located the room door and swiped the card as she was instructed.
There was a beeping sound followed by a click; the door unlocked.
Turning the knob, she pushed it open and stepped into the room, feeling initiated into Thomas’ world.
The walls were dark gray, with silver geometric patterns. A lot of things were made of leather instead of foam or cotton, she noticed.
She moved to the closet and squatted to find the box he described.
There it was. She picked it and stood up to head back out.
But to her right, she was struck by the disheveled image of herself in a life-size mirror.
Tonight had been a lot, the image reflected.
Amy distinctly heard a beep and then a clicking sound.
Déjà vu? It seemed like she had heard this sound before, very recently.
She furrowed her eyebrows, thinking where and when.
Then she remembered!
This was the same beep and clicking sound the door to this room made after she swiped the card.
She realized she unconsciously placed her right hand on the wall while observing herself in the mirror.
The gray card was in her right hand.
Amy's eyes widened in realization and then narrowed again in skepticism.
Was there…a hidden door here in the closet?
She pushed and pulled the mirror, hoping it would budge. It didn't.
One last move, she pushed it to the left and, just like a sliding door, the mirror gave way to a flight of stairs leading down.
Thomas Walton had a secret basement hidden behind a mirror in his closet!
Similar scenarios from crime and horror movies rushed into her head. Was this a good idea? She fretted.
Curiosity and fear surged within.
She could either follow the stairs and see what was down there.
Or she could close the camouflage door, take the box to Thomas and pretend like nothing ever happened.
Curiosity won.
This could be a first step to knowing who Thomas Walton really was.
Amy got to the bottom of the stairs and a deep frown etched onto her face.
It was nothing like she had ever expected.
- Writer
