Participants:
Featuring
| Scene Title | Coming Home |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Amato comes home from his errand-running to find a ransacked suite minus one Lucrezia. |
| Date | March 9, 2009 |
Ritz Carlton - Lucrezia's Suite
Flowers and fruit.
Lilies and pomegranates.
Innocence and righteousness.
Purity and resurrection.
The symbolic interpretation of the contents of the plastic back held in his hand and the bouquet delicately wrapped in a cone of acetate and cradled in his other arm course through Amato's brain just as his blood does, nourishing him in very much the same way. The willow adds a different voice to the chorus of meaning.
Lunatic. Lover. Ofelia's branch.
Splintered wood in Amato's mind comes to life when he steps out of the elevator and moves down the short corridor to the suite's door. He blinks away the thoughtful haze that clouds his icy eyes in order to discern that yes, the door has been forced open.
The pomegranates make a loud thump as they crash to the floor, dropped from Amato's hand. They roll in their wobbly way across the lush carpet, crunching the lifeless exoskeletons of spiders and bees beneath their crimson skin.
There was a struggle here, quite evident by the broken glass and dead sentries. With no small amount of hesitation, Amato steps through the door, his lean limbs shaking with fear.
He is unarmed, and the suite is silent.
No comforting static of wingbeats or scuttling is there to fill the air, however soft they may have been. There is only silence: sterile and frightening.
"Lucrezia?" Amato's voice is strong despite how weak in the knees he feels. There is an urgency fueled by adrenaline that gives it the power of any priest in a pulpit. But the congregation is gone, leaving an empty and haunting sanctuary. There isn't even an echo to bounce Amato's voice back to him; it is only swallowed by Nothing.
The flowers hit the floor next, forgotten like so many other applicable things. Amato sweeps the suite at a pace halfway between a stiff walk and a startled sprint.
No amount of searching turns up any information that contradicts the visible. She is gone. Taken. She may even be-
The harsh cry of the phone cuts through Amato's thoughts, and he looks down at it where he stands by the lounge. It is as opulent the rest of the suite, as disheveled as it may be. Amato bends to pick up the reciever, the possibilities of who may be on the other end making his brow break out in a cold sweat.
A man with frigid eyes and an iron will. A man who has spent lifetimes evading death. A man with ravens. A man with wolves.
The ringing is cut off when Amato lifts the reciever from its cradle, but time seems to drag by much more slowly as he lifts it to his ear. Heart in his throat, Amato swallows.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end reaches across the relatively small distance spanned by satellites and wire to steal away what's left of Amato's resolve in one crushing blow. He falls back onto the lounge, clutching the reciever and pushing it tighter against the side of his head.
"Eileen…"
 March 9th: Once The Spider, Now The Fly |
 March 9th: Missing |