Chapter 3 - The Golden Cage
Eleanor stared at the blue ink on the back of the photograph until her vision blurred.
Her husband knew her sister was alive.
Her husband had been writing on photographs of her dead sister just three weeks ago.
She looked down at her legs, the legs she had been told were irreparably damaged by the crash.
She wiggled her toes, feeling the soft velvet of the sofa beneath her bare feet.
For five years, Dr. Vance had come to the estate every single evening to administer a special spinal injection.
He always claimed the injections were to stop the muscle atrophy, paid for by Richard’s limitless bank accounts.
Eleanor suddenly realized the horrifying truth of her golden, pampered life.
Her paralysis wasn't physical, it was chemical.
She had been deliberately drugged and kept in that wheelchair to ensure she could never interfere with Richard taking over her family’s massive corporate empire.
“Leo, where is she right now?” Eleanor asked, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.
“She’s locked in a white room,” Leo said, his green eyes filling with unshed tears.
“Where is this white room?” she pressed, desperate for any detail.
“It’s a big house in the woods, with high fences and men with big dogs,” he explained.
Eleanor realized he was describing the Blackwood Estate, a remote property Richard had supposedly sold years ago.
She had to get them out of this hotel tonight, before Richard figured out a way to silence them both.
She stood up, ignoring the burning pins and needles in her calves, and moved toward the suite's heavy wardrobe.
She pulled out a simple black trench coat and a pair of flat leather boots.
“We are leaving right now, Leo,” she said, handing him a clean sweater from her luggage.
Just as she reached for her purse to grab her car keys, the heavy oak door of the suite clicked.
Someone was using a master key from the outside.
Eleanor shoved Leo behind the heavy velvet drapes of the floor-to-ceiling window.
“Do not make a sound, no matter what happens,” she whispered fiercely.
The door swung open, revealing the dimly lit hotel hallway.
Richard stood in the doorway, his tie loosened, looking exhausted but dangerous.
Standing right beside him was Dr. Vance, holding his familiar black medical bag.
“I am so sorry about this, Eleanor,” Richard said, stepping into the room and closing the door behind them.
May you like
Dr. Vance reached into his bag and pulled out a large, prepared syringe filled with a thick yellow liquid.
“You're having a severe delusional episode, darling, but the doctor is here to help you sleep,” Richard said, walking slowly toward her.
