Chapter 24: Upstairs
Orely
You could not say that poor people live here. This opulent setting contrasts with the tension of its situation, and I find myself, in spite of myself, captivated by the beauty that surrounds me, where every detail evokes elegance and refinement, not knowing what to expect. But that helps pass the time a little. So, you get carried away by all this luxury? says a husky, snide voice, drawing me out of my wonder at the opulence of this salon.
I can't help admiring the delicate porcelain and blown-glass trinkets carefully arranged on the coffee table, adding a touch of originality to the ensemble.
He stands in front of a large bay window draped with long, flowing curtains that fall gracefully to the floor in discreet, leafy patterns.
"Have you lost your tongue, my pretty?"
"I am not going to beat around the bush," he continues, taking a sip of his drink.
This man looked to be in his fifties this time, whereas the first man in the office was a little younger. He is dressed in a smart suit.
"What is your point?" I began.
"We have decided to let you go, and if we have brought you here, it is a warning that you already know the reason."
"You are taking me, you say? Rather say that you have kidnapped me!" I declared bitterly as he approached me.
Two of his men each grab an arm to make me stand up to their boss. Take it easy, we haven't done anything to you yet, you insolent little brat! And you don't know what I'm capable of! he asserts, violently grabbing my face.
He pulls out a small pocket knife, a mini Morta Massif Brut de Forge, from his jacket pocket. I know a thing or two about knives, because when I was in France working on my perfumery, I bought one to cut the stems of my plants. The man leans a little closer to my face, a little too close I should say, and I try to deflect.
"We are rebellious, as I can see. This little jewel I am holding in my hand is normally for cutting a few slices of cheese when I go hunting." He says, opening it to pass the sharp blade across my right cheek. Sometimes I can't control myself, and having a loose tongue will cost me heavily.
"Try to be polite, or I'll pierce your cheek. I hate it when people stand up to me."
Suddenly, we are interrupted by a thud and the doors swing open, letting in a team of armed men with masked faces, determined to burn this room to the ground. In a flash of chaos, bullets whizzed past, shattering mirrors and sending shards of glass flying in all directions.
The enemy's men, surprised by the speed of the attack, try to retaliate, but a ballet of violence ensues. One by one, bodies fall in a macabre dance, blood splattering the walls adorned with refined paintings. Cries of pain mingle with the clash of weapons, as the now routed assailants are mercilessly slaughtered. The floor, once covered with sumptuous carpets, was now tinged with a bright red, testifying to the brutality of the confrontation.
Panic-stricken, I immediately take shelter under the large dining room table, while the arrogant man who thought he was the Lion King of Africa rushes off to hide behind one of the sofas closest to him.
"We are not so smart now, asshole!" I say slyly.
In this lavish environment, life and death rubbed shoulders, revealing the fragility of being amidst in the face of fury of violence. I watch him act like a moron to save his skin. Despite the tension and danger in this stunning living room, I can't help but laugh at him inwardly. The combination of these houseplants have created a serene yet impressive ambience, where each element contributes to a perfect harmony of luxury and sophistication. What a mess!
This beautiful living room is now an indescribable chaos where every nook and cranny is splattered with blood, silent witnesses to staggering violence.
I try to keep calm, and peeking through the cracks in the chairs, I make out the velvet sofas, which are being shredded, and its cushions lying on the floor, soaked in red. Bye-bye to relaxation. The furniture, once neatly arranged, is overturned, creating a desolate landscape. Precious knick-knacks, perhaps mementos of a bygone era, are shattered, their pieces strewn across the floor. At the far end of the room, I see men, their eyes wide with terror, throw themselves on their knees, begging not to be killed, but it is no use.
Voices mingle with the echoes of bullets, forming a chorus of despair. The air is heavy, saturated with the scent of blood and gunpowder, a strong odor infiltrating every corner, intensifying the oppressive atmosphere. Every moment seems to stretch, if time were frozen in this eerie performance. The living room resembles nothing more than debris. Unexpectedly, I see a man killed before my very eyes as he tries to shoot me with a pistol.
My heart beats at a frantic pace, seeing someone lean under the table to take a look, and to my surprise I see Santiago, lifting his balaclava slightly and reaching out to take my hand. Light-hearted, my soul smiles with happiness at the sight of him. Without the slightest hesitation, I grab his hand and he helps me out of my hiding place.
"Are you okay?" he claims and I nod, stunned.
Amid the din of cacophonous sounds, our eyes meet in this chaotic minefield-like scene. For a moment, time seems to stand still. A shy smile appears on my lips and my heart races. The air becomes charged with a gentle tension. I can see Santiago's eyes shining, full of curiosity and emotion. An invisible bond is forged, promising stories to come.
Alas, a shot grazing Santiago snaps me out of my reverie. He suddenly turns and shoots the man who tried to kill him at point-blank range.