The Party Chapter Three

Things take a turn for the worst!

     Shea flipped on the light. It was too early to be in bed, and she still needed to check on Presley. The cotton wildflower summer dress slid over her slender body. Her overlong chestnut hair fell past her waist; it was something of her heritage she couldn't bring herself to change, although a shorter hair style would be simpler to manage. Shea finally twisted it into a ball and secured it with an elegant butterfly clip. Thirty minutes later she stood outside Presley's house wandering if this was a good idea.

     She ranged the doorbell and stepped back as it flung opened. "Shea, what are you doing here?" Paul asked, his words slurred as he spoke.

     The scent of booze was enough to make her tipsy. "I'm here to see Presley."

     Paul staggered backwards bumping into Rosey, the maid. A tray of appetizers almost hit the floor.

     Rosey speared her with an unpleasant glare. "Miss Shea, you shouldn't be here."

     The sting of her words sent a warmth across Shea's face. "I came to see Presley."

     "Rosey, leave the tray on the table. I'll take care of the lovely Miss. Shea," Paul ordered.

     The maid squared her shoulders but did as she was told. Rosey headed back to the kitchen. With trembling hands, she held the kitchen door half opened. The guilt tightened around her chest until she could hardly breathe. Lowering herself into a straight back chair the awful memory took on life again. What she overheard years ago could cost her life. Stan had murdered his wife, and Sylivia had murdered her husband. All for money, and they caught her ease dropping. Now they paid her to keep her mouth shut.

     Stan barged into the kitchen. Rosey, we need the buffet refreshed. He pierced her with an evil glare. "I'm watching you," he warned. "I should have killed you long ago," he mumbled before heading back to the party.

     Rosey knew she was in over her head. She closed her eyes in a moment of despair. "What am I going to do?"

     "Do about what?" Shea asked from behind.

     Shocked, Rosey whirled around. "You startled me."

     Shea placed a comforting arm around Rosey. "Please tell me what's troubling you."

     "You need to leave!" Rosey yelled. 

      Shea stared at the panic-stricken maid, making no attempt to leave. Rosey's attitude hurt her feelings. She thought of her as a mother. "I'm not leaving," she said calmly.

     The tea kettle whistled on the stove. Rosey turned her attention back to her job. Shea touched Rosey's back, but it was shoved away. Tears burned the maid's eyes as Shea left the kitchen in search of Presley. 

     "Why are you here?" Shea jumped at the sound of Craig's evil voice. He stood so close to her that the scent of his cologne burned her nostrils. 

     Shea's eyes roamed the room. "Get out of my way!"

     Craig let out a hideous laugh. "If you are looking for Paul, my drunk brother, he's downing another shot of whisky."

     Her throat constricted with malcontent. The lambency in her eyes changed to a bright ember, and her anger lengthen in paragraphs. Panic didn't leave her. What should she do? He had her in a death grip.

     Shea placed a smile on her frighten face. "Is that a news channel coming in the door?"

     Crag loosened his hold, and Shea made her escape. When he realized he'd been misled his phony smile reshaped to a sneer. 

     "Dance with me, Shea." Paul's words slurred, and his balance was awkward as he led her to the crowed dance floor. 

     He folded her into an embrace as a slow song started. Shea allowed herself to relax and enjoy the time in Paul's arms. Every so often he whispered something in her ears that sent shivers down her spine. Someone taped him on the shoulder bringing their dance to a premature end.

     Stan's face was red with fury. "I thought I told you to change your suit."

     "I like what I'm wearing."

     Stan ran a hand through his chocolate brown hair, becoming more agitated by his son's defiance. "Go to my room and choose a suit or leave."

     Father and son glared at one another. Finally, Paul saluted his dad in a smart aleck fashion before staggering off. He noted the room's decor was fit for a King and queen. His energy escaped his drunk body. The king size bed beckoned him until he saw the Falco Bar in the corner of the room. 

     The music blaring floated upstairs, initiating a headache. Paul opened the closet and scanned the many expensive suits; some still wore their price tag. The brown cigar box caught his attention. With trembling hands, he pulled it down from the top shelf. He opened the lid and a picture of his mom stared back. 

     A sob clogged his throat. "Mom, I'm so sorry. I miss you every day." Paul squeezed his eyes to, but tears still seeped from his eyelids. "Dad, will pay for what he did to you, I promise."

     Stan froze with his hand on the doorknob. Had his son figured out that he killed his mother? Stan's heart rate sped up. If he had, what would he do? Kill his own son?

     Paul turned the bottle of Vodka up, and it was half empty when he passed out on the bed.

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     Rick Taylor dressed, in a Calvin Klein Black Tuxedo, glanced at his watch. He picked up a Lenox Westchester plate and filled it with Baby Scallops and Shrimp with Bistro Fries. Madison, Rick's wife, dressed in a Parker Black Embellished Gown, selected Crispy Calamari with voodoo cocktail sauce and lemon aioli and Bistro Fries. Both decided on Creme Brulee Tahitian vanilla bean for dessert and La Crema Chardonnay to drink.

     "Did you ever in your wildest dreams believe we would be living like this?" Madison asked as she sipped her drink.

     Rick couldn't get enough of his wife, nothing artificial about her, unlike Sylivia with her Botox lips and her false b***s. He watched Sylivia from across the room with distaste. His stomach churned. He didn't care for her or Stan. Rick only tolerated them to move up the corporate ladder. One day he would be president, and his lovely wife the first lady.

     "Not in a million years, babe." 

     Brad scanned the room for Presley. The party started forty-five minutes ago. He spotted his parents at the buffet, and then he saw her descending the stairs. The Lavendar Satin Party Prom dress made the green pop in her hazel eyes. 

     A slow song began to play. "Dance with me." It was more and order than a request. "Smile you know you enjoyed our time together," he whispered close to her ear.

     Presley tried to break free. "You raped me." She was sure to keep her voice low.

     Brad pulled her even closer to him. His eyes narrowed to cold, hard slits. "I'll kill anyone you tell that lie to."

     Presley staggered backwards, bumping into Shea. "I believe you need some air." She steered Presley toward the patio doors that also led to the garden.

     The garden was in full bloom of Gladiolus, Roses and Petunias that scented the summer breeze. Presley wandered to the Victorian Gazebo. The sound of tinkling water gracefully flowed from the fountain. She took a seat on the built-in-bench. Shea waited patiently.

     "Why are you here?" Presley noticed the hurt look that crossed Shea's face. "I'm glad you're here."

     "It's wunderbar good to see you." She starred at Presley with worried eyes. "You look baremlich. Why are you looking at me like that? All the sudden Shea's face heated, she had forgotten and spoke in her Amish dialect. 

     "Was you just speaking in Pennsylvania Dutch?"

     "Guess I like those Amish books I've been reading."

     Presley giggled, and the feeling felt fabulous. "I should say you do."

     "I'm sorry I upset you earlier." The light breeze blew wisps of Shea's hair.

     "I should be the one apologizing to you."

     "You and Brad seemed to be in a heated discussion when I walked up."

     An audible breath evaded Presley's mouth. "I don't want to talk about him."

     "You're hiding something. I can tell." Shea noted how pale her friend was. "Presley, you are about to cry. It may help to talk about it."

     "Stop badgering me!" She yelled louder than intended. Number one, I have a mother who hates me. Number two, a stepdad who hates me. Shea tried to say something, but Presley held her hand up to silence her. Number three, Craig bullies me constantly. Adrenaline fueled her with strength she didn't know she had. And number four is the whopper of it all. I'm--------she stopped before blabbing she was pregnant. "My life is complicated!"

     Shea busted out laughing. "Have you tried living in my shoes?"

      The question caught Presley off guard, but curiosity showed in her eyes. "How is your life complicated?"

     "Let's just drop it for now. I've got to go." Shea hugged Presley bye and hurried away.

     Long after her friend left, she stayed in the garden, thinking. Danger was breathing down her back, and like Paul said she couldn't hide this pregnancy long. She had to get away somewhere safe for her and the baby.

     "When was you going to let me in on your secret?" Brad stalked toward her.

     Presley's face became cadaverous. "What secret is that? The one about you raping me." 

     They stood toe to toe. A hard slap to her cheek made her knees buckle. "I didn't rape you!" He waved the pregnancy test in front of her.

     "I-I-I- thought I was pregnant, but I'm not."

     "What is all the commotion about?" Sylivia asked.

    "She's pregnant?" Stan asked as he walked up with Rick and Madison following

     "He raped me!"

     Brad balled his fist up and hit her in the jaw. "Liar!" He hit her again, knocking her off her feet.

     "Son, stop!" Rick grabbed his son's arm. "How could you have unprotected sex? This could ruin everything," he bellowed.

     "Calm down, everyone," Sylivia ordered. "No one has to know about the baby. She will have an abortion, like I should have done with her," she hissed.

     Presley tried to get away, but Stan grabbed her. "Not so fast."

    "Let go of her!" Rosey yelled.

     Brad stalked toward the maid and punched her out. "Never did like her."

     "Put them in my study until we can figure out what to do," Stan told Brad and Rick.

      "Help me!" Presley screamed before being knocked unconscious.

     

       

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

     

      

Author's Note

Tell me what you think!

Reviews

[Carola]

again a few spelling mistakes.
also, i would keep the font the same for all chapters, the 2nd one is different.
these are details that need a bit of polish if you're looking to get published.
definitely consider downloading & using Grammarly, or some other writing scrutineering website. you'll still need to re-read your work but it makes it easier.

cheerio carola