The Family: Ties That Bind (VOL. 2)

The stack of ceramic plates in my hands clattered together as I made my way into the dining room. Each step I took was laborious, my feet refused to move as if the soles of my shoes were fashioned out of led. The grating whimpers and screeching arising from the hostages crudely bound to their chairs with cords of dirty manilla rope were doing a number on my nerves and Nubbins' raucous heckling was only adding fuel to the fire.

If I could stick my fingers in my ears or bury my head in the sand like an ostrich, I would. Anything to escape the overwhelming racket berating my eardrums but that wasn't feasible. I had work to do. People to save. Besides, it'd do more harm than good to let them see how utterly panicked I am. Even though I know nothing good is to come of this situation, I can't let them know that. That would only make what's coming worse. 

Nubbins jeered and jabbed the blond woman with the prongs of his fork, his smile growing wider each time she let out a muffled cry of torment. She thrashed in the flesh and bone embellished chair she was tied to and clenched her teeth around the bandana crammed in the back of her mouth. 

Drayton sat across from them with his elbow propped against the table supporting his head as he watched the crapfest unfold. He lifted a glass filled to the brim with amber-hued tea to his lips and took a sip before raising his voice loud enough to be heard over the sobs. "Dry up them tears, girly, ain't no need for all 'at blubberin'."

"Yeah! B-better zip it for we give ya somethin' to cry 'bout," Nubbins chimed in, holding onto the back of her chair and leaning in closer. He continued to poke the exposed flesh of her upper arm with his fork's teeth, reveling each time she yelped. 

I'd like to jab him with a fork. Isn't it enough that they've tied up these poor people? Why does he have to keep antagonizing them? 

With a huff, I planted a dish on the table in front of Nubbins. He snapped his head around and squinted up at me through the greasy strands of hair hanging in front of his eyes and clinging to the perspiration and oil on his forehead. 

"Don't you have to be a pest somewhere else?" I cocked my head to the side and put on my best Loretta face while shifting my stare between him and the tarnished cutlery clenched between his mud-stained fingers–at least, I'm assuming it's mud. The corners of his thin, cracked lips turned upward and I knew he could see right through my impression of his mother. I never have been a very intimidating person nor a good actress but she seems to have her bluff over him so it was worth a try. 

He chuckled and repeatedly jabbed me with the his fork. "N-not until four."

Bite your tongue, Tilly, and pick your battles. With an involuntary roll of my eyes, I smacked his hand away and left him to his pestering while I continued making my way around the table, dropping a plate at each place setting. The pitiful red-head slumped forward in his seat, the ropes securing his torso to the chair was the only thing keeping him from falling forward and faceplanting into the bowl of chili on the table before him. Channels of dried blood streamed down this face from every orifice and somewhere along his hairline. The purplish-black bruises forming on his skin were harsh against his normal ivory coloring.

Guess that's what happens when you get your face smashed into a wooden wall. My own face hurt just looking at him. I had half a mind to go fix him an icepack or at least give him a bag of frozen peas or a hunk of cool meat to ice his wounds but I know Drayton wouldn't take too kindly to me catering to the hostages...or wasting a good chunk of "meat".

I skimmed his shoulder with the pads of my fingertips, just brushing the fabric of his t-shirt in fear of aggravating any sore spots. After a tumble down the stairs like the one he took, I'm sure his body must be aching something fierce. "Are you feeling alright? Can I get you some water?" I bent down beside him and kept my voice low to keep the boys from overhearing and raising any objections.