Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55282 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
I wake up with a start when the wheels of the plane connect with the ground.
Christopher pats my lap in reassurance. “We’re here safe and sound.”
I blink away the sleep and notice Mrs. Davenport is staring at me once again. I try my best to not pay attention to the fact and instead run my fingers through my hair, wishing I had a brush.
“I arranged for a limo to pick us up,” she says as she reaches for her purse and pulls out a small mirror and lipstick. She applies it with such skill and precision, and I’m once again envious.
“Shit!” Christopher says as he looks out the window.
I look over his shoulder and see cars and people all around the plane as it comes to a stop.
“The media,” Mrs. Davenport says. She looks at Christopher and me and what we’re wearing. “Oh my God.”
“Someone at the police station must have tipped them off. Sold a story,” Christopher says as he leans his head back against the chair, closing his eyes. “Paparazzi is not how I wanted to be welcomed home.”
Mrs. Davenport pulls her mirror from her purse again and looks over her appearance once more. She then looks at me, reaches into her purse, and pulls out a small brush. “You may want to brush your hair, dear.”
“Thank you,” I say as I reach for the brush, grateful.
“Fuck. It’s a goddamn madhouse out there,” Christopher mumbles as he looks out the window again. “There’s no avoiding them. I see the limo, but it’s surrounded.”
“I really wish you two were wearing something else,” Mrs. Davenport says, shaking her head with disgust on her face. “I don’t want these to be the first pictures people see.”
Christopher turns to face me. “There’s going to be a lot of flashing cameras, loud voices, and a million questions coming at us. I’m going to lead us through it as fast as I can, but just keep staring straight ahead, and don’t say a thing. I’ve got this handled.”
“What are you going to say?” Mrs. Davenport asks. “Should we prepare a speech before we get off the plane?”
Christopher shakes his head as he runs his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I’m not ready to give any kind of speech. I just want us to get to the limo as fast as we can. We’ll deal with the media on another day. I’m sure this won’t be the last we’ll see of them.”
“Why are they here?” I ask, my voice cracking from not using it for so long.
“Because of who we are,” he answers. “My family’s name keeps them interested in us.”
“And because of what happened,” Mrs. Davenport adds. “If they got wind of the story… this is going to be huge news.” She reaches for her phone and starts hitting buttons. “I’m calling Jason. He’ll help guide us through this.”
“I can handle it,” Christopher snaps as he unfastens his seatbelt and stands. I do the same, although my knees feel weak, and I worry I might fall.
“We pay Jason a lot of money to handle issues like this for us,” she says, ignoring her son and his wishes completely.
I wait for him to get angry and demand respect as Papa Rich would do, but instead, Christopher leads me toward the exit of the plane. It appears his mother and he have an unknown language I’m not privy to.
He takes a deep breath as the woman who brought us the sandwiches waits for his signal on when to open the door. He looks at me one last time before we exit. “They’re going to be taking our pictures. They are going to want to capture us and paint this story in the most glorified, horrific way. Don’t give them any reason to make this worse than it is. Stare ahead. Keep your emotions at bay. Just focus on walking to the limo as fast as we can.” He leans in and kisses me on the forehead. “It’ll be over fast. I promise.”
He seems afraid, and it doesn’t take me long to know why. The minute we exit the plane, there is a wave of sound that nearly causes me to stumble down the steps. There are so many questions that all I hear is just a solid block of sound. Lights are flashing everywhere to where I nearly feel blind from them. I hear some questions, but they are all the same.
“Were you really chained in a basement for months?”
“Is this the famous Hallelujah Junction ghost? It’s rumored your name is Ember. Is that true?”
“Were you really forced to marry the ghost while chained?”
“Were you held captive by the Hallelujah Junction serial killer?”
“How did you both escape? Is it true you burned the town to the ground?”
I try to look forward. I try not to show my fear. I try to do everything Christopher told me to do as he forces our way through bodies of people either shouting questions or taking our picture. I can’t see the limo, but Christopher is tugging me along.