Chapter 5 - The Backward Descent
The floor of the hallway had a subtle, nearly imperceptible slope toward the grand foyer.
The heavy metal frame of the wheelchair gathered momentum.
The spokes of the wheels blurred into solid silver discs.
Clara’s fingers dug into the fabric of her beige dress, bunching the lace into tight, frantic fists over her unborn child.
She tried to twist her torso to see behind her.
The momentum pinned her shoulders flat against the backrest.
The amber light from the wall sconces flickered past her vision in rhythmic, glowing streaks.
The squeak of the rubber tires became a steady, high-pitched whine.
Whine.
Whine.
Whine.
She opened her mouth to scream.
Her throat was completely paralyzed by the bitter green residue coating her vocal cords.
Only a dry wheeze escaped her lips.
Maria groaned on the floor, clutching her ribs.
Eleanor remained at the top of the hall, a solid black pillar against the warm light.
The distance between them grew.
Ten feet.
Twenty feet.
The heavy wooden double doors at the end of the hall were closed.
Just in front of them stood a massive, solid marble pedestal.
Atop it sat a bronze bust of a long-dead patriarch.
May you like
The wheelchair was perfectly aligned with the base of the pillar.
---
