Pocket Pickers #projectwomanup

Mr. Turner

C H A P T E R  4

As I sulked in the back seat of Pierre's car, I couldn't help but feed the panic gnawing at my guts.

Where was this man taking me?

My heart was already beating hard, and my palms started to freeze up even though it was toasty in the car.

"Excuse me... Pierre, but, um, who exactly am I going to have the pleasure of meeting?"

Pierre looked at me from the reflective mirror. "You'll see-  And oh, sarcasm is forbidden in here."

I glared at him before resuming my sulking. I've only known this man for an hour and I already managed to become familiar with the feel of his pocket, hands, and car. Not to mention I was getting kidnapped to meet someone I didn't even know.

"Look... Mr. Turner... I think we hands a slight misunderstanding back at the center. I was, merely putting my hand in your pocket for warmth."

Pierre gave me a disbelieving glare. "Could have fooled me."

"But I don't even know you! This could be considered as kidnapping!"

"Say that to my dad."

All of a sudden, everything pieces together like a really big, jumbo sized jigsaw puzzle.

"Wait... I'm going to meet your dad?"

"No. You're meeting my monkey butler, Eugene."

I gave Pierre one last death glare before getting drowned by my own thoughts.

Okay, let's try to recap what happened in the last half and hour. I tried to steal from a man named Pierre Turner. I'm pretty sure he's loaded from the look of this car. I'm about to meet his dad and I don't know why, not to mention that he might be a serial killer and I might end up dead in an abandoned cabin out in the woods.

The drive went on for hours. I was contemplating whether I should just jump out the window but my body betrayed me and my eyelids closed for a much needed rest.

. . . . .

I snapped out of my reverie to see that the car was already parked in a gigantic driveway.

Where was I? I craned my neck to see farther ahead... And almost poked my eyeballs out.

We weren't about to enter that castle, were we?

"Uh... Pierre..." I whispered nervously.

"You don't have to spell it out," Pierre grumbled, "I know."

That you're filthy rich? I already guessed that.

I gulped, slowly inching my way out of the car. The mansion rose at a looming three stories, and gave off a powerful, I'm-richer-than-your-life aura. The walls were colored white, and a luscious garden bordered the estate like a fence. As I walked further on, I could see the main entrance ahead, rising menacingly, big and black. I slunk behind Pierre, finding unnecessary comfort in his presence. 

"I can't believe I didn't just make a run for it," I grumbled under my breath, taking shallow gasps of air as Pierre rang the doorbell.

A petite, middle aged woman opened the door. Her face wore the signs of age and wisdom, but her dress resembled one of a maid.

"Mercy," Pierre greeted politely, stepping into the threshold. 

I followed uncertainly behind him, wincing at the sheer enormousness of the whole place. A chandelier hung from the wall, sparkling in the sunlight. The house, though modern on the outside, gave more of a Victorian resemblance. A spiral staircase swirled around a pole, looking elegantly dangerous. Spread out through the house, I saw a library to my right. A homely living room was in the middle, with a big flat screen TV in the center of it. Wood scent drifted through the house, and the corridor was unnervingly silent.

"Who is this?" Mercy asked, her voice thick with an unrecognizable accent.

"Oh, you wouldn't want to know," Pierre sighed, rubbing his temples. I sniffed at him in distaste. "Where... Is father?"

"He is working upstairs," Mercy smiled, walking up to me. I flinched at her touch, but relaxed as she pulled me to a couch in a homely lounge area. I sank onto the soft leather, closing my eyes for a second, before snapping them open again.

"Sir Turner will be here very soon," Mercy said, before exiting the room.

I drummed my feet against the floor, mentally flinching everytime the sound echoed through the empty house.

Turner, Turner, I've heard of them somewhere...

"Hey," Pierre said from the other side of the lounge, "I forgot to ask for your name."

I scowled at him. "After all this, I don't really feel like telling you."

"I don't think you really understand who I am."

I jumped up from my comfortable position, and walked towards Pierre. That stupid son of a chicken nugget, wearing that imaginary crown of his...

Who does he think he is? I might have tried to steal from him, but prison was much better than this!

"Listen here, you son of a knucklehead-"

A booming chuckle resonated through the halls, making me jump back in surprise. I turned to see an old man standing at the top of the stairs, smiling down at me.

"Please, Remi Greggs, have a seat."

. . . .

*squished cheeks* huehue..

Xoxo, neha♡