Sanders once again audibly gulped. Seeing the fear in his eyes, Jessica released his face violently, slamming his temple into the padded headrest of the dentist’s chair. She took a brief pace around him. He could hear her footsteps, light and almost fey-like, clanging on the metal of the storage crate, as she circled his helpless form. Appearing on his opposite side, she pressed her face uncomfortably close to his.

“You remember my dear ol’ uncle Philus?” she asked with an eerily friendly smile.

Of course Robert Sanders remembered Philus Vanderbilt. He had been a respected member of South Watershed, Louisiana – a town just a bit to the west of Threeepwood. Sanders had heard great things about him: how he had personally donated to the underfunded South Watershed school system, how he would adopt dogs from the local pound that were scheduled for euthanasia, how he was loved and adored by the entire community. And, most importantly, Sanders had heard of how Philus had mysteriously disappeared a few months ago.

“Well, when my creature-cousin was just about too big for the attic, great-uncle Bernard called on Philus, unsure of what to do. And Philus…hell, you know he had a heart a’ gold. We Vanderbilts help our own, see? So Philus goes up to the attic, and…well…my creature-cousin done ripped him to pieces. Lucky fer the family, we’re all a little messed up.”

“Except in Jessica’s case,” the vaguely French-Englishman added, “her disturbed nature was not brought upon her by inbreeding. Continue, luv.”

“So, who do they call on?” Jessica asked the air, though her horrifically deep eyes remained locked on Sanders, who had ceased squirming in his trap. “Me. I like fire. Always have, even since I was a youngin’. Just the way it moves – dancin’, I’d say. It just moves everywhere, almost in rhythm. Or like how they used to dance at my ma’s celebration parties. I miss that house. Burnt that one down, too.”

“That would be Miss Vanderbilt’s second house,” the accented man noted from somewhere over and beyond Sanders’s right shoulder.

“Money can’t buy you love,” Jessica sneered, leaning back into Sanders’s face. “But it sure can buy some prime real estate. When it started becomin’ a habit, ma and pa done set up a big ol’ house that wouldn’t burn. I dunno what they made it out of, but I just couldn’t bring ‘er down in flames.”

“I believe you’re over-elaborating,” said the man from across the room. “Do try to keep it on track, eh, luv?”

“R-right,” Jessica stuttered, flushing in embarrassment. Her gaze fluttered around for a moment before they settled back on Sanders and she continued.

“So, I got rid of the problem. Ain’t nothing that remained after I got through with the barn. My dear ol’ monster-cousin was just like anythin’ else: burned to ash; ‘cept his was a bit more goo-ey. And what do I get in graditude from my dear family? A trip to Arkham.”

“It really is quite unpleasant there,” the man whispered into Sanders’s ear. Sanders could feel the man’s breath on his neck. He froze in abject terror. He hadn’t even heard the accented man move behind him. It was as if the man had teleported in the blink of an eye.

“And, if I might add,” the man continued, his left hand now grasping Sanders’s right shoulder in a crushing grip; Sanders flinched in pain. “Jessica Vanderbilt patient status was reported as “escaped” 5 hours ago. Being held against your will in a mental hospital would be crushing enough, but oh my, it’s quite another level of detriment to the human soul when it’s your own family that has locked you away in a caldera full of danger like Arkham! And for what madness? A fondness for flame? For servitude to one’s kin, a poor lamb is thrown into a cave of lions! Do you not see some injustice there?”

There came a whimper from Sanders, sounding vaguely like a terrified indication of hesitant agreement. The man moved around the chair and back into Sanders’s field of vision. Jessica sidestepped, allowing the man to pass by, and he, in return, patted her reassuringly on the shoulder, as though he were some sort of parental figure. As he passed her, Jessica chose to take up his place in the shadows behind Sanders, and the politician could still feel her piercing eyes upon him, watching ever-so-closely.

“What do you want from me?” Sanders managed to choke out amid baited breath, fearing but not knowing for sure what the answer would be.

“Innit obvious?” the man chuckled, a coldness brewing in his tone. “Jessica and I would be oh-so grateful if you could lend your governmental assistance in seeing to the downfall of the family that has betrayed their own blood. The Vanderbilt name shall be erased from this earth. Together, my friend, we shall see to the end of their influence. A permanent end, if I might be so specific.”

“What? Why?”

“Betrayal is a cruel sentence to levy upon a poor girl, let alone when the persecution comes from one’s own flesh and blood! Is it not understandable, therefore, why Miss Vanderbilt—“

The man paused, having seen Jessica visibly shudder at the mention of her last name. For a short moment, he seemed to ponder this, before his eerie gaze returned to Sanders.

“Why Jessica might want to witness the downfall of the bloodline which turned her out on her rear within the walls of a glorified prison?”

“N-no,” Sanders stuttered, stumbling over the courage to speak. “I meant…why me?”

“You!” the man chuckled deeply, nearly falling over from his sudden burst of laughter. “You, my friend, are the catalyst – the vital element – in setting things right! It’s rather simple, really. The Vanderbilts have been some of your biggest supporters – financially speaking – in your bid for the governor’s seat, yes?”

Sanders nodded carefully, not wanting to make any sudden moves, lest his two captors take his movements as an immediate threat.

“So you have their loyalty; or, rather, they have yours. I think it’s high time you “rewarded” them for their kind donations to your cause. Mr. Sanders, you are going to the throwing a nice little dinner party in thanks to the Vanderbilts. I’ve taken the honor of sending out invitations and renting out the property. All you need to do is pop your handsome face in there and say some kind words. Jessica, my associates, and I will take care of the rest.”

“What are you going to do to them?” asked Sanders, his voice trembling.

“That…is none of your concern. Simply do as I ask, and you’ll be left unharmed.”

“And…” Sanders began, pausing for a moment to question whether what he was about to say was prudent, “what if I refuse? Refuse to help you.”

“Well, mate…” Sanders’s male captor sighed before stretching his arms wide in a half-shrug, “I don’t think you’re really in a position to barter.”

Sanders glanced back down at the restraints holding him against the filthy seat of what used to be a dentist’s chair. It was more of a rusty deathtrap now, constricting him in place. He sighed heavily, and looked back up toward the man.

“But if that’s not enough…”

His voice trailed off, and was soon replaced with something most off-putting.

“I’M BLUE, DA BA DEE DA BA DI…”

The man smirked.

“Sorry, that’s me.”

He rummaged around in his sport coat pockets for a moment before withdrawing a rather beaten-up looking cell phone. It was one of those older flip-phones, likely no longer in production. The man flicked it open with a turn of the wrist and pressed the speaker phone button.

“Ello ello,” the man greeted, holding the phone at arm’s length.

“It’s done,” said a deep voice from the other end.

“Oh, excellent timing, Miles! I was just about to tell our beloved future governor what will happen if he does not comply with our instructions. Do tell the man what you’ve just accomplished, mate.”

“To put it bluntly: I’ve just planted an explosive device in a location that will guarantee that one Christine Sanders will suffer a most painful demise.”

“Thank you, Miles,” said the man. “Ciao for now.”

And with that goodbye, the man flipped the phone closed, effectively hanging up on his associate. After pocketing the device, he looked back down at Sanders with a satisfied smile.

“That is what will happen if you don’t follow my instructions to a bloody T. Your wife will be blown sky-high. And no, it won’t be an instant death, Mr. Sanders. Her skin will be vaporized from her bones and muscle, and she will scream in agony until the internal damage done by the shrapnel causes her to bleed out—“

“Okay, alright!” Sanders interrupted. He let his head fall forward, and a stream of horrified tears began to drip from betwixt his clenched eyelids.

“I’ll do whatever you say…”

“Atta boy,” said the man, ruffling Sanders’s hair as though he were but a child. The man signaled to Jessica, and the two turned on their heels and made for the end of the metal shipping container. The man knocked twice upon the wall, and the wall slid aside, allowing the man and Jessica to step outside. As the man moved to slide the egress back into place, Sanders suddenly piped up.

“Wait!” he cried. “What about me?”

“For god’s sake, man,” the Englishman sighed in exasperation. “The key to your restraints is behind your left ear.”

Sanders glanced back down at the cloth straps holding his arms and legs in place. How could he even get a hold of the key if he was immobilized?

“I’ll text you the deets, governor. See you at the party…”

And with that, the man slid the wall closed, encapsulating Sanders in the inky darkness once more.