Chapter 3: Chapter Three
"This memory loss has turned into a problem." Waylen complains, however if he cared enough to forget something isn't it better just to leave things be? What if the whole thing is intentional? Theoretically trying to figure it out will just be counterproductive, maybe even laced with manipulation.
Waylen manages to open his almond-colored eyes, admis the drowsiness. The remnants of earlier events, in the form of strangle marks, remain evident on his pale, white flesh. Five pink fingerprints adding a dash of flavor to his almost, otherwise bare neck. No hand had ever come in contact with it.
Everything around The Estate is dead, from the grass containing speckles of red, to the eyes of the butler. Waylen thought back to how the gates slammed shut, firmly indicating that is place is nothing but a prison. Even if filled with lavish decor, a prison is still a prison, nonetheless.
Waylen sat up in the beautiful, handcrafted bed. Its frame is made of a dark wood and the mattress felt perfect as if it had been tailored to his body. The sheets are a navy blue, with a thick comforter warming him, further inducing sleepiness. The room smelt of pine, a scent that had always managed to relax him and his sister. In the corner is a wardrobe, properly storing several sets of fancy clothes and at the front of the bed resides a locked chest.
His clothes had been changed for him; he now wore a set of silk pajamas. His phone and phone charger had been removed from his pockets and placed on the wooden desk. It seems this place wouldn't prevent him from talking to Chess or the cellphone had been deemed useless. On the desk sits a schedule, he would be required to attend dinner at sundown. Other than that, until tomorrow, it seems he'd be free to roam the area.
Waylen walked over to the wardrobe picking out the most informal outfit he could find, a pair of navy-blue dress pants, a short sleeve white shirt, and a sleeveless navy-blue jacket. It seems this Estate wanted him to only wear blue, as well as look slightly gay. After slipping on a pair of white sneakers, from who knows where, Waylen places his hands on the closed door.
Is this a trap? He has a feeling it is, despite his intuition failing him recently. Is he truly free to leave the room? Why is there a locked chest? Why didn't he check his phone? In a room with no windows, he hadn't bothered to check the time. In an estate where everything is dead, where everything is strange, wouldn't it be better to arm yourself? Question everything. Observe everything.
Waylen walked back over to the desk, pulling open the top drawer. Three pens, three pencils, an old notebook, and a small wooden box. The wooden box is locked. Waylen reached for the gold necklace, that hung around his neck, observing the key at the end. The key fit. A frown forms on his charming face. Before twisting the key, he reaches for his cellphone powering it on. No cell reception. Turning his attention back to the box, Waylen carefully inserts the key unlocking it.
Waylen's face turns sour, an old black and white photo lays on top of the contents. A pair of twins stand side by side, their fingers intertwined. Behind them stood a well-dressed man, and woman with small smiles on their faces. They stood in front of The Estate with a sense of nobility. Waylen couldn't recall ever seeing the air. Yet, he couldn't help but think the small girl resembled Chess.
Underneath the photo, is several small objects, A pair of golden scissors, a small knife, and a brooch. It seems the owner of this room seems to be a fan of sharp objects, most likely to inflict pain onto others. An assumption based off a single impression. He took the knife, hiding it in his pocket before finally heading out the bedroom door.
Across from Waylen's bedroom is an identical looking room, apart from an old rabbit doll resting on the bed. Except in this room, the chest at the foot of the bed wasn't locked. His every sense whisper to open it, to peek inside the curiosity. Maybe the contents will give him a clue as to what the chest in his room contains. However, Waylen knew better than to go through a rich girl's things. Especially considering the possibility the owner is alive and well. It would be odd for him to be the only one living over here.
The state at the bottom of the staircase looked vastly different from the top. While the two bedrooms are immaculate, the rest of the blue colored walls looks untouched. A thick layer of dust covers the floor, without a single footprint. The walls are lined with large, covered paintings, draped in a thick blue fabric. Each of the other rooms seem to be locked, shielding access from whoever lived here.
It was then Waylen had a stupid thought, what if he simply asked the doors to open? So he opens his mouth, breathing out as he speaks "Grant me entrance," Waylen demands, hearing the resonation within the room. A gust of wind sweeps through the space, thrusting dust deep inside his nose.
Tick, tick, tick, toc, the tall grandfather clock beings to move. As if the sound of his voice kicked life into the old place, a piano begins to play. It begins to play the same tune Johnthan Riggs hummed. Boom! A cover falls off one of the portraits, disturbing the dusty floor revealing the face of a woman dressed in yellow. Clatter, the sound of a pot hitting the floor rang his ears.
It is 6:55 pm, suddenly Waylen didn't feel like staying any longer. There must have been an exit in the area of the blue walls, something told him all he would have to do was ask for it. But, he felt like figuring it out the old fashion way. Dinner is in five minutes, and he needs to be on time. Going back on his previous thought, Waylen opens his mouth to say "show me the exit." With that, he walks alongside the wind unsure of this new power.
Only when he escapes this place will he be reunited with Chess again. Therefore, he must extort The Estate to its upmost potential. That is his new priority.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone