A bitter choice

The first thing he could recognize was an old, musty, wet scent. He's groggy, his mouth is dry, and his head hurts, but he feels warmth on his face. With that, he hears a crackling fire; attempting to lift his hand to his face, he realizes his hands are tied. His feet are tied. He opens his eyes and can see that he is tied to a chair.

His eyes get used to the fire's dim light, and he is seated in an old, dusty room with wooden beams at a small round table with a teapot and teacup in the middle. He smells the scent of steeping tea.

He starts to feel panic and realizes that he is well and indeed tied to the chair, and he's not getting out. His mind races like anyone's would in this predicament; who did this? Why me? Why am I here? His usual defensive bravado kicks in, but he quickly realizes there's no one here to impress, to convince. Or so he initially thought.

Swiveling his head, looking around for anything to help him escape, a way out, or a clue as to where he is, he yelps when he sees her. There, by the fire, a young woman stands. She is tall, curvier than he prefers, and simply dressed. She doesn't make a single sound. She seems calm as she continues looking into the flames while holding her cup of tea and quietly sipping. 

Who the hell is she? At first, he thinks this is a first date gone wrong, but then he sees her face, and he recognizes her. 

I know her. But his head is so foggy. Did she drug me? He can't place her face. 

He feels the first beads of sweat dripping down his face as he tries to look around for someone else to help or something to lean against to free himself. Looking around and listening, he confirms they are the only two here.

Where the hell am I? Is this a cottage? In New York City? After spending precious moments trying to make sense of this, he shakes it off and starts to take in more of the space, thinking of creative ways to get himself free. 

If I can just get free, she's just one woman. He thinks to himself, I've managed worse.

She doesn't acknowledge his panic; she slowly looks at the fire and sips her tea.

If she's this calm, she has a plan. He could handle emotions, tears, and outbursts, but calm women never spelled a good time to him.

Noticing him finally, the woman looks over at him, and it barely registers on her face that he is awake. She takes another sip of tea and moves to the table, taking the other seat across from him. She looks down at her hands and places them on the table. Only then does he see her entire face when she looks him in the eye. He is immediately filled with fear.

"Fuck” He says and stills in, struggling with his restraints. 

She smiles lightly at his remark, "I knew you to be more eloquent than that," waving it off,  "but again, I did catch you off guard."

Catching himself, he prepares to put on a show, "Ellie, what's going on? What happened? How are we here? How are you here? I thought you had left the country? I've been so worried about you. I tried to write a call or text, but I didn't have your information. You have no idea how worried I've been after everything you've gone through. What we've gone through."

She said nothing and continued staring at him with the calm, blank stare she'd had when she first sat down.

"Look, honey, what happened was horrible. So many terrible losses and accidents. When your brother…" He paused when he heard her quick inhale.

Her head whipped to the side like she had been slapped, and when she looked back at him, he saw fury in her eyes.

"If this is about the money, I can pay you. But you have no right to do this. To what? Kidnap me? Drug me? What else are you going to do? You don't have the guts to do any real damage. What do you think is going to happen? Let's talk this out like calm adults; you're making a mountain from a molehill. Nothing that happened was my fault…." He was about to dig into his routine defense that he'd done during police questioning and lawyers listening. But she held up a hand.

"Martin, it's not about money. It never was for our family. Though I know that's all you understand, so this may be a tough concept; it's about the truth." She stands slowly, gracefully grabbing the tea cup and placing it before him. Pausing to take a look at him. The first proper look she's taken of him in five years since everything happened.

"You'd think with all that money, you'd have taken better care of yourself." She moves the tea kettle closer to the cup and settles back in her chair.

"I was surprised how big you've gotten. I'm grateful I got the extra rope; otherwise, you wouldn't be so snug and cozy on that chair," she said, sitting back and putting her hands in her lap.

Martin looks at the teacup; it's empty. Then he looks at the tea kettle. He can see steam rising from the spout and smell tea. He looks back at her and sees that she has a calm, serene smile.

"What the fuck do you want, Ellie?" He says, defeated, realizing he will have to play whatever game she has set up and outsmart her like he does with everyone.

"I've made you a soothing tea, but I want to tell you a story first, " she says, and he sees a brief shadow of darkness across her face. Was it a shadow? Or is it her anger? Either way, it can't be good.

She takes a deep breath and begins her tale.

"There was a family, a happy and loving family. They weren't perfect, no one was, but they were happy. A mother, a father, a daughter, and a younger brother. They had been building a nice estate as a family since her brother was back from college, and their daughter was running their company business. Combined, their wealth was not something to write to the Times about, but it afforded them a lifestyle and attention. They were comfortable, happy, giving much back to their community, and always the first people to help those in need." Reaching back for her own tea, she sipped.

"Then a man introduced himself. The man saw that their kindness and eagerness to help were things to be preyed upon and taken advantage of. That's where you come in, Martin,' she said, leaning her elbows on the table and putting her head in her hands. He could tell she was comfortable, so he listened, waiting for his time to strike.

"This charming, crass, but witty man came to this family with an opportunity. An opportunity to do so much good. You did your homework there, didn't you, Marty? Knowing my father had been dying to help those less fortunate in other parts of the world but didn't have the gift or health to travel like he'd like. So you offered your assistance." She continued.

"Look, your father was an adult and made a decision he shouldn't have. It's not my fault he was as gullible as he was fragile in health." Martin interjected, but it didn't move or ruffle her as he hoped. Again, he could deal with outbursts and emotions, but that calm quiet unnerved him.

"My father trusted you. He gave you a sum of money the first time. I don't want to know how you substantiated the positive works the money did for those families," she said, leaning back and drumming her fingers on the table.

"AI has come a long way these days; it's not my fault he couldn't see the flaws." He tried to add that charm but failed because he kept looking back at the tea.

Is it poisoned? Is she going to kill me with the teapot? Seems a bit violent for her….He thought, but he'd been surprised by her already.

She scoffed at his remark. "You continued to take his money and show these manufactured images and proof of goodwill for two years. Until he gave you access to our funds without knowing you had cheated him. You promptly drained those funds, millions of dollars, and disappeared. Funneling the money to an untraceable account, no court would mandate a warrant or search for you."

"Again, sweetie, it's not my fault your father was an idiot, and you could have stopped him," he said, thinking the sweat from his palms could help loosen the rope around his wrists.

She went on, "The stress of this loss and the bureaucratic failing that is our justice system caused my already fragile father to suffer a heart attack and die. Leaving my mother a husk of a woman, I had to step away from the business and take care of her. My brother took over the company; you had thoroughly gutted those funds to barely enough to keep the lights on. The debt drowned my brother and his sanity, and he took his own life. The loss of both men caused my mother to stop living. She wouldn't eat, she wouldn't sleep, she just wept. Until one day, she just stopped breathing. The doctors say it was a brain aneurysm. It was heartache." She says with tremendous confidence. 

She gets up and goes to the fire; he sees her shaking. Is it from the cold or from anger?

He continues his slow struggle to free his hand from the ropes but knows it won't do any good. He just has to wait and see how this plays out.

"Look, Ellie, I'm sorry this all happened to you. I really did send some money to those charities." He had to, he thought. Otherwise, he wouldn't have been able to get their government-valid invoice for his tax write-offs, which he forged. 

"And everything that happened to your family, you can't blame those freak incidents on me. It just doesn't make sense. And you've always been a sensible woman. Let's just talk like adults, and we can find the reason behind all this." He began preparing more excuses. But he saw that she didn't even react.

She took a slow breath while staring into the fire; "You ruined us for nothing but greed."

He didn't know what to say, so she turned and stared at him. "For greed," she whispered.

Taking her time, she returned to the table and picked up the teapot. Keeping eye contact with him, she poured the tea into the cup. She placed the teapot back down on the table. Stepping behind him, she stills. In that pregnant pause of silence, horrifying scenarios rush into his mind: is she going to smash my face against the table? Was it a ploy? Is she going to slit my throat or strangle me?

He hears her take a deep breath, unties one of his hands, and slowly takes her seat across from him. Unafraid of what he might do with one hand free. 

"The tea is yours, Martin. A gift from me." She says, leaning back in the chair.

He looked at the cup. The dark liquid smelled rich and fragrant. Was it poisoned? Maybe. Maybe not.

If she wanted to kill him, wouldn't she have done it already? Why wait so long? Why all the dramatics?

Was she testing his conscience? Jokes on her; he doesn't think he has one. A twisted act of mercy? Instead of a violent death he would likely have had from the latest con, he'd definitely turned on the wrong family. That was not his best work; he'd been getting sloppy. 

So what, he drinks it? If he refuses, will she force him? He stares at the cup.

"As I said before, this is about trust. It's about faith in kindness. In my kindness. Do you have that faith, Martin?" Pausing, she watches his internal struggle. "Take a drink, Martin, " she says, leaning forward.

He could throw it in her face as a distraction, but it's not hot enough to do any damage, and he still would be stuck in this chair. It wouldn't distract her enough to manage an escape.

"And if I don't?" He asks quietly.

She cocked her head to the side and knowingly smiled. Confirming that if he didn't, she'd force it.

With a deep breath and trembling hand, he lifts the cup to his lips and drinks.

He watches her face as the warm, bitter tea slides down his throat. He stares at her as he waits to feel anything. His heart pounds. Is this it? Or is it nerves? What else will I start feeling? Throat burning? Organ failure?

Ellie watches him in silence; her expression is unreadable. One minute passes, then another, and another. He feels no pain. Was there even any poison? Was it just tea?

He laughs nervously with relief. He can feel sweat dripping from his face.

"That's it? That was your big revenge? Making me squirm and sweat?" Sneering at her, "I knew you didn't have it in you, weak, just like your whole family."

Ellie smiles and leans closer, whispering, "Who said the poison works fast?"

Martin's smug smile falters; he looks at the cup, the back at Ellie's serene face.

"What do you mean?" He blurts out between panicked breaths.

She stands and picks up her coat, and he sees her demeanor change to light and easy. "Some things take time, Marty." She pauses and smiles at him.

"It could be days. It could be weeks. It could be in your sleep. It could be during your favorite meal, and it causes a devastating reaction. It could be tomorrow in a crowded room. You'll just have to wait and see and hope." She tosses a kid's Swiss army knife on the table and walks out.

He stares at the closed door in horror. He's alive, for now. But for how long? The fear will never leave him. With every meal, every sip, every breath, he will wonder if it will be his last.