Cursed Again...
Jefferson sits at his desk which faces a lace-curtained window overlooking the driveway. Trees conceal any sight of a horizon thus limiting his view of the world outside the mansion that had served as a prison for 28 years. Those days were meant to be long gone. Emma broke the curse. Everyone was happy again. Grace finally came home. Joy and happy years proceeded.
Three curses later, he is back in the same damned position. Grace is lost to him again, but an older, more self-sufficient teenager instead of the reliant ten year old she had been during the first curse. That is not necessarily a good thing. Self-sufficient does not mean safe.
He drums his fingers upon the desk, his head tilting downward as his eyes glare through the window pane before him. Time is so important, and he is on the losing end once again.
Remarkably, he is not trapped in the mansion during this curse. Hell, he isn’t supposed to be in the mansion at all this time around. By being free to leave, this provided a possible pretense that this curse should be easier to break sooner, but that would be his own arrogance speaking. He is not so foolish anymore to assume that his influence would certainly break a fourth curse.
He closed his eyes and rolled his head back upon his neck as it became stiff from sitting and glaring for too long. Time… might still be on his side. Information could assist him. Who instigated this curse? What is the goal? What is the damn point?
With elbows planted upon the desk, Jefferson cups his forehead as he now stares at the grain of the painted white desk. “Think. Think.” His eyes move between two grain patterns as his mind races.
This particular curse set Jeff Buchanan into a lower middle class home in the center of town rather than the sophisticated, elaborately decorated mansion, in which Jefferson currently sat, at the edge of town. Jeff’s clothes were limited and consisted mostly of white hospital scrubs. A horrendous lack of color for Jefferson’s more refined tastes. The scrubs also would bare the jagged scar that ringed his neck just to add insult to the old injury. It certainly did not help the fact that he might be employed in a mental institution! A low chuckle emits from his throat followed by a quiet snort. What a cruel joke. Who had he pissed off for that sort of employment? The exact nature of that employment is not clear to Jefferson as he has not fully allowed the cursed persona to sit at the forefront of his mind in fear that it might take over. He cannot forget. Never forget who he is, who he is fighting for.
Leaning back in the plush leather chair, the grin spreads across his face as his hands hang over the front ends of the arm rests. “Jeff Buchanan, you might be cursed, but you’re going to help me get Grace back. Perhaps you’re not so unfortunate an identity after all.”
He stands from the chair causing it to roll back from his legs. His fingers find the knot in the scarf at his neck as he deftly pulls it loose, dropping it upon the desk. Taking a steadying breath, he runs his tongue across his lip wetting the dry skin in preparation. The scar is old. It doesn’t even burn anymore when he thinks of how he attained it. The reasons behind the scar should not affect him any longer. He had not abandoned Grace this time. None of this is his fault. But old scars are difficult to hide from memory, and his fingers cup the scar in a last effort of deciding whether or not to go through with this.
His expression softens as he thinks of Grace. She is who he has fought for her whole life. He won’t stop now. A decision is made as his fist squeezes the material roughly. His free hand yanks a drawer open and carelessly shoves the scarf within. It isn’t needed. Grace is more important than his fears and pride.
As Jefferson leaves the mansion and pulls the door to his sedan open, he focuses internally on the thoughts of Jeff Buchanan, hospital orderly. Perhaps an orderly, anyway. An oddly resourceful individual with no one but himself to care for. His shoulders relax as a much less burdened, guilt-free conscienced orderly sits in the car and turns the ignition. He’s got to get home and change clothes for his upcoming night shift.