House Arrest || Trades
Trish pulled through the gates to her lavish home, driving up to the house that lay beyond. She was home later than she intended, but an eccentric buyer had come in at the last minute at the high-end art gallery where she worked. She was not about to turn away a commission such as that, she just wished that he hadn’t prattled on for an hour about why he was buying twelve original paintings. Two of them were her own work, so at least there was that. It had been a long day, and she just wanted to get inside, maybe grab a glass of wine and relax by the pool. She pulled into the garage and saw that her husband was home, so her plans would be pushed back ever so slightly. It wasn’t often that he was home before she was. In fact, he was usually off on one business trip or another. Usually it was dinner for one in the expansive house, it got lonely from time to time – but at least her work kept her busy. It kept her from wondering about the rut she had found herself in. When did Trish Gothel become a lonely housewife?
Her heels clicked against the concrete as she walked to the door connecting the garage to the house. She moved through the rehearsed movements, open door, and turn, set alarm, drop keys and purse on counter and proceed into the kitchen. She didn’t spot her husband anywhere nearby, but she could usually find him in his office or in the living room watching sports. Not hearing the TV, she tested her luck by calling out to him, “Marcus? Work got a little swamped right at the end of the day.” She opened the fridge to check if there was any type of food that looked good. Some stuff caught her attention, her stomach growled a little. She closed the door with a sigh, choosing instead to properly greet her husband first – to see if he was up for any dinner. “You hungry? I could make us something, or we could just order in. I’m a little tired after my day and am looking for-“ she stopped in her movement and speech at the sight in front of her.
She’d entered the living room to a vision of her husband sitting on the couch, wrists bound, and a gun pointed at his head. Four masked men stood around the room, the three that didn’t have their guns pointed at Marcus, pointed them at her. Her voice caught in her throat and before she had much of a chance to make any decision, one of the three moved towards her. He grabbed her roughly, tying her wrists and pushing her onto the couch with Marcus. She snuck a glance over at her husband before keeping her eyes trained on who seemed like the ringleader of the group. Though the situation was high strung, she couldn’t keep her tongue to herself any longer, “Yes, make yourself at home.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.