Writing For G.O.T

The Amulet --- (The House of Black and White)

3386 words
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I should have taken a cab, Margaret thought as she woke. Thank God, she still had her clothes on, untouched, but everything else--her bag, her phone, her credit cards, her jelly beans--were all gone.

If she had taken a cab, then all this wouldn’t happen, but her love for nature and solitude and especially the long walk by the shore road watching the fuchsia sunset had tricked her into doing just the opposite. If she had taken a cab, she wouldn’t be here in this rat-hole of a place all tied up.

She guessed it had to be midnight, now. She looked at the man sitting at a rickety old table in the corner reading a newspaper that lay flat on the table’s surface. This wasn’t the man who had talked to her on the road. That one was short and old

The images of her capture came back to her. The old man distracting her, saying “Look!” and pointing to something over the lake he’d called ducks… a person grabbing her from the back, another holding her something wet over her nose… her knees buckling…her last sight of her own feet with red sneakers… The images pushed and jostled and competed rudely with each other for space. She tried to stop the images, but she couldn't.

This man at the table, who was probably guarding her, had to be in his late thirties or early forties. Over his left eyebrow, stretching to his chin, was a thin scar, giving his face an asymmetrical character. His hair seemed to be black or dark brown. Could it be dyed? But men like that wouldn’t dye their hair, would they!

Over him, from the ceiling hung a dim light bulb without a shade. Behind the table was something on the wall that a black blanket covered. She noticed a corner of a wood frame where the blanket curled upward. A window. She turned her head to the other wall. A door. It looked like a sturdy one, possibly of oak, but it was pitted and the paint on it, possibly white, was lifting off, curling in sections. The room she was in had to be quite large, judging from the size of the ceiling.

“How are you, sweetheart?” Her captor’s voice, surprisingly high and soft for a large man startled her.

She looked at him with fawn eyes, pleading.

“I can open the gag on your mouth if you don’t scream,” he said. “Not that anyone can hear you here, but I have sensitive ears.”

She nodded.

The man approached. She noticed his limp. Left leg shorter than the right. She made a note of it. Just in case, if she were lucky enough to be rescued.

She cringed when he smoothed his hand over her head to get to the knot on the gag.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” the man chuckled. “I don’t dig girls.”

She relaxed. When he took the gag off, she said, “Thank you!” out of her conditioning.

The man grinned and chuckled again. “You make me laugh. You nice girls with rich daddies. Don’t you worry! Your daddy will come through. He’d better or else.”

Margaret shivered, her insides moving from shock to fear.

He limped back to the chair he was sitting on. She turned her head around and stared at the bare walls and whatever else she could see around her. There was no other furniture in the room except the La-Z-Boy she sat on and the table with the chair where the man was. When she twisted her head to the wall behind her, she saw two other doors. One smaller than the other. She guessed the smaller one to be a built-in closet.

With a sudden urge from her bladder, she squirmed in the chair and drew in her breath so sharply that the man looked over at her. “Please,” she begged. “I need to use the bathroom.”

As he arose and moved toward her, he warned. “No tricks, understood?”

“Sure,” she said. “Please, I won’t do anything…to you.”

The man laughed. “Like you could…”

He untied her and pushed her toward the larger door behind the wall on the back of her chair. She fell forward and caught the knob on the door.

“You’re a wimp, you know!” the man muttered.

She turned the knob and opened the door. Inside was a tiny half bathroom with no windows but dilapidated walls, commode, and sink. The tissue holder was empty, but there was a roll of paper towels near the sink and a bar of soap.

The man stood at the door, watching her. How could she pee with his eyes on her?

“Can you, please, turn your back, at least?”

He laughed. “You crack me up, girl!” Then he turned serious. “Okay, but no tricks.” He left her alone in the bathroom and even closed the door.

If it were someone else or someplace else, she would give him his due for calling her ‘girl.’ She was a thirty-two-year-old executive in her father’s firm, and no one ever called young women ‘girls’ in Margaret’s presence. But with this one, she needed to use her wits.

She wiped up with a sheet of paper towel but didn’t know what to do with it. One didn’t throw paper towels into toilets.

The door opened. “Why are you taking so long?”

“I can’t…throw this here. It will clog the toilet.”

“Jee---zuZ! Throw it on the floor then. Who cares! The old witch is dead.”

She folded the paper and laid it beside the toilet. Then, after she flushed the toilet and washed her hands, she stripped another piece of paper towel to dry them

“The old witch?” she asked.

“Yeah! A witch. She thought she was, anyway. She owned this place. She threatened the boss and look where she is now.”

“Where is she?”

“Girl, you gotta have marbles inside your head. She’s dead! Gone! And guess what? She sat exactly where you were sitting when she…” He made a gesture by sliding his hand over his neck.

“Oh!”

“Go sit down, now. I won’t tie you up, if you behave, understood?”

She nodded. When she sat down, she saw a bottle of water on the floor, near the armchair. He had to have put it there when she was in the bathroom. Then, she realized she still had the paper towel in her hand. She mocked herself inwardly for holding a weapon, a paper towel, to overcome a man four times her size.

Oh, well! For some odd reason, she felt calm, not frightened at all.

The man resumed reading the paper. Now, what was she going to do with the paper towel? She moved her hand down the side of the chair she was sitting on, finding an opening in the cloth, just where the seat met the armrest. She could stick it in there. When she slid her hand through, her fingers found a square object, a small box, maybe. She pulled the box out, gently while watching the man, and slid it under her thigh. At that instant, the man turned his head to her.

“You’re being good, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

She reached for the bottle, twisted the lid open and took a sip. Then, she laid her head back and closed her eyes to feign sleep. If he thought she was sleeping, he might stop checking her, and she could open the box.

A while later, she heard a snore. She looked. The man was sprawled over the newspaper on the table, catching some zzz’s. She took the box from under her and opened. Inside was a stone on a chain, a necklace that looked like a bluish Swarovski crystal, with a small note next to it. She took the necklace out and admired it shimmering so in the dim light. She couldn’t wear it because they’d take it from her just like they had taken the jewelry she had on her. So, she stuck the pendant inside her bra on her left side.

The man was still snoring. She opened the note and tried to make out what it was saying. “This amulet will let you hear others’ thoughts. Use it well.” She smirked. That poor old woman! She might have been deranged. She slid the box with the note and the paper towel sheet back into the opening between the armrest and the seat.

The man at the table groaned. He was dreaming about being a child, milking a cow, and hating it. So, this one was really a farm boy. How did she know that?

She felt the crystal in her bra turn hot and almost burn her skin. Was it radioactive or what? Without taking it out totally, she pulled the necklace out a bit and looked. Its color had changed to bright red and it was glowing like a neon bulb. Normally, Swarovski crystals wouldn’t do that. She knew enough about jewels to figure that one out. She pushed the stone back into her bra.

She had to have been asleep. When she opened her eyes again, she saw the man looking at her. She looks so innocent. Like my sister. But nothing I can do.

What? Was she really catching his thoughts? Or was she imagining the whole thing? She didn’t consider herself with such out-worldly imagination at all. Maybe the note was telling the truth, after all.

She leaned back and closed her eyes again. She had heard people talk of white witches congregating in the area, but she had never believed that. If this place belonged to a witch, she couldn’t have been too far from home, then.


“Hey, Princess!” The man was standing in front of her holding a paper plate. “Time for breakfast.” On the plate, was a hard-boiled egg and a slice of bread.

She hadn’t seen him move out of the room. This meant there were others in the house.

“Thank you!” She took the plate.

She is making me feel bad with her thanking all the time.

“Sorry,” she said, answering his thought. He looked at her funny. The amulet felt hot against her skin. That meant the spell on it had to be working.

He shrugged and went back to the table to eat from his own plate.

If there were others why wasn’t she hearing their thoughts? Maybe it was the walls. But by now, she was almost sure of the amulet’s power because she could hear this man’s thoughts loud and clear.


Then, a few minutes later, everything changed.

Suddenly, so many thoughts, so many people. Everybody’s thoughts rang inside her head. What was happening? The man had taken down the blanket covering the window and was looking out. Ambush! Her father must have alerted the cops. Damn! His thoughts again, screaming inside her head.

Then, she heard gunshots, together with the discordance of so many loud thoughts. She had to stop the cacophony or she’d go nuts. She reached for the box and placed the amulet back inside it. Then, she put the box inside her pocket. The thoughts she could still hear but they were murmurs now.

The sound of gunshots drew nearer. Two brutes rushed into the room. One raised his gun and shot at her. She screamed. The bullet whizzed by her ear, missing her altogether.

Her guard stood in front of her. “No, you don’t! If we kill her, it’s death sentence for all of us. Go out by the back door. You might be able to hold them off or pull them away from here.”

Then he took her by the arm and forced her to go near the table, pushing her under it. Crazy, but I want to protect her.

“Stay there, if you don’t want to be shot,” he yelled at her.

She slunk under the table as far back to the wall as she could go. From where she was, she could see the doors, the two criminals running out, and the man guarding her. He had drawn his gun and was waiting.

When the Swat team stormed the room, he didn’t fire, but he threw the gun on the floor and raised his hands. Two policemen took him down. Margaret came out from under the table and begged. “Please, don’t hurt him. He helped me. He saved my life. He is nicer than the others.”

“You can tell it to the judge,” said a policeman as he put hand cuffs on the man. If he hadn't taken your phone, we wouldn't find you, you idiot woman! Gracias to GPS{.i}

A policewoman ran to Margaret. “Honey, are you okay? What did they do to you? I’ll take you to the hospital. My name’s Shirley, by the way.”

“No, no hospital, please,” said Margaret. “They didn’t hurt me. This one was nice. He helped. Really. Please tell them not to hurt him.”

The policewoman rolled her eyes. “Believe me, none of these thugs are nice.” Poor girl! It’s the Stockholm syndrome.

“No, it isn’t the Stockholm syndrome, at all,” Margaret answered Shirley’s thought. ”He really didn’t want to hurt me. He is good inside.”

Did I say that it was the Stockholm syndrome? I must have talked out loud. Shirley’s thought came across again.

“Well…I…” Margaret immediately caught herself from talking too much. She had to train herself not to answer others' thoughts so deliberately. If people found out, they would try to use her for their own ends, even the police.

This amulet, however, could be put to very good use, not for anyone’s or any organization’s wishes but for the good of the people, and Margaret had to do it herself.


Soon enough, all the hoopla with Margaret’s kidnapping eased off. In the meantime, through trial and error, Margaret learned how to use her amulet on a chain, which she now called ‘my lucky pendant.’

She found out that when she had the amulet on her skin and close to her heart, the thoughts that came through were too loud and strong. But if she let it shine on top of a dress or sweater, their sound was bearable. She also learned that by twisting the amulet toward any person, she could get only their thoughts clearly, just like an antenna. Then, the farther out from her heart, the more manageable became the amulet.

The amulet’s power first showed itself at work. When someone asked for time off by coming up with a lame excuse, she learned to say no, but when someone really needed the time off, then she offered them time off even without a request. This made her very valuable to her father, who bragged, “My daughter, Margaret, has the best horse sense.”

Margaret knew, however, that no horse was involved here. It was the amulet through and through.

About a couple of months after her kidnapping, Margaret took to carrying gift card from fast food and grocery chain stores in her wallet. Those, she handed to people who were homeless and didn’t know where their next meal was coming from.

She made large donations to soup kitchens and charities that raised money to buy blankets and winter clothing for the needy. Because she could read thoughts so well now, she made sure she talked to the people managing the charities first, and she immediately knew which charity was real and which one didn’t give a hoot about the needy.

One day, when she was getting coffee from Starbucks, she heard someone’s thoughts that sounded gloomier than all the racket of murmurs she heard inside her head. A young girl was considering the option of doing away with herself because someone had ripped off the money she had saved for her last semester in college. Plus, she had a sick mother who needed help for her medical needs.

Margaret picked her coffee and moved toward the thought. Silky hair, long elegant legs, pale slender fingers tapping on the table. These were her first visual impressions of the girl.

“May I sit, here?” Margaret pulled the chair across from the girl toward whose thoughts she thought she had picked up. The girl nodded. God! I’m in no mood to chat with strangers! She stood up. “It is okay. I was going anyway.”
in
“No, please don’t go, Diane!”

“How do you know my name?”

“I thought I met you at your school,” said Margaret. “My company provides scholarships and tuition help. That is why I was there.”

Diane sat down again, squinting her eyes at Margaret. “I don’t remember any of that,” she said. “But I know you from somewhere, I just can’t think…”

“That must be it, then,” said Margaret. “Had you applied for tuition help at all?”

“No, and when I tried, the administration people said they weren’t giving any.”

“Of course, not. It wasn’t them; it was us.”

“No, they would know. But I think I know who you are. I saw you in the court. You are Margaret, aren’t you? The lady who was kidnapped.”

“Yes, that was an unfortunate incident, but that’s behind me, now. Coming back to…”

“No, no. I wanted to thank you ever since. I even…I am so sorry, it was my brother who was involved.”

You tried to save Joe from a long sentence. I am so grateful.

“Joe? Oh, of course.” She remembered, then. The man who was guarding her at the white witch’s place. The man who didn’t want her hurt. “I didn’t know you were his sister.”

After a silence of a second or two, she continued. “I felt grateful to him. He untied me. He didn’t want me hurt when there was gunfire. Your brother is a nice person.”

“He is,” Diane sighed. “After the farm went under and was sold, he took care of us all. He had to because my dad had died during the while we were losing the farm.”

“Yes, I remember that. It was offered as evidence during the trial.”

“It was the other people he fell in with. He wouldn’t do any such thing. They pushed him. He was even knifed in a terrible fight. He almost died.”

Margaret recalled the scar on the man’s face and the limp, but she couldn’t stand the dark feelings that resulted from the memories rushing into Diane’s mind.

“Erase those,” she said. “Erase those memories. They are not helping you any.” She reached out for Diane’s hand and held it. “Let me see what I can do for you. I couldn’t help your brother much because nobody in that court took me seriously, but I’d like to help you and your mother. Allow me, please.”

Diane squeezed Margaret’s hand and began to weep. “Thank you,” she said. “I had the darkest thoughts that you wouldn’t even begin to imagine.”

But she had. She had heard Diane’s thoughts loud and clear. She couldn’t admit to that, though.

“You know what? You can help me, in return. Come work in my office as my assistant. I need a good person as my assistant. I’ll give you time off for school and I'll pay for your tuition, too. About your mother, we’ll see what we can do. This is not for nothing, either. After all, your brother surely saved my life.”

She felt a kinship with Diane after all, as they left Starbucks together, Margaret leading the way. Then she saw the shadowy silhouettes of the two of them outside reflecting on the glass. They were both slim and good looking. No wonder Joe had likened Margaret to his sister.

Now they had work to do. She was sure, Diane would be at her side to help with her projects. If she could, she would enlarge her efforts and maybe involve others. Organize more people, find funds, open up people to each other…

If only everyone helped everyone…that could be the purpose of life. The purpose of life should not be pursuing happiness, but to be useful, compassionate, and to make enough difference enough to say one has lived well.

Margaret smiled at Diane as they walked side by side. She wasn’t sure if these were Diane’s thoughts or her very own. Somehow, they seemed to overlap.

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Prompt: There is a magic talisman that allows its keeper to read minds. It falls into my main character's hands, which allows her to make others' lives happier.