The Three

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I Need Explanation, What Is Going On?

In Marigold’s Eyes

I woke up, once again, in ropes.

This time, my head wasn’t hurting, but my ego was.

How dare he knock us out twice?

“Samuel, hold me back or I will commit homicide,” I growl. “...Samuel?”

I watch as he carefully inched towards the corner of the room, his hands still tied with ropes just like mine. There was a mini kitchen at the edge, and tons of snacks and foods are lying on the tabletop.

He hungrily eyed the fridge.

“What are you doing?” I asked in disbelief.

“...finding something to eat."

“We’re being held hostage and you decide to raid the kitchen?”

“He didn’t say the fridge was off-limits.”

This idiot here is going to give Mega-Mind another reason to rip our brains off and dump them in the sewers.

“Sam,” I warn.

“I eat when I’m stressed!” He exclaimed defensively while stuffing his mouth with chocolate cake. “Besides, all that fighting made me hungry.”

Just as he picked up an Italian-looking box of leftovers, Trace burst into the room. He hasn’t changed his clothes, but the cape was now gone. He noticed the second hostage rummaging through the fridge.

“NOOOO LEAVE MY LEFTOVER LASAGNAS ALONE!” He screeched, lunging at him, trying to grab the food.

“SHARING IS CARING” Sam shot back, running away from him.


This is unbelievable. Two grown men are fighting over a piece of leftover. One is a martial art professional, the other is a despicable murderer and arsonist.

After about a few seconds, Samuel is back beside me and is now tied with metal wires so he cannot escape this time.

I glared at Mega-mind.

He scowled back but began defending himself.

“Look, I only tied you two again because I want to gather my thoughts a bit. I mean, it’s not every day you realize that two complete strangers have something to do with you, am I right?” He laughed like a lunatic.

No, no. He’s got a point.

My stomach started to rumble. In the midst of all this chaos, I didn’t realize that the only thing I gobbled up since morning was a gross mojito.

It’s freaking rhinos in here.

And that chocolate cake did look nice.

In Samuel’s Eyes

Man, that chocolate cake was the best thing I’ve ever eaten.

I notice Trace glancing at Goldie at the corner of his eye.

She’s hungry, and he was the first one who noticed.

Is that admiration I smell?

Just as I was about to ask about it, a short, stubby man came waddling into the living room. He had short, gray hair and a long nose. He wore a black vest and black pants. By the looks of him, I guessed he was Trace’s assistant.

“Henchman!” Trace barked. “Untie her this once.”

“Yes, sir.” He replied and jumped into action. His voice was high pitched and had a Mexican accent.

I watch carefully as Trace’s assistant unties Goldie and -to her astonishment- ushers her to the fridge.

She seemed doubtful at first, but finally relaxed and walked over to open the fridge, her eyes hungrily searching for food.

Henchman eyes me uncertainly. He turns to his boss.

“Do I untie Mr. Enderson too, sir?”

“No. He ate my lasagna. Satan.” He shoots me a look of distaste. His black hair is hanging on his eyes, but I can still see the fury in them from here.

I flash him a smug smile and he scowls at me in return.

It was a really good lasagna, too.

“Then why do we only get to untie Miss Marigold?” He asked innocently.

“Well. She could be hungry.” Trace replied defensively, clenching his jaw.

“Mr. Enderson just ate all the cake.”

“She might want something savory.”

“But you munched all the crackers we have before we decided to kidnap them.”

“She could be thirsty, then.”

“All we have here is vodk-”

Trace grabbed his assistant’s neck and squeezed until his eyes almost popped out, a wicked grin was dancing on his lips:

Don’t talk back at me.”

“Hey, moron! Leave him alone!” She yelled through a mouthful of food, a slight nervousness in her voice.

“Oh, shut it, I can see bits of chewed up food in your mouth!” Trace barked.

“FACE THE OTHER WAY THEN!” She bellowed defensively.





I ducked just in time as Trace growled and threw a large chair across from me in Goldie’s direction. She screamed in frustration and threw a kitchen knife nearby her that just barely missed my nose.

I almost died twice.


I laugh nervously. “Guys, guys. You can bicker all you want, just try not to kill me while doing it.”

“Shut it!” They both say together.

Goldie turns to Trace.

“Get him off the chains.” She pointed at me.

“No.” He replied.


“Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn.” He flashed her a sarcastic smile.

“Uh... Guys?” Henchman pokes in. He has been watching us quarrel for about fifteen minutes. “I saw what the three of you were doing earlier. Looked like magic.”

They stopped fighting. We shoot each other doubtful glances.

So, it was true. I wasn’t dreaming.

Being around these two people never felt so right, and it’s starting to get weird. Its true. And they know it is.

My head throbbed from all of this. I need to lie down.

I eye the huge, dark couch that was facing the TV. The cushions looked so comfy and fluffy. The cuts on my face started to sting. All I wanted was to lie down for a minute.

I’m so tired. So confused. So overwhelmed.

If being held hostages in Trace’s lair meant I would lie on that couch, then so be it.

“Listen you two,” Trace finally spoke. “You will stay here until I figure out what is wrong with us. Why we feel such stuff.”

“No way,” Goldie retorts.

“Don’t sass me, girl. You will stay as long as I want you to, and that’s final.” He objected, and tells Henchman, “Set the ginger head free.”

I finally rub my wrists in pain, and flop onto the couch. I immediately relax and snuggle up more.

So much for beating Trace. Instead of killing him, I’m sleeping on his couch.


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