He saw the cracks above her head and understood. He balled his hands into fists and plunged forward.The shape rose before him so fast he had no time to stop. His head snapped to one side, and he crashed to the ground, his cheek stinging from a fresh bruise."What the fuck do you think you're doing, you little asshole?!"Richie's lower lip trembled as he looked up at the hulking form of his father, the hand which had struck him still curled into a fist. Only then did he realize that he had not been slapped but punched, something he had never seen his father do.Richie looked past his father. Melinda acted as if she had heard nothing. She struggled to stand, beating her fists in impotent blows against the unyielding glass of her mother's prison.Richie pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain. "What the fuck are you doing here?!" Richie screeched. "This isn't my mother! This isn't even my house! Why don't you leave me the fuck alone?!" You think you can run away from me?" Mike. Ashley knocked, not hard, but not soft either, on the door.Nothing. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK. The knocks came much harder and much faster this time, with Ashley's urgency shining through. "Come in!" came a voice from somewhere deep within the entrance, and Ashley pushed the door open. It was an extravagant ballroom, with two stairs to either side which leads upstairs to a balcony, and doors at the left and right of the stairs. Dead center in the balcony stood a rich-looking man, wearing a tastefully old-fashioned suit, with a fine walking stick in his hand."Welcome, welcome!" he announced, "come on in! Do shut the door, please, you'll let the cold in." He jumped over the balcony, much to my surprise, but he floated softly down to the floor, landing gracefully on his feet. "I am Sir John Johnson IV, the owner of the manor, and a magician!" upon saying this, he bowed deeply, a bouquet of flowers shooting out into his hand, which he handed to Charlie, the nearest to him."Uhh, thanks," she said.
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