The glasses were made of Venetian crystal. That was the first thing he noticed. Andrew Rainer wouldn’t be caught dead serving his guests wine in some substandard glass. His eyes then dropped to the rest of the dinner place, set out in front of him like some sort of code. The cutlery was made of pure silver with ivory handles. The napkins were Egyptian cotton, or perhaps somewhere that made even finer quality fabric. He wasn’t exactly a cotton connoisseur.
The last thing that caught his eyes – in retrospect, the most important thing – was a tiny white pill, positioned carefully beside his glass.
“You can take the pill, Davey, and this will all be over.” Andrew Rainer’s voice echoed through the empty dining hall. “If you don’t, I’m afraid you’ll have to endure my hospitality a little longer.”
Rainer’s ‘hospitality’ ached under his clothes. Davey’s mouth twisted, but he said nothing.
“Make your choice, Davey.”
After a beat of silence, Davey picked up the little white pill, rolling it between his fingertips.
Death was easy. Choosing life was harder.
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