Re: The woods
Like thunder, the man's voice made him flinch, full of anger and disgust and... was that fear? Another thump, a strangled cry, and Luke finally snapped into action, turning the knob and pushing open the door. The room beyond was an office, lined with shelves and windows on the back wall, covered with shuttered blinds, two chairs shoved off to the side and a beautiful mahogany desk sporting a state-of-the-art computer taking up most of the space. But the office wasn't what held his attention; it was the man and the woman, to whom the voices belonged to, and the familiarity of the man, which made him unable to look away.
She was beautiful, even sprawled out on the floor as she was, dark hair spilled over her face and the back of her pale, pale dress unzipped down to the base of her spine. One hand, sporting both an impressive engagement ring and a gleaming wedding band, pressed against the floor, while the other clutched her dress against her chest. She was looking up at the man, disbelief and hurt and the wrath of a woman scorned visible in what could be seen of her face. The man was just as well dressed, in a suit that had likely cost more than most men on the floor above combined, tie askew, the first few buttons of his shirt open. His chest rose and fell wildly as he looked down at the woman, all the emotions heard in his voice flickering like a bad movie across his face, and it was worth noting that most of his weight was put on his right side, where he leaned upon a finely worked cane, as though unable to support his full weight on his own.
He wasn't Thomas, the man. He was too young, his features not sharp enough, eyes blue rather than cold grey. There were slight differences, but as Luke looked upon this other version of himself, no one would ever mistake the two as anything other than the same person. Luke stepped into the room, since they couldn't see him anyway, as the woman pushed herself up into a sitting position and tried to find her voice. "Is this how you treat all your wives, Luke?" Her voice was icy, and the older him flinched, taking an unsteady step back; the movement brought with it a strange sort of sound, like the rattle of pills against the side of the bottle.
"I can explain," he began, but then he noticed the open door, and after a moment, the woman followed his gaze and tensed, clutching the dress tighter to her chest. "Who's there?" his older self called, and there was nothing but strength and self-assurance there, as he pulled his guise of wealth and power over himself to face whoever might be lurking outside.