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Vexation [Unfinished Story]
"Why am I here, you ask?" asked a pale man silouhetted against the light in a small office in France. "Well, I went to the French Intelligence yesterday and asked if they could help me. This almost bald French man looked at me and said:
'Vex Vyer? This conman your speak of is...not in our database. Are you sure he is a Frenchman? Even the name does not at all sound French.'
"I only smiled and corrected him." the man sat up straight. "Yes. Her name does not at all sound French. If you ask me, it's a queer name that does not sound French, English, Italian or even German. It's ridiculously unique! But what an intriguing name it is. It's almost as though someone made up the name especially for her.
'Yes, yes. She seems like an intriguing character' He paused for a while. 'But if she is not a French citizen, we cannot help you.' With that, they sent me on my way! Can you believe it? I don't know what he lost more: His hair or his mind."
His female companion resonded with a light and airy voice with a little bit of her French accent. "He was only exhausted. You must have made him speak so much English! Be careful. It makes Frenchmen disagreeable at times."
The man chuckled. Then, he leaned over and said directly: "Let's cut the crap. Do you have information about her or not?"
The middle-aged woman fixed her glasses as they were about to fall. She laughed inaudibly. "I do. I do."
She got up from her desk and went over to the bookshelves on the far side of the small office. She walked gracefully with firm resolution to her steps. She asked:
"How much did she steal again?"
The man answered without hesitation.
"seven hundred million Euros"
The man kept still, like an ebony statue illuminated by the light coming from the partially open window. The mysterious figure wore a black buckleather coat tapered at the neck and held fast with six buttons to the side. He wore slacks and a pershing cap that hid part of his face in the shadow. In fact, he wore black from head to toe but his garments were nonetheless fine. He looked up at his companion now, expecting a response.
The brunette lady had lifted her hand to grope the bookshelf for something in particular. She hesitated in her moment when she heard the amount and held her hand suspended in the air while she contemplated. She turned around now, spinning on her three inch heels, and held a steady gaze on the man that lay comfortably on the chair.
“Seven hundred million Euros?” She gasped. “By God! That’s more than I can make selling fourteen or fifteen of my best students!”
“Indeed. Now, will you hand it to me?”
The lady resumed groping the bookcase until she found what she was looking for. She took a dusty brown book and dusted it with her hands, the fingernails painted red. She walked back over to the other side of the room now and handed it to her companion.
With an observant eye, he commented:
“Claire, you’re nearing forty but you’re still wearing those skimpy outfits, miniskirts and all. The only thing that’s changed is that you tie your hair in a messy bun now.”
Her hair wrapped around itself, held fast with pins. Two locks of flowing brown hair were held loose on either side of her face. They looked messy because of the waviness of her hair. Nonetheless, to any other onlooker, it was sexy.
Claire raised her glasses now and said “At least I’ve been careful with my money!” She looked away and glanced at him twice before she spoke again. “That’s Vex’s journal. She wrote it before she left. You have what you want. Now go!” She had tears standing in her eyes.
“It’s been five years, hasn’t it?”
“Yes. Five miserable years!”
“Good day, Claire.”
“Good day!” she started to calm down but as the man left, she stomped her foot in anger and started wiping her glasses already fogged by tears.
The man had gone from the building to a small apartment in the second floor of a deteriorated building east of the Eiffel tower.
The moment he got in, he locked all five bolts of the wooden door and closed the curtains in the cramped space after opening the light. With a vehement manner, he threw his cap and the journal onto the coffee table. After taking off his jacket and hanging it on a chair, he sat down and got the journal ever so gently as though it were a precious gem or a baby that needs to be treated with delicacy.
He held his serious expression as he opened the package wrapped thrice with string. It was a regular brown journal, with the pages yellowing from age. There was a writing on the leaf page which read:
"To Mrs. Claire Exupery, my beloved instructor:
Thank you for everything. May the wind take you something nice. Take this in memory of me.
Vex Vyer"
"My name is Vex Vyer of the Exupery Training Agency (ETA). I've recently found out that I've been sold for 5 million Euros. I'd like to write my autobiography before that happens so I will never forget. So that you will never forget me as I am now... And as I was then. In the course of my work, it is inevitable to kill or be killed. I am likely to be asked for tasks that will make the world condemn me... But before they do, I'll write this to preserve what I've been before the bloodshed. Before any resemblance of my past innocence goes down the drain.
I didn't have a very happy family life before ETA. Both my parents were drunkards who only went to collect their daily unemployment allowance from the government. If there were projects and a contract, father was a construction worker but otherwise, he got additional money from distributing the newspaper in the French suburbs. Back when I was smaller, say... 8 years old, mother was a waitress at a local restaurant.
My parents were always out drinking but they didn't have enough money to hire a babysitter, so often, I would poke around the house, read mother's old books and tinker with the kitchen equipment.
I only learned to read because a distant relative sent me a how-to-read book through mail. To back this up, I often went out in the morning to visit a local nursery where they teach the children how to read and write.
The children often brought huge flash cards and raised them while saying something. It was only later when I realized those were the words of the alphabet. It was a little late but I learned it in the end.
Later on, when I was about seven years old, I enrolled myself into a public school without the knowledge of my parents. It took quite a lot of convincing... And a little crying to convince the principal that my parents were abroad and sending me money every now and then but my nanny was unavailable that day. But it was worth it. Of course, I would come back about an hour before I expected my parents to arrive. I even got the help of our neighbor, Mrs. Bouvier. She was an old widow who knew about my parents and wanted to help me out. I often asked her to pose as my nanny, which she did so gladly. Looking back now, that seems impossible for any ordinary seven year old but when time are hard, you need to go against the current. Especially if it's taking you someplace you don't want to go.
I slept in the attic but it isn't as bad as books try to make it. The view is definitely splendind from the small, circular window that lit up the room every morning. The only hate about is how it is when it's raining. Whenever it rains, the drops hit the roof so hard I find it hard to sleep and I would catch myself staring up at the roof, wondering: 'If the rain hit me, would it be as hard as it sounds on the roof?'
The rain reminded me of my parents... How they both hit me in their rage. They were often downstairs, yelling at each other once the alcohol wore off but it didn't matter. After all, I've always said to myself that they were in my life but not a part of it. I felt indifferent to them now and then.
I was beaten for quite a lot of reasons. Sometimes, it was because they knew I took money from their cabinet. They never really appreciated that there was food on the table when they got home. Despite that, they never made an attempt to hide the money. You might ask: "When did you learn how to cook?". Ask the food network channel. Every morning, I went to the supermarket and every night, I studied mother's cook books. By doing that for years, I was able to master several recipes from appetizers to desserts.
Of course, there were several other reasons why they beat me. Sometimes, it was because they were drunk. Other times, it was because the alcohol wore off. But more often, it was because they were frustrated with each other and I looked like the both of them. I got mother's eyes and hair and the rest of father's facial features so I always reminded one of the other. So, I was always the one at fault.
And as you may have guessed by now, they did find out I was going to school. It was in the sixth grade when a letter came from the school. It was an informative letter that I was to prepare a speech because it turns out that I was the valedictorian for our batch. It's quite a shame that they only found out when I've been attending for six years already. They tried so desperately to deprive me of an education I rightfully deserved as is my right stated in the constitution.
That afternoon, I came home from school and found my mother home early. She had that grim look on her face while she held the letter in her hand. Although my mother was no prim and proper beuty queen, she looked particularly haggardly that day since she had only recently started doing drugs. Apparently, working as a drug pusher gave her some benefits.
Mother's blood shot eyes held loosely in their sockets as though they could fall at any given moment. There was hollowness underneath those well-defined cheek bones. The mass of gleaming red hair around her face was dry and frizzy.
She spoke to me with alarming anger in that shrill tone. Then, she enumerated the reasons why she didn't want me to go to school which were all irrational. I survived six years of school on borrowed books and the library so expenses couldn't possibly be taken into account.
She thrashed me about as usual and cornered me to a wall. She got even angrier when I stood there without any emotion, not trying to fight back. She slapped me dead hard on the cheek and threw me down on the floor. Seconds later, I heard a loud shriek of despair and the door of the master bedroom slamming shut as the sound of loud stomping disappeared.
I lay on the floor for a moment before I found the energy to get up and fix myself. I quietly made my way to the attic, bringing along my heavy bag of school books courtesy of the public library. I let them down brashly on the floor finding no reason to hide them anymore. But I picked up my English book and sat on my bed.
I had quite a hard time with English then. Now, there must be a recognizable difference taking into account that this journal is written purely in English. Claire, you're the only one I expect to understand this fully.
As I was saying, I was reading my English book when I heard a loud banging on the door of the master bedroom. I raised the book to my face, trying to concentrate. Soon enough, the door opened and my parents started swearing at each other like they always did. After a few minutes exchanging violent words, they stopped and the door slammed shut once more. It was clear to me then that mother refused father.
In a few moments time after the awkward silence, I heard someone dragging his feet up the stairs to my room. I could sense trouble as I quietly set down the book. I almost sprang up from the bed when I heard my father say in his sweetest tone "How are you tonight, my child?"
My father was terrible in many things. Among them: Parenting, staying sober, keeping a job... But the French spoken language was not one of them. He was quite a romancer with that low, husky voice. He enunciated every word and juiced them out of all possible sexuality.
He spoke to me now with that voice of his, making my will crumble and disarming me of any tricks I might have used in case he tried something. The door swung open now and he stepped in slowly with a little smile on his face.
I looked almost exactly like him. I had the same lips, the same nose and the same jaw. He was a sleek figure moving across the floor towards my bed. His broad shoulders were not at this time shielded by the old, brown blazer he always wore. His dark, disheveled hair was not covered by the dusty brown hat that came up to his brow.
He looked intently at me now, apologizing and asking for forgiveness. He claimed that he was a changed man and would do anything to become a better father to me. I looked at him then and eyed him with doubt. He sat down and asked me to believe him. As he moved closer, I, in turn, backed away towards the headboard. When he made more promises in that sweet voice, I shook my head and glared at him.
He was clearly dismayed. His face hardened into an iron mask. His brows were down and his eyes showed fury. In an instant change of emotion, he pounced at me and pinned me down on the bed with such speed that I wasn't able to react. I struggled, kicking and screaming, though I knew that out house was considerably far from any neighbors'. Any screaming I made was absolutely futile and I knew it in my own mind.
My father drew his head close and whispered in my ear: "You could have made things easier for yourself, you little b***h. You're just like your mother! "
I hit him with my head with such an impact that it made him lose his grip on me. I immediately got away, feeling my bloody head. Looking behind me, I found my father holding his head and screaming such profane things at me.
I immediately ran downstairs with all the strength I could muster. When I reached the second floor, I glimpsed mother opening the door. I continued down anyway towards the livingroom.
I opened the drawer with my shaking hands, knocking over the lamp on top of it. I grabbed father's handgun and loaded it as fast as I could. He came running down as I steadied my hand in his direction. "What do you think you're doing? You're gonna kill your own father?" He asked me rather loud. I did not put the gun down although I was shaking badly. He murmured profanities again and spoke smugly.
"Foolish kid! You can't do it. You can't kill me!"
As he came closer, I fired the gun with tears flowing from my eyes uncontrollably. It was the longest minute of my life when I felt the recoil of the gun knocking me back. Father's bloody head, his shocked eyes staring at me down as his knees began to fail him. It was all unbearable. He collapsed, making such a noise as he hit the ground.
Mother ran down screaming. She cursed at me repeatedly to the point that I could no longer bear. I shot her as well as she came towards me, sneering and growling.
My hands and legs were shaking wildly. I felt as though the world was falling down around me. I had an irresistable urge to get away from the bloody scene. Mother and father lying together as they soon will, in hell. I shot out of the front door and kept running, into the streets, into the fields and farms, into a dense wood. I just ran as far as my feet could take me. I was scared... Of God... Of the police... Of the future.
I had been running and wiping my tears for nearly an hour when I started to slow down. The rain started to pour and I was standing in a wheat field, seeking some kind of shelter. In the corner of my eye, I spotted a nearby barn.
It was made in the old French building style. The red paint was chipped, revealing the aged wood within. The ground around it was muddy and uneven. Clearly, it looked unused for some time now.
I made my way to the door of the building but it was locked and a rusty chain wrapped around the door handles. It felt hopeless. I was standing in the middle of nowhere and the rain was tormenting my cold skin. I walked briskly to the side of the building, frustrated. There was not a tree to take shelter under and the shelter I sought was locked.
Then, as I walked, I noticed a hole at the side of the barn big enough for a weasel to squeeze into. I started kicking the wood there, hoping it would give in due to old age. Thankfully, it did and I crawled through that small opening only big enough for a child.
As I stumbled in, I found a stack of hay at the back of the barn. I ran to that spot, my body already breaking down and ready to collapse. It was warm and cozy where I lay dazed and feeling half-dead.
To give you a clear picture of that scene, I was a small, skinny child lying curled up on a stack of hay. My short orange hair was dirty and disheveled. My blue dress cut just above the knee was dirty from the mud that I crawled in. I was wet from head to toe thanks to that accursed rain. The legs and arms I used to draw back the tall grass and wild plants were scratched and scathed. My head was still bloody from the headbutt and the bruises on my chest and arms still ached like they were inflicted only a few minutes ago.
Exhausted and battered badly, I felt my eyelids slide down as sleep began to take me over. I didn't want to shut my eyes for fear that I would die in my sleep. But it was inevitable. In the warmth and the rythmic sounding of the rain, I found peace.
When I awoke, a dazzling stream of white light hit my eyes and I saw a figure silhouetted against that light. The radiating beam seemed to be coming from the direction of the barn door. I squinted, trying to get a clearer picture of my surroundings.
The figure moved towards me, gradually becoming clearer in my eyes. It was undboubtedly feminine with the curves of a beauty queen. I was blinded by the glint of the reading glasses and the shimmer of the gold chain around the woman's neck in that spectacular morning sunshine.
When the woman came near enough for me to see her in all her radiance, she bent over to have a closer look at me. After a moment of awkward staring, she fixed her glasses and mumbled about as though she was thinking of something. Then, she adressed me,
"Hello there. I'm Claire Exupery. What's your name?" She said in a sweet but alluring tune.
"Odette" I answered her. "Odette Desmarais."
"Hmm..." Claire raised her eyebrow.
"You're odd indeed." She said in English.
"Such an ugly name doesn't fit you. But don't worry, I'll give you a new one."
You can only imagine how insulted I felt and how much I wanted to come at her with all my might, Instead, I only sat up and glared at her, trying not get intimidated. She didn't stop looking at me with those fierce brown eyes. She raised her left hand to her chin as though she was thinking about what to do with me. It was then that I noticed the gold ring around her finger, shining brightly in the daylight. I continued to stare at her wearily until she spoke again.
"Strange little girl, quit staring at me like that!"
I continued to stare at her defiantly. She spoke softly to me,
"You refuse to obey. It vexes me! How irritating..." She paused and made a triumphant cry.
"A name fit for a dangerous young woman..."
"Vex... Vex Vi? No." She held her hand to her lip.
"Vex...Vyer. I like the sound of that."
She nodded and held her hand out to me. "Alright then! Vex Vyer, welcome to ETA - Exupery Training Agency".
I hesitated in taking her hand, weighing out my options. It was apparent to me that I had only three options if I didn't come with her. 1.) I could starve to death as a juvenile fugitive. 2.) I could end up in juvie hall or 3.) I could play innocent in court and end up being passed around foster care. None of those options were appealing to me at all. At the same time, I knew nothing about the woman offering to take me in or the agency she serves. Of course, although I took time to think about it, I knew the best choice. I sighed, sensing trouble, but nonetheless, I took her hand.
Claire smiled indignantly when I gave into her wishes without much of a fight. She raised me to my feet and walked me to the entrance of the barn. I felt anxious when I saw mysterious men, all clad in black, watching us as we walked into the sunlight. Their eyes were hidden behind pitch-black shades and all had a stern look. To me then, they looked like living corpses unable to show emotion. Their expressions were much like my own, which made me all the more uneasy but Claire clasped my hand tighter as if to say "It's alright".
There was a black limousine parked outside with one of those mysterious men holding the door open for us. Claire gestured for me to get inside. And when I did as she wished, she followed in and waited for the man to shut the door behind us.
Once we were moving, I felt dizziness overcome me and the tension of my muscles from yesterday's activities. I was too paranoid of my surroundings to contemplate but I sat still with emptiness in my being, staring blankly at the seat in front of me. My stillness was interrupted by a soft, cotton handkerchief touching my cheek ever so gently. I turned to Claire now with expressionless eyes. It seemed to bother her.
"Your face is dirty" she said indignantly.
"I can clean it myself." I said to her, taking hold of the cloth.
She gave it to me without resistance. I proceeded to wipe my face with the soft cloth. Then, I looked away to the window by my side. The French countryside was indeed spectacular. The cows grazed in the grasslands, lifting their heads ever so slowly. The spring flowers were abloom and the tall trees were green with life.
It was all very beautiful. I never had the time to observe it that way back then, the vast green dotted by colorful flowers here and there. Staring intently at nature's wonders, I lost myself in the beauty of the scenery. It seemed like everything else didn't exist but the beauty that lay before me.
"You are quite mature for your age" Claire observed, interrupting the blissful silence. "No, rather... Snobbish"
I didn't take it well. Once more, I was irritated by her words. Despite my irritation, I did not answer nor did I even look her way. I contented myself with being mesmerized by the grasslands.
"Have you gone mute? Why don't you answer me?" Claired asked me in a voice as soft as the whistling of the wind. I looked up at her, this towering figure with the childish expression on her face, her eyebrows knit together and her lips pouting though slightly parted. My discontent with her behavior was too much to handle. I turned away and spoke as softly as she did,
"I do not trust you."
"You are right," She nodded. "You are wise not to trust me. Not a lot of people in the world cannot be trusted - not the maids in your hotel room, not the strangers on the street, not the drunkards in a pub... Most certainly not the lady by your side."
I set my eyes back on her now, on the wavy brown hair held loose up to her shoulders and back, the gleaming brown eyes boxed in by those rimless frames, the beautifully sculpted pointed nose and those lovely red lips that for that moment spoke the truth. Her philosophy amused me. I held her eyes without contempt for the first time. When she did notice the change in my eyes, she smiled. Suddenly, the tension between us was lessened with just a few exchanges and a kind of mutual understanding.
We rode on into the French countryside until we reached a serene, white building deep-seated in a low-lying valley. It was rather small and lacking windows. It was an ivory block in the middle of a crater-like valley with mountains covering it from view. There was no road going toward it so the rocking motion couldn't be helped as we neared the building.
Among the strange features of the white building was a satellite dish resting on top of it and the silver lettering "Exupery Training Agency" near the top. It had only about two floors, probably with high ceilings. When I looked closer, I noticed the dark, reflecting glass that shined in different colors, depending on your position. They didn't look like windows so I kind of assumed they were for decoration. There was also a smaller structure next to it. It was a hole or rather an entrance big enough to fit a ten-wheeler truck. It was white with the same cubic form thad made it look like part of the main building broken off and set beside it.
The car stopped in front of the entrance of the main building. Claire and I got out of the car and went inside the building. Before we entered, I glimpsed the car go into the smaller structure which seemed only a ramp going down into some kind of underground parking lot.
When we went inside, the first thing I noticed was the reception desk right in front with a blonde receptionist wearing a black blazer, embroidered on which eas the letter 'E' in gold thread. The long hand was very pretty. Although simple, it was very elegant.
The receptionist fumbled about a bit and twitched like she couldn't hold still. When we came in, the phone rang loudly on her desk. She picked it up suddenly and struggled to hold on to it in her own clumsiness. She gasped as the phone handset was about to fall. When she finally had a firm grip on the phone, she raised it to her ear, making a fuss, as the coils of the telephone twined against itself and tangled her hand in a loop of coiled wire. She said hello in a shaky voice but the other end had already hung up. She saw us coming near and greeted us as she, too, put down the telephone handset.
"Mrs. Exupery! Welcome back. Who's this you have here? An orphan?" she said enthusiastically. "The adoption agency seems to be doing well! I love how you train children to become contributing members of society from an early age! It is quite noble."
"Thank you, Mirelle". Claire said without a tinge of emotion but with just the little twang that came with her accent. She led me right past the reception desk to the door on the left.
As soon as we entered, I noticed the small L-shaped counter in the leftmost corner. On it were some office kitchen essentials like a microwave, a coffee maker, a few coffee mugs and some plastic cups. It was much like a small kitchen complete with a sink and a water dispenser. Everything was neatly in place and tidy as though they were seldom used or the people who used them were very keen on cleanliness.
We turned right swiftly right past a wooden cabinet with an air-conditioning unit directly above it. Right in front of us was a wooden door, the same as the previous one we went through. We stopped in front of it. Then, Claire approached a light switch to the side of the door. She held it with her hand and pushed it to the right, swinging the switch to the right as one swings open a door. It revealed a button with a down arrow on it. It lit up when she pushed it. We waited for a few seconds for something to happen.
I didn't bother to ask Claire what we were waiting for. I was far too curious about the new surroundings. I looked to the far right corner, from the other end, where we were standing. On that far right side, there was an L-shaped velvet couch in that corner. There was also a wooden table with a glass candle holder on top. I shifted my eyes to the left where a bookcase with a variety of thick books stood. The wall on the left of the passage leading to the couch was occupied with picture frames.
On each of those frames was a blonde lady and a raven-haired man. It was definitely Claire on those pictures. And in them, she looked unmistakably happy. You could see it in the shine of her eyes and the stretch of those pink lips.
The button's light died and Claire opened the door and dragged me in by the wrist. It seems she was in some sort of hurry. We entered through the door and went into an empty room with white walls and a polished wooden floor. It was as big as most small storage rooms and had one steady light directly above.
Claire turned around and did the same to the light switch beside the door, as she did with the other, on the outside. When the light switch facade swung to the side, this time, it revealed twelve buttons, reading from 1 and 2 to B1, B2 and B3 up to the ninth. She pressed the 2 button and I was surprised when the 'white empty room' suddenly went up with the motion of an elevator. I've only ever been in one a few times in my life and it was when my parents had a racket and sent me away to a friend who lives in the city proper unlike us, who live on the countryside.
It would be peculiar for a two-floor building to have an elevator with twelve buttons, nonetheless. With that, I easily deduced that it must have a lot of basement levels. Even so, I gasped when the room moved because I didn't exactly expect it though it was a guess when I saw Claire swing the light switch aside.
Claire led me out of the 'empty room' and through a long, empty hallway with nothing but the sound of her heels tapping the floor. We turned left at the end of the passage and entered a room that stretched as far back as the elevator. It seemed the wall on the side of the 'passage' we went through was merely a divider between the room and the elevator. It housed about eight double-decker beds set in two rows across the floor from us. The surrounding was neat but it looked uninhabited. There were no sixteen people or their belongings on that floor. It was desolate.
On the left of the doorway we went through was a huge dresser, big enough to fit a mountain bike. Directly in front was the door to the comfort room but before it was a heavy oak writing desk with a modern study lamp mounted on it. Behind that desk was glass - all glass! A huge window stretched from end to end with a view of the hills and distant meadows that littered the countryside. It must be the reflective glass I saw from the car. They functioned like the tint of most car windows. It allows you to peer outside but no one to peer inside. It was quite odd to me at the time - how clearly I could see everything from inside.
Claire approached the dresser and pulled at its gold knobs. Inside was a number of sky blue cotton shirts and darker navy blue pants. She pulled out a set and asked me to try it on. "Extra small, right? Or should I pull out the extra, extra small just for you?" She chuckled. I immediately grabbed it from her with a snicker. For a grown woman to be insulting my stature was quite disappointing of her.
"Go take a shower. I'll be right here if you need anything. There are clean towels on the towel rack."
I didn't answer her. She seemed amused as is. It will only be to my disadvantage if I said something I shouldn't. Surely, she would use it as an excuse to pick on me once more.
I went into the bathroom ad locked the door. It was huge! There were about three shower cubicles and another three toilet cubicles. A long mirror stretched across one wall with about three sinks on the counter below it. The space was big enough to house an African elephant. I haven't been to many public bathrooms at the time but in my opinion, it was very big for a bathroom.
I took note of the towel rack last. Above it was a ventilator. I studied it, sliding my fingers against the bottom of the ventilator. I wasn't tall enough to reach it without tiptoeing so I abandoned my thoughts of escape and took a towel from the rack. After all, the reason why I was there was my own decision.
The shower felt great! I let the mud and debris slide down to reveal the open wounds and bruises covering my entire body. They ached when the water hit them but still, it felt good - refreshing even. I wished that my fears and worries would slide away with all the dirt but it seems they didn't. I continued to feel troubled despite everything.
Walking out of the bathroom, I felt the gold embroidered letter on my breast and wondered what it all meant. Claire was outside, sitting on one of the beds with a first aid kit on her lap.
"Alright then. Let's attend to those wounds." She said gently. "Come here."
I went to her quietly and let her treat my wounds. After about a few minutes, Claire mumbled something I couldn't hear. Then, looking up at me from her kneeling position on the floor, she asked softly, "It's your parents, isn't it?"
I nodded in response and glanced at that lady holding my arm up to treat those wounds below my elbows. She smiled when I looked at her. It was more than a little suspicious. That smile drew me to ask questions and fill my mind with accusations.
"Who is this woman exactly? Who was that man she was with in those pictures downstairs? What is the purpose of the organization? And more importantly... Am I safe here?"
 Ayame-Yuura · Fri Apr 01, 2011 @ 10:00am · 0 Comments |
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