Chapter Eighty-Two
James’ POV:
After a while, she pulls back, looking way calmer and a little flustered.
“Thanks a lot, James, I couldn’t ask for better friends than you and Amber.”
I don’t like this line of discussion, so I try to get her to stop. “It’s fine, it’s our duty to be there for you…”
She cuts off my attempt to interrupt me with a steady look “You guys have shown that, even much more, this is proving to be bigger and more dangerous than I initially thought. If I had my way, I wouldn’t want you and Eleanor to know about any of this, I don’t want you to be hurt.”
What she doesn’t realize is that it hurts worse when she says things like this. “Is this a break-up talk?” I say, trying to alleviate the mood.
She shakes her head at my attempt at humor and cracks a tiny smile.
For the first time since all this started, I feel like I have hope again.
“You need to go home though. I’m going to be staying with Veronica in the meantime, especially since it seems whatever or whoever took Thomas and Alex has it in for us too. We’ll have Tristan to watch over us, we’ll be fine. Besides, you should know I’m pretty capable of taking care of myself too.”
“Make sure to call me if anything happens,” I know she’d probably not; but I just need reassurance.
“Okay,” she says, and the moment is gone. I stand up and say goodbye to everyone with a nod while Kira walks with me outside. It’s getting pretty late, and the road is thinning out with movements.
“You going to get a cab?”
“Nah, I’m good, I’ll just walk. Need to process all this,” I say, gesturing around my head.
She mods and gives me another hug. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment, feeling like it’s going to be the last. When we break apart, I squeeze her shoulder lightly “Be strong, okay?”
She nods and I turn around at this. I walk away without looking back.
Fiona’s POV:
Back at Mrs. Johnson’s place, I force myself to be calm. There’s a part of me that wants to go back to my house, in case Mum returns and wants me but I know staying here is the best option right now, for everybody.
I’m not sure what nature of enemies we’re facing, and it would be bad for anything to happen to me.
I look towards the little garden in front of the house, at Mrs. Johnson: she’s been there since we got here, and apart from the “Help yourself to whatever you like” that she said to me and Tristan when we walked in, she hasn’t uttered a word.
I’m sure it’s getting chilly out there, but she hasn’t moved at all. I sigh and walk into the kitchen where Tristan is throwing together something for us to eat.
“Hey, the best I could do is Pasta, sorry,” he says upon seeing me.
“Heh, the best I can do is warm food in the microwave,” I say to reassure him but then I regret it right after when he screws up his face, obviously remembering the events of today.
He says something, probably consoling but I quickly change the topic. I’m pretty tired of all the talk.
“I never pictured you as the domestic type though. That meal is coming out pretty good,” he smiles sadly at this, obviously recollecting something.
Yeah, my mother taught me this; said I needed to at least be able to take care of myself wherever I go. I’m sure she didn’t imagine it would be at another time as this.
“Oh,” is all I can say at first. But then I’m suddenly curious about this multifaceted stranger.
“She’s still back at Dark?” I ask.
“Who?”
“Your mum.”
“Oh,” he says, then after a pause, “yeah, something like that.”
That sounded like a “long story, but I don’t want to tell it” But I didn’t push it, noticing his sudden closed-off attitude.
Instead, I step closer and scoop up a bit of the sauce he has set aside with a spoon I pick from the rack.
Tristan scoops out some of the sauce into the pasta on fire and garnishes it with vegetables.
It’s always fascinating to me, to watch people cook from scratch. I never really took an interest in learning to cook, even though I knew there were meals I could make without naked fire.
We spend the next few minutes in companionable silence as I scroll through social media while he cooks.
I don’t bother opening groups with a lot of messages since I have no intention of actually interacting.
I look up recent happenings in Peru and find nothing remotely interesting. Then I check Max Airways, Dad’s favorite airline company to fly with.
There hasn’t been any news of plane crashes or stuff. I know I’m grasping at straws, but I’ve thought a lot about how possible it is that something widespread happened where Alex went, and he had no way to contact me.
Even though it’s been a week now, I still check the news over there; I even subscribed to a free email service that delivers detailed information every morning from there.
“Done, Tristan announces. Where’s our host?”
“She’s been outside since we came”, I informed him, shrugging. He looks towards the direction of the door sympathetically and continues dishing the meal.
“Just a second,” I say and walk far back, to the room I had slept in last time. In the double wardrobe, I noticed a big thick blue scarf. I reached for that scarf now before dashing out again to the kitchen.
I grab the plate of food closest to me and walk outside to the garden with it. I walk up to her without her even noticing my presence.
“I brought you dinner,” I say to announce my presence. She looks at me, once, quickly, and looks away again, towards the road.
“I’m not hungry,” her voice is hoarse and thick.
I drop the plate on the other end of the bench she’s seated on and lay the scarf I’ve brought across her shoulders. Then I pick up the food and crouch in front of her so that she has no choice but to look at me.