I finish the rest of my beer, then head on inside. As I pass the girl’s door, it’s tightly shut. No sound can be heard from inside. She smells of apple orchards in the spring, but the path there is closed. Trespassers aren’t allowed, and that’s probably what I’ll continue to be. That doesn’t matter. What matters is that she comes out of this alive and unharmed.
CHAPTER 8
I have no idea how much I’ve slept when I wake up, it’s still daytime. I check my watch, and it has been only a few hours. Yet, I feel strangely well rested. That’s stress and adrenaline for ya. Receive the right mixture of the two components, and you’ve got a helluva cocktail.
I get up, and dizziness hits me. I stop, mid-motion, allow my head to adjust to the newly awake sensation, then get up completely, with both feet on the ground. One sniff in the wrong direction and I realize that I need another shower, even though I did take one before I went to sleep.
One quick shower later and I feel better, almost fine, actually. This realization surprises me. This is my first official day in this safe house, not counting the day of the arrival, and for some reason, I want to start it the right way, whatever that means in this instance. I put on a loose sweatshirt on top, and a pair of leggings, and walk into the kitchen, which smells pleasantly of pancakes.
There, I see Anderson by the stove, with a big plate of pancakes sitting on the counter next to him. He is humming a tune I don’t recognize, as he skillfully flips the pancake in the air.
“And, voila!” he shouts at no one really, as he successfully flipped the pancake over in the air, allowing it to fall gently back into the pan.
I chuckle loudly, and at that moment, he turns around. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he blushed a little.
“Oh, hey!” It only takes him a moment to regain composure and be his charming, assured self. “Didn’t see you there.”
“I noticed,” I smile. “Nice flipping, by the way.”
“Oh, that,” he grins. “Just something to pass the time. You’ll see, staying in a safe house isn’t all fun and games.”
“Oh, really?” I smirk. “And, here I am, thinking we’ll be having non-stop parties. I mean, that’s what your partner seems to think.”
His face immediately changes at the mention of his partner. “Seriously, don’t take everything Fynn says to heart. His tongue is faster than his brain and he often says things he doesn’t mean.”
“He sure sounds like he means it.” I take a seat at the kitchen table, and eye those pancakes. “But, I’d rather have some breakfast first, and then discuss the unpleasantries of our stay here.”
I see him trying to suppress a smile, but he can’t. He adds the last pancake to the tower of others, and puts the pan away.
“There, I made us all breakfast,” he announces. “We got maple syrup, some jam, honey, and powdered sugar.”
“Sounds great.”
He places the full plate in the middle of the kitchen table, then sets the tableware for me. I patiently watch him do it, as he swirls around, not once removing that grin from his face. It’s pleasant, but almost feels a little strange. This is what my girlfriends told me that the morning after with a nice guy looks like. He’s happy you’re still there, and he’ll gladly make you some breakfast before you leave.
The thought of having a one night stand has always been a conflicting one for me. It’s not that I have anything against that. It’s all about instant gratification, and if both parties agree to it, then by all means. But, I guess for me, sex has always been something intimate, something I wouldn’t do with strangers. That’s probably why I’ve only slept with one guy, and that was my high school sweetheart, with whom I was in a 5 year relationship. My girlfriends still make fun of me, occasionally nicknaming me the nun, but I know they don’t mean anything bad by it. They understand it’s just how I’m wired, and there’s little I can do about it.
Anderson puts two pancakes on my plate, then tries to give me a third one.
“No, no,” I shake my head. “I can’t eat that much.”
“Don’t tell me you’re on a diet?”
“No, just… three is too much.”
“Since when are three pancakes too much for a grown up person?” He tilts his head a little to the side, to give me a weird, puppy dog eye look.
“It’s not, I guess. I’m just not very hungry.”
That seems to dissuade him, and he puts the third pancake on his own plate.
“Where’s Fynn?” I ask, but not out of any desire to see him. Still, my question surprises Anderson.
“On the porch,” he explains. “Someone always needs to be on the lookout. Especially at night.”
“Is that how it always goes? This safe house deal, I mean.”
“Yeah,” he nods, pouring some maple syrup over his four pancakes. “But, with Sven, I’m surprised our chief didn’t let us take some more guys.”
His comment makes me put down my fork.
“I don’t mean to scare you, but it’s good for you to be aware of the situation,” his voice is grave, but not hopeless.
“That’s fine,” I nod. “I don’t want you to keep me in the dark.”
“We don’t plan on doing any such thing,” he assures me. “Especially not Fynn. Only, he’s doing it in his own, special way.”
Our conversation takes on lighter overtones, and I feel pleasant again, almost completely safe, like my life wasn’t hanging on the line.
“So, isn’t he having any breakfast?” I ask, finally putting that piece hanging from my fork into my mouth.
The moment my tongue feels the sensation of taste, I realize that I’m starving. Maybe I really will have that third pancake, as the adrenaline has finally left my body, and now it is starving for nourishment.
“I told him to come, but I guess he’s not hungry,” Anderson tells me, not looking particularly concerned whether his partner will eat or not.
His face looks jovial, as he keeps stuffing it with maple syrup pancakes, but my mother’s voice arises from somewhere deep inside of me and takes over.
“I can take some to him, outside.”
My statement surprises us both. He starts coughing so hard, that I jump up and slap him on the shoulder, until he finally manages to breathe again.
“You OK?” I ask, my hand still electrified on his shoulder. I quickly pull it away, before he notices.
“Yeah…” he coughs again. “Fine. Thanks.” He pauses, then nods. “Sure, take him some. He might… be hungry.”
For some reason, I wonder if that’s what he wanted to say initially, but I leave it alone. Instead, I put three pancakes on another plate, douse them with some maple syrup and then head outside.
I find Fynn sitting on the porch, in one of the rocking chairs. I feel like I’m seeing him for the first time now, when neither of us is veiled by darkness or fear. We’re just two normal people, put in an abnormal situation.