“Does he polish his boots every morning?” she asked. She was finished with a pair of pants, and hung them on the free chair to dry in front of the fire.
“Yeah,” he said, crossing his legs in front of him. “He’s a real girl about it.”
“Why don’t you polish each one of his boots before he gets up? And greet him early that day with polished boots yourself so he can put two and two together without you having to say it was you.”
“Hmm,” he mumbled, pressing his palm into his tired eyes. “That would be something.” He took his hand away from his face and straightened in his chair. “Course, he’d kill me if he knew I snuck into his rooms.” He sniffed and got to his feet. “Nice try, though.”
Fletcher then left the living room and started to rummage around her house. She had left her coin purse on the kitchen table, and he immediately pocketed that. She didn’t look up to see what else he might take. It wouldn’t make things any better to see it happening, not when there was nothing she could do.
She kept her eyes glued to her washing, but her ears followed him around the house, listening intently to every sound he made. First he went to the kitchen, then down the hallway towards her bedroom. The floorboards creaked as he slowly came back into the living room, circling around. Her shoulders were stiff as she heard him stop right behind her. There was silence for a few moments. She wondered what he was doing. Please make him go away, she begged her guardian. Please tell him to go, she implored Fletcher’s own guardian, hoping beyond belief that her pleas might somehow be answered.
Suddenly she had to stifle a gasp as his hands came down on her shoulders. His thumbs pressed into her upper back, rubbing them in circles as if he was trying to give her a massage.
“You know, I like you Norabel,” he said softly.
He was standing above her, but his voice sounded so close. Her hands froze and she clenched her mouth shut, trying to keep her body from shaking. The bitter soap from the wash stung her nose, making her head burn.
“You actually try talking with me,” he said, continuing to kneed her shoulders. He bent his head down so that he could whisper the words into her ear. “But I’m curious as to how you think this is going to end.”
Norabel gulped and shut her eyes closed, trying to get her courage back. She imagined her guardian standing in between her and Fletcher, and it was really his hands she felt on her back.
“Because I’m not just gonna go away because you’re nice to me.” His hands slid across her dress and cupped her shoulders. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a smart move on your part.” He moved his head to the other side of her face and whispered, “But it’s not going to make me go. It’s just gonna make this a less…violent ordeal.”
Norabel did not dare utter a word or make any kind of movement as she waited for something to happen. Fletcher was stationary behind her, and the skin on the back of her neck was crawling, just begging him to go away.
Suddenly he let go of her and took a step back, saying, “What’s that I see?”
Norabel let out a breath of relief, only to have her back tighten with terror when she saw what he was going for.
“It’s your FPS box,” he said, holding the silver container up in his hands. “What’s say we light some right now, hmm? How ‘bout it Norabel? Immense pleasure? It’ll make us feel like we’re on top of the world.”
She took in a shivering breath and forced herself to speak. “I don’t want to use that stuff. You can take mine if you like.”
Fletcher’s eyes flashed in anger. “What was that?” he snapped. “No?”
She looked down into the dirty water at her reflection. You’re still with me, right?
Then, opening her shaky mouth, she whispered, “No. I won’t do it.”
“Stand up on your feet and tell me no,” he demanded, taking a few strides across the room so he was only an arm length away.
Norabel gripped her cold hands on either side of the washbasin and used it as support to get to her feet. She willed herself to look back at him as she stood there.
“Oh-ho!” Fletcher exclaimed. “She does have some fight in her!”
She was caught off guard as his hand suddenly came down on the side of her head. The hard impact stung, and Norabel struggled to keep the water from her eyes.
“That’s what happens when you fight back,” he yelled, speaking the words so close to her face that she could smell the pungent odor of the cheese he had had for dinner.
Then, going back to his chair, he sat down in a swift, angry motion. “Keep cleaning,” he ordered, pointing to the wash. “You’re not done yet.”
As Norabel lowered herself back to the floor, she could feel that things had changed. Before, Fletcher had been an inconvenience that took a bite out of her food and her time. But now things had escalated. Now he was dangerous. And there was no going back. Every time she would see him in the future, he was always going to be dangerous.
That next day was the last before worked ceased on the two mandatory “Toil-Free” days of the week. When Norabel woke up, she was glad that she only had to go to one more day of work before she got a rest. She had stayed up late last night, cleaning Fletcher’s clothes and then drying the living room from the water that had spilt from the basin. The left side of her face stung as she washed it that morning, and her reflection in the water’s surface showed that she had a red mark reaching from the side of her eye to her hair-line.
Norabel tried to ignore it as she got ready. The stable job was last night, and she dearly hoped that everyone was alright. Though she wouldn’t be able to seek them out personally, she knew that news of the stable raid would be going throughout the village, and she would know pretty soon if one of her friends had been captured or not.
As she walked down the dirt roads to work that morning, she told herself not to hang her head because of the mark on her face. She was determined to act as if nothing was wrong, as if she had merely gotten this bruise accidentally by hitting her head on the table.
However, her cheery outlook didn’t last long as she saw the checkpoint ahead of her in the road. She hadn’t seen Hunter since that day at the summer festival, and she was beginning to really miss him. A thought struck her that, if she could tell anyone the truth about what Fletcher was doing to her, it was him. He was the only one with the power to do anything about it.
There was a person ahead of her in the checkpoint line, but as she heard them rudely shuffled along with a brisk command, she felt her hopes sinking. Hunter was still not there. An irrational thought sprang up in her mind that maybe he wasn’t coming back because of her; that maybe she had driven him away with the stunt she had pulled with the berries. But she shook her head of that notion, telling herself that she was being too self-important. Hunter wouldn’t go and change his job just because of something she did.
Still, she couldn’t help but worry about him, and when she stepped up to the checkpoint herself, she decided to ask the man there about it.
“Excuse me,” she said after she had given the man her name to check off. “Do you know what’s happened to Hunter?”
The man stared back at her as cold as a stone.
“Do you know if he’s been assigned a new position?” she inquired further.
“Well, seeing as how that’s none of your business as a commoner,” the officer said, leaning towards her, “I suggest you move on your way before I put a flag next to your name.”
Norabel nodded obediently and quietly moved to the other side of the checkpoint. She couldn’t stand up to him anymore than she could stand up to Fletcher.
When she arrived at work that morning, she found her co-worker, Delia, speaking with a friend outside the Potter’s Workhouse. She had been hoping to go straight back to her workshop without having to pass anyone, but Delia and her friend were standing in such a way that Norabel would need to go in between them in order to get inside.
“I can’t believe it!” the friend said in awe, staring up at Del
ia in admiration. “You and Creason actually tried it?”
Delia gave a proud nod of her head. “You would not believe how it makes you feel. Oh,” she sighed, “it’s like, it’s like…something, you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” the girl replied, enviously.
“You should try it then. You’ve got a box, same as everybody else.”
By now Norabel was standing in front of them, waiting to excuse herself so she could squeeze by, but she couldn’t just walk away and say nothing. They were obviously talking about FPS and Pleasure Powder. She wondered if they knew just how bad it was for them.
“You shouldn’t use that stuff. It’s not good for you,” Norabel said, directing her words at the friend.
Delia’s eyes narrowed in on her. “How would you know? You never do anything, Norabel.”
“What do you mean, not good for you?” the friend asked.
“Don’t listen to her,” Delia said, hitting her in the arm. “She’s just trying to spoil all your fun. Her idea of having a good time is making bowls!”
Norabel ignored her, saying, “There was a man at the steel workshop that used the same powder, and he became addicted to it. What he didn’t realize was that the powder dulls your mind so you can’t think as clearly. It got so bad that, one day while he was working, he nearly burned his hand off.”
The friend gasped and put a hand up to her mouth.
“Why would you say such a rotten thing?” Delia scolded Norabel.
“Because it’s true,” she answered openly. “And I don’t want to hear about it happening to anyone else.”
Norabel stepped forward to leave, but before she could make it through the doorway, Delia called out, “Sorry to see what happened to your face.”
Norabel paused, but did not look back at her.
“It looks like the beginning signs of a serious problem. From what my Creason says, it’s gonna get a lot worse than that.”
Norabel bit down on her lip and forced herself to go in. She didn’t need Delia to tell her that she was in trouble. She knew that. But she couldn’t let her words get to her. She was only trying to get back at her. There were probably dozens of cases where a leacher didn’t resort to violence in order to get what he wanted. She would just have to work extra hard to make sure she could give him everything he asked for.
As she quietly started on that morning’s workload, she began to feel ashamed of herself. Her grandfather had stuck up for what was rightfully his when Amias tried to burn down his field. And her mother and father would shudder to know what was really happening to her. They expected her to be fighting the Pax here in Breccan, not willfully submitting to one of its biggest monsters. A strife built up inside of her, and she was so torn on what to do, she felt miles away from her sleepy little work station.
When a knock sounded on her window at lunch time, she jumped in fright, somehow thinking that it might be Fletcher come to torment her in the day. Seeing it was only Logan and Aleta, she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Is everyone alright?” she asked, hurrying over to meet them. She realized that, with her mind so caught up with her current problems, she didn’t even hear talk about what had happened with the stables. Of course, Wren was so distant these days she wouldn’t have noticed if her own house was on fire, but she could usually count on Delia to spout off about the village’s latest gossip.
Logan quickly gave her a reassuring smile, saying, “Everything went smoothly. We’re all fine Norabel.” His face scrunched in concern as he saw the bruise by her eye. “But, what about you? What happened there?”
“Oh, uh,” she stuttered. She didn’t know how to answer him. Maybe she should just tell him, she figured. He may not be able to stop it, but telling someone might make her feel better.
However, before she could say anything, Aleta spoke up, saying, “Oh, that was, that was me, I’m afraid.”
Both Logan and Norabel turned to her in confusion. Aleta gave her a subtle nod, and she realized that she was trying to cover for her; that she thought her bruise was some symptom of Jotham’s, and that she was helping her keep the secret.
“I came to visit her last night,” Aleta said. “And somehow I accidentally…” She waved her hands in the air, making a goofy expression, and then tapped a hand to her head saying, “Bop!” She laughed, adding, “It’s a long story, really.”
Logan stared at her with amusement and deep affection, throwing his arm around her and chuckling at the little display she had put on.
“So, sorry about that,” Aleta told her.
Norabel nodded and gave her a smile. She couldn’t tell them the truth about her bruise now, not after Aleta had been so nice in taking the blame.
“What have people been saying?” Norabel asked, trying to draw the conversation away from her. “You know, about… I wasn’t able to hear anything here.”
“Well,” Logan started, scratching his head as though he was stumped. “The strangest thing happened this morning. The Pax woke up to find that all the horses in their stables had simply vanished. It’s a puzzling mystery that’s vexed a lot of people.” He shrugged, continuing, “Of course, the officer that was supposed to be guarding them fell asleep and didn’t see a thing. But he did find a note stuffed into his pocket. And tacked to each one of the empty stable stalls. Some obscure line about a beast.” He shook his head. “We’re all really at a loss as to what it means.”
Norabel laughed at his little charade, feeling good to have something to smile about.
“The man was really asleep?” she asked.
He put a hand to his heart. “Like a baby.”
“You know babies don’t sleep through the night,” Aleta pointed out.
Logan looked down to her warmly, saying, “Well maybe one of these days you can show me how they really sleep.”
He grinned at her handsomely, and she blushed and smiled back, realizing his hidden meaning. Norabel wondered if she should leave to give them their privacy, but a moment later they looked back to her.
“Is that all they’re saying?” she asked, growing a little more serious. She knew there had to be more to the story than Logan’s carefree interpretation.
“Well,” he tweaked his mouth, “you know how the Pax can try and spin anything. There’s some talk going out there that setting the horses free was an act of cruelty; that the horses can’t survive in the wild by themselves. They even say that they found one of their bodies, killed by a wild animal.”
Norabel’s face froze, and she put a hand up to her lips, feeling horrible about the poor horse.
“Norabel, you don’t think that story’s real,” Logan said, reaching out to lightly rub her arm. “The Pax made it up. There’s no way they could have found any of the horses yet. They’re miles away by now.”
“But it is possible that they could die,” she said.
He sighed and relented, saying, “Anything’s possible I suppose.”
Her head and shoulders drooped, thinking about what those horses could be doing now.
“Hey. Cheer up, kid,” Logan said. “This, relatively speaking, is a good day. We should enjoy it.” His face darkened as he added, “I’m not sure how many more we’re going to have.”
“Thanks Logan,” Aleta scolded him. “You’ve cheered her up immensely.” She then turned to her friend, saying, “We have to get going, but why don’t you go to the doctor later on today?”
“For a bruise?” Logan asked.
“Oh, well, you know,” Aleta said innocently, “you can never be too careful.”
Norabel nodded, knowing that Aleta really wanted her to go to make sure her Jotham’s wasn’t getting worse.
“You’ll let me know if everything’s alright?” she urged further.
“Of course.”
“And you will actually go? You won’t just say you’re fine and not have gone?”
“I’m sure Norabel knows how to take care of herself, Aleta,” Logan gently reminded her.
; “I know,” she agreed. “I’d just feel better if she promised. You know, since it was my fault and all.”
Norabel offered her a smile, saying, “I promise.”
It had been several years since she had been in to visit the village doctor about her condition. Of course, since Breccan was so large, there was a doctor present in each residential sector. At first Norabel didn’t know whether she should go to the one located in the western sector where she lived, or the one she had been to when she first moved to Breccan. That doctor was located in the northern sector, the place that her family lived before she had been forced to move out at age eighteen. In the end, she decided to go back to him. She didn’t like the idea of telling a stranger of her condition, and she didn’t want word to accidentally spread.
Doctor Mica’s place of work was a small stone and wooden building that was hidden among the houses of the north sector, differentiated only by the sign on the door and the stone flooring inside that allowed for easy transportation of medical carts.
The place was humming with humanity when she stepped inside. There was a noisy boy in the corner of the front room, holding a bandaged leg and complaining that his father would get the boy that did this to him. Norabel gave him a sympathetic smile as she walked past. Going further into the room, she found Mica standing over a man that had been laid on a wooden table. He was telling the man to take deep breaths, but the man could not stop coughing between each one. Mica frowned and told him to sit up. He handed him a pouch of something, and the man gratefully took it and then stood up to leave.
“Can I help you?” Mica asked, having noticed her in the room. His expression was that of courteous professionalism, but it changed a moment later into one of recognition. “Norabel?” he asked, stepping around the wooden table.
“Hello Doctor Mica,” she greeted him, feeling a little guilty for not having been in to see him in a long time.
“Dear girl, you haven’t aged a day,” he marveled. “You look exactly the same as the last time you stood right there in that very spot, insisting that I keep your condition a secret.” He had smiled at the memory of it, but his mouth soon turned into a frown when he noticed the bruise on her face. “On second thought, not exactly the same. What happened to you there?”
Chasing Shadows (Saving Galerance, Book 1) Page 17