Chivalry
An Adventures of Tintin Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B
(A Modern Retelling)
Prologue and Chapter One.
Prologue.
"I want you to leave."
"What?"
"Go back to Belgium. To your life. Save your job. Go back to writing articles on crime lords and drug cartels and—"
"Annalise."
"What?"
"I'm not leaving."
"And why is that? You don't—"
"I saw the note, Anna. I saw what it said. I saw the threat they left you. And because of it, I'm even more resolved to stay here than before. I will uncover the murderer's identity, whether you like it or not."
"Tin…"
"They could kill you, Anna. I won't let that happen. You read the note. The only thing standing between you and the barrel of a gun is me, and it's going to stay like that. I'm not moving. I'm not leaving."
"… Tin… "
"You saw what they did to Noah."
"… Don't bring him up."
"You saw the blood. It was all over the bed."
"Tin, I'm serious. Please stop."
"He was tortured, Anna. Tortured. That can't happen to you. I won't let it. I did not come all this way to give up, to let my client throw in the towel. I did not come all this way to see you killed like he was. That was never part of our agreement."
"And what was? To have you slaughtered instead? You've already been shot in the leg for me, Tintin. You've traveled across America for me. Our agreement was to find my fiancé, to rescue him from whatever mayhem he'd gotten himself into. And guess what? We found him. We found him in my hotel room, bloodied and dead as a doornail. Isn't that enough for a story? Isn't that enough to satisfy your loyal fans?"
"My fans are not what's important, Anna. Bringing the murderer to justice is what matters. Uncovering the truth behind your fiancé's death is what matters. And now that they're going after you, you expect me to just walk away? What kind of a person do you take me for, Annalise?"
"You're a journalist, an objective writer, a man that has never been candid with his emotions until now. You've given me no reason to take you as anything but impartial, Tintin. What if this sudden dedication to my case is all a ploy?"
"You can't credit me with a bit of chivalry?"
"Chivalry is dead, Tintin. It's been that way for a long time. It's not a valid excuse."
"What, then, do you want me to say? If I begin broadcasting how I really feel, you'll accuse my emotions of being synthetic."
"Has it ever occurred to you that maybe I just don't want you here in the first place?"
"A false declaration to try and make me leave."
"What makes you think that?"
"You told Captain Haddock. You told him you had feelings for me. I'm not a fool, Annalise. We've spent an entire month together on this. You don't actually want me gone. You just don't want to see me hurt."
"… Tintin, I want you to leave."
"No, you don't."
"Yes, I do. I want you out of here, Tintin. I want you back in Belgium. I want you back to your job. I want you as far away from me as possible. Do you understand?"
"You're making a mistake, Anna."
"Am I now? Is this really the mistake I made? Or maybe it was a mistake to have even asked for your help in the first place."
"…"
"What?"
"You don't mean that."
"I do. Noah is dead. The other company took over his job. They won. There was no point in our efforts, Tintin. Nothing changed. I shouldn't have taken up your time with this."
"Don't say that."
"We didn't even make a dent in their plans. It was useless. Tintin, you need to go home. It's over."
"It's not—"
"It's over, Tintin. Go home."
Chapter One.
One Month Earlier
"Y-You can't be serious, man. This has gotta be a joke." Noah took another step backwards, hands gripping for anything that would provide stability. He finally found the back of a chair, and instantly his fingernails dug themselves into the rough green fabric. Soon he was hanging from the musty textile; his oxfords slid out from under him across the wood floor. "This sort of stuff only happens in movies and shit. Not… not here. Not to me." A tingling, feverish swelling began penetrating the back of his throat, and he gulped again and again to stop it. "Please… please p-put the gun down…"
The man standing above him remained perfectly still, like a statue, like a mannequin in a store window. Not even his facial expression changed. His graying eyebrows were locked atop a pair of rusty brown eyes; his mouth, resting beneath a crude attempt at a mustache, pursed into an unpleasantly dry shape. Noah faintly recognized the man—not in any way that would help identify him, but in a way that had Noah frantically racking his brain for answers.
"Please… I will beg if I have to." Another gulp, this one accompanied by a single shudder, dominated his body for a brief moment. "You can't do this to me, man. I'm engaged. To a beautiful woman." One hand released the chair and was held up in view of his assailant. A wedding band sat around his ring finger. "Don't take me from her, man. Put the gun down."
"I'm not here to kill you, Mr. Woodcraft." The man's deep, baritone voice held a great deal of control, and Noah flinched. He was not expecting a response. "I'm here to apprehend you, to lead you from this facility and into more private quarters. No questions asked." His arm retracted somewhat, and the barrel of the gun changed positions, aiming at the ceiling. "Now… if you would come with me…"
Noah had no intention of fighting back. He regained his footing and stood. "Where are you taking me?"
Instantly, the man reacted, tightening his grip on the gun and placing it at the base of Noah's lapel. "I said no questions asked, Mr. Woodcraft."
Noah almost screamed right then and there. He stumbled backwards at the impact, landing on the hardwood and scuffing the floor with his shoes. It was a comical spill, but the moment was too serious for a studio audience to have laughed in reaction.
"Get up."
Noah wiped his forehead and hobbled back onto his feet.
"If you would like to remain alive, Mr. Woodcraft, then I advise you to heed my commands, along with the instructions given to you by my associates. If you do, you have nothing to be afraid of. If you don't," he trailed off, and Noah watched in horror as his finger toyed with the trigger, "the consequences might be severe. Do we have an understanding?"
With the gun still in his line of sight, and the man's unyielding gaze locked on him, Noah took a heavy breath. Sure, he didn't like it, but what was there to do? He had to stay alive, for Annalise's sake.
Annalise. The name rang like church bells in his head. I should text her. Get her to send help. She might be all the way in Louisville, but dammit, she can still figure out a way to rescue me. Maybe she can contact the police, or hire a private investigator. Noah dipped his head minutely. Yes, I'll text her. Warn her. When I have a moment, I'll whip my phone out and send her a quick message.
The man stepped behind Noah. He jabbed the gun at his back. "Let's go."
The two made their way out of the conference room and through the empty hallways of the establishment. The lights in the corridors were dimmed, if not shut off completely, because no one was supposed to be there this late at night. As they walked, Noah wondered why he had to be so stupid, thinking there had been a mandatory meeting at seven at night. His ignorance was what had gotten him captured.
"Wait here," the man's voice boomed suddenly.
"Fine." As his captor went to peer down the adjoining hallway, checking to see if the coast was clear, Noah spun around. He whipped his iPhone from his side pocket and immediately snapped it on.
What do I say? Noah drummed his thumbs against the side of the phone as he thought. Oh, I know. Hastily, he typed his message and clicked send. I hope she reads it in time.
A small green speech bubble appeared on the right of the screen, containing his message. It was with urgency and not checked for errors, which was bound to tell Annalise something. Noah's texts were always grammatically correct, and appropriately capitalized, too. He always took great pride in what he said, and believed that using shortened versions of simple words was an indication of laziness; a quality frowned upon by fellow coworkers and experts in his field of engineering. He especially disliked abridging his messages to Annalise, who he was convinced deserved a sense of priority in his life. She was his intended, after all.
"Hey!"
Noah stuffed his phone away and pivoted back around.
"Yes?"
Like a marionette whose strings had been cut, Noah keeled over as a heavy punch made contact at his chest. Luckily for him, he was able to stay conscious, but the throbbing numbness surging through his body was almost enough to change that. He cried out as the pain registered.
"Don't think of running, or hiding things from me. It's pointless to try anything. Now get up."
Noah groaned in response.
"I said, get up!" A large hand clamped around his arm, and suddenly he was hoisted into the air. "We're leaving this damn place now."
Noah succumbed to the blow right then, which was an utterly inconvenient time to be passing out. His body shuddered and shut down little by little, and for the fourth time that day, his feet slid out from under him. He couldn't recall much, but the last thing he remembered was tasting blood on his lips as his face made contact with the floor.
It was the essence of defeat, he remembered, to taste the blood, to feel the rusty red liquid stain his teeth and trickle down his chin. He disregarded it, however. Noah had more important things to be worrying about now.