THERE'S A PLACE WHERE NO ONE HAS A FACE

"We found her at an abandoned safe house", The inspector explained in half hushed words, and I could feel my insides squirm in response.

My name is Mary May Martin. I am exactly fifteen years, Two months, and Three and a half weeks old. Often I wonder where exactly my mother's head was when she chose To stick me with such a name. I'm guessing some place beyond my comprehension all Together. In any case, This did not matter now; nothing would ever matter from This point on. Of This I was absolutely certain. After a fatal dose of opiates, Annie – my mother for all intents and purposes – had finally dosed herself To her death. And now here I was. After weeks of ducking and dodging my fate, I had been captured, and soon after released To remain under The custody of The inspector until The arrival of The individual who was said To be my long, lost father; former Special Forces operative, Frank Martin.

I had never known The man personally, but now, sitting at The Table where There waited my untouched entree, I could recall foggy memories during which Time Annie would speak of Frank Martin, The Transporter. So sexy; This was as much as she had ever shared with me, on The few rare nights when she was coherent enough To speak whole, intelligible words. This wasn't much To work with here and now, in This very strange place, amidst This very strange Time. And To Think, I had yet To even come down off my own kind of Trip. But Then again, when you've been running on a Three and a half week alcoholic binge, The comedown is far from graceful.

Now, I was The sight of sorrow itself, clothed in only The very revealing white dress. Sometime in someplace along The days, I'd managed To lose my only pair of sandals at hand. As a kind gesture, The inspector had offered me a pair of black dress socks, but I had just as kindly rejected Them; There was no need To add To The mess That was Mary May Martin.

"My Mary", The inspector greeted as he entered The room, accompanied by The man and The myth up To The date himself, "It seems our Time Together must at last come To its end my dear." I'd remained The motionless mute in my seat, all The while never losing sight of The new invader That had at last arrived To dissemble The remaining pieces of The life I had once known where They waited. Frank Martin seemed a bit preoccupied himself in This moment. He was dressed elegantly from head To Toe in a very debonair suit, and – sick as it may have been – I understood now just why Annie's mouth seemed To nearly water each and every Time she had ever spoken of her precious Frank Martin.

"This is Frank Martin Mary. He is your biological father", The inspector continued on into his introductions. Meanwhile all I could do was remain, sitting and staring, although I never could bring myself To meet eye To eye with The devastatingly handsome Transporter. Following The inspector's words however, Frank Martin did go about making his first move. He was cold, and lifeless, and undoubtedly reluctant, as he moved, until he was just over me, barely an arm's distance away. It was Then That he extended a hand, offering To me a pair of creamy white sandals . . . "Hello", The single word eventually came in a low gruff.

I had yet To accept his offering, so after an extended wait he'd set The sandals down beside my feet. In The same instant The inspector moved around us, scooping up my untouched meal on his way. "She refuses To eat and has not spoken since she was Taken into custody", he casually informed while he emptied The dish into The sink. It was only Then That Frank Martin directed his full focus down on me . . . "And why is That?" he asked, his penetrating gaze never leaving my own.

"She was very heavily intoxicated when we found her." In The same, I was internally cursing The inspector. "Perhaps it may have something To do with That", he went on, Taking The empty seat across from me. "Or perhaps she simply enjoys giving us a difficult Time . . . in which case she is just like her father." Frank Martin gave a curt nod in return. "I'll be sure To pick her up something on The way", he spoke The words in The same worn Tone. In The next moment, all eyes were on me again.

"Think you could get Those on for me doll?" he asked, and I could only hope my cheeks were not entirely as flushed as They felt. None The less, I refused To willingly betray myself. So, in response, I only stood, leaving The sandals behind as I moved around him and promptly waited. "Now, now my dear, why do you choose To be so stubborn?" The inspector was The first To shatter The deafening silence That had followed Thereafter. But I'd never even looked his way. Frank Martin on The other hand, had come forward, until we were nearly Toe To Toe, and Then he'd set The pair of sandals back down beside my feet.

"This is The last Time I'll ask nicely", he said dryly, and a certain warning was clear now. The inspector had already left his seat. "Frank", he attempted Too humbly. But Frank Martin only raised a hand in his direction. "Not now inspector." And – right here – right now – is where The scene before me finally hits.

A heavy weight is building, slowly but surely bringing me down, and I can feel The air growing impossibly Thinner. The next Thing I know I'm waking up in The firm embrace of a stranger . . .

"That did it . . . Thank you inspector", The words leave Frank Martin's velvet lips in a very delicate kind of whisper. Looking up at him, I want so desperately To move. To end This moment as soon as is humanely possible, if only for The sake of preserving The little dignity That remains To my name. But each and every one of The muscles in my body seem To be locked stiffly in place, holding me, down and disabled. "Are you alright?" he asks some Time after I have failed To react. Soon afterwards, I can feel The blood as it begins To circulate, rushing inside of me, and I just barely manage To push myself up and away from him.

The inspector is close behind me now. In fact, I'm certain he is The only reason I am able To keep a stable balance at all. Meanwhile, Frank Martin's heavy gaze seems set on weighing me down again . . . "You're going To eat something", he says, Tone at level again. "Now." "And I will gladly serve her", The inspector responds, in The same leaving my side. The instant he does This I find myself slowly slipping again and, before I can blink, I'm once again in The hands of a very alarmed Frank Martin. He scoops me up into his arms. "Thinking maybe she needs a hospital", he grumbles before carrying me up and bringing me To rest on a chase lounge, just across from The oak dinner Table.

"Nonsense", The inspector nearly scowls. "I give her a plentiful beef stew, bit of water, and good night's rest. She'll be fine", he assures, his French accent so slurred I can barely make out The words as They come. I sit myself up as he is approaching with another dish in hand. "Now my dear, shall we Try This again", he says, passing The plate along To Frank, who apparently is not so much a firm believer in The concept of personal space. But I look away from Them both in The same, focusing down on The leather padding beneath me. Despite The fact That I can feel myself, fainter and fainter with every second That passes, I refuse To give in.

I can hear The inspector's subtle sigh. He is just as worn as I am Torn in This instant. "I will leave you Two To discuss Then", he surrenders at last. And with The few words he is already on his way out.

Frank Martin and I are face To face in The same instant . . . "Open up", he speaks The words in a low kind of menace, and The order is as direct as They come. After a few seconds have passed with no further progress he simply holds up a spoonful of The steaming beef stew just inches away from my dried lips . . . "Open your mouth or I will do it for you." But only The silence lingers after his words and in The next There is The clinking of silverware against decorative china.

"Right Then", he says, sounding sufficiently frustrated in The moment . . . "I'm begging you Mary", he expresses in a much lower strain. It is only Then That I bring my head up To face him again and am greeted by The melting gaze That is Threatening To set my entire world on fire. He should be working his menace and I should be secretly shaking within myself. But he is not and Thus I am free To continue To wither away in my own personal agony. He sighs, This low, barely audible sigh . . . "You have This one dish", he starts again. "This one, bloody dish", he stresses The words, "and I'll leave you To be for however long you plan To keep This act going."

It's not much in my eyes, and I am still not willing. But it's a fair compromise and – hell, I'll say it – despite my inner rebel, I'm finding it rather difficult To deny The man who is mesmerizing his only request. So, with all of my reluctance, I let my lips come apart, and am immediately rewarded with a mouthful of stew . . . "You're lucky I've arrived with precisely all of my patience", he states in return while he scoops up another few bite size chunks of The beef. I however, am Too consumed by The life That is rapidly flooding back in, To find any words.

My feeding drags on for an additional Time before I am done and Frank is at a decent distance again, resting against The edge of The Table, The empty plate set aside. "Ah, progress!" The inspector exclaims, over enthused, when he enters The room. "Excellent Mary", he commends me personally as he passes between us. "Now Frank", he says, already reoccupied in The kitchen area, "Perhaps you should consider weathering The night here after all."

Frank Looks away from me in The same, redirecting his attention over To The awaiting inspector behind him . . . "Just for The night Then."

First off, This story came overnight literally, so please bare with The kinks and quirks. This Chapter is strictly meant To serve as a basic introduction into The general storyline, so I hope you all will enjoy, and once again bare with The progress. CHAPTER 2 IS IN THE WORKS *_*

P.S. I welcome any and all forms of reviews, whether positive or negative, so long as it is constructive criticism and not a full on string of insults.