Fan fiction: Rescuing Lissa

Prologue:

"Sorry I'm late," I called as I ran into the small dingy cafe that served me my pay check once a month. Though not exactly a Michelin star restaurant and neither was the pay fantastic, it served its purpose of my living expenses for University.

"Second time in three days Lissa!" Alan said firmly, but I have to admit fairly as he threw a small black apron in my direction.

"I'm really sorry, I promise I will be on time tomorrow," I pleaded guiltily as he silently pointed me in the direction of a small balding man with a terrible cold. I could feel the burning eyes of Alan in the back of my head following my moves. I respected Alan, he was a good and fair employer; much nicer than his older brother Stew, but that didn't mean I wasn't scared of Alan's power. Let's face it, in a cafe full of savant employees you have to wonder just what powers everybody has.

Now at the age of twenty, I had been at the cafe for two years and whilst the place held some comfort as they were the only other savants I've ever known, I couldn't help but fear what any of them could do to me; after all, we were all cool acquaintances that needed the familiarity of someone being like them, but none of us were best friends.

"What can I get you sir?" I smiled sweetly, though I knew I was no beauty like the red-haired Rachel serving a customer on the other side of the cafe, I did know that I got more tips smiling and speaking sweetly.

"Umm... What do you recommend?" He peered out from behind the thick round glasses, his nose dripping - lovely image - and looked up at me. Unusual to see a man only half my size when I was not exactly the tallest of people myself. If he had a childish disposition he could easily swing his legs back and forwards sitting on the chair without touching the ground.

"Our 'all day' breakfast is very popular though I have to admit the cheesy chips are a personal favourite," well I'm not really a fan of our grease caked food but I do admit that Hadley does a good bowl of cheesy chips.

"Sounds good to me, the chips and a coffee then please," he had a rather nasally voice I noted, but I also couldn't miss the way he kept tugging his coat closer around himself as if he was hiding something from my unsuspecting eyes.

As I hurried over to the counter to hand over the order Rachel waltzed her way over, easily flicking her red her for her soon to be high-tipping customer. Poor guy in his trim business suit, his wallet would probably be empty by the time Rachel had finished her flirtation.

"I swear you belong in a burlesque show," I murmured quietly to her.

"My life's ambition sister," she giggled and winked as we handed over our orders.

"By the way girls," the slimy Stew popped his head out from the back. "If a man by the name of Manhattan should come in asking for me, just sent him straight through to the back." Let me add that men with unusual and clearly 'non-names' often came in asking for Stew or Alan, both Rachel and I had learned to stop asking what it was about long ago.

As I turned around I noticed Rachel's victim, though intently gazing at his newspaper, seemed to be listening to the conversation. Putting it down to my imagination I continued to clear the tables until the small man's order was ready. By the time I placed the steaming dish in front of him, the place was deserted of customers save himself and Rachel's victim.

"Tell me," the man grabbed my wrist intensely, the strength in his fingers shocked me. "How long have you been working here?" I looked back towards Alan and Rachel, who were also alarmed by the sudden gesture.

"Umm... about two years?" I didn't mean it as a question, but it came out like one. "Could you let go of my arm please?" The strange little man continued to stare at me and grip my wrist like a vice.

"The lady said let go of her arm." Alan said firmly and loudly across the cafe. The man slowly stood up though his grip did not relinquish. "Let go of her arm!" Alan marched out from behind the counter towards the man, but before he had chance to step much further Rachel's prey had jumped out of his seat and blocked his path easily, bending Alan's arms behind his back into handcuffs, like some foul magic trick. After roughly pushing the protesting Alan down across the table, the suited man pulled out a radio and summoned other men.

"You are all under arrest," the little man beside me said as he pulled out an FBI badge.

"What for?" Rachel exclaimed loudly in astonishment as police men in bullet proof vests began to run into the cafe holding guns and running through to the back, presumably to find Hadley and Stew. Rachel had gone as white as a sheet as though she was about to faint; I was too shocked to move though I felt my skin begin to quiver in shivers. I felt cold hands behind me-

"Hey! Watch the hands Munchkin!" I rebuked the little man loudly as I believe he touched me further south than he intended. We were frogmarched out of the cafe into the back of blacked out police cars.

As the car began to drive away I felt fear course through my body, what on earth was happening?

Chapter 1:

I was shut away in a brightly lit interview room with grey metallic walls and a solid table to match the droll atmosphere. I scuffed my black converses repeatedly on the ground as I incessantly fiddled with the ice cold metal of the handcuffs which trapped my wrists together. I hated the claustrophobic feel. To the left of my spindly chair by the table was a large black window which surprised me. I guess I had always assumed that those one-way windows used in interview rooms were only for films, but I guess not. I felt like a tortured animal in a zoo, chained up and being gawked at by my captors.

Suddenly, the heavy metal door opened and in walked a large wide man with shaggy blonde hair and a crumpled brown suit. He said nothing initially and merely glared at me with those vacant grey eyes. Eventually, he slammed the door behind him and slowly waddled over to the window. I watched his every move like a hawk: the way he placed each foot meaningfully, the sway of his ungainly arms and the loud chewing of white tasteless gum in his mouth. He prodded one fat, nail-bitten finger to the window twice and was replied by a three beat accented knock. Slowly, he squashed his weight into the chair opposite me.

"Your red-headed friend is playing dumb," I was surprised by the rough yet high-pitched sound to his voice, "I sincerely hope you're not going to." We paused for a moment in unaccountable silence.

"Was that a question?" I asked dumbly, prying an evil smirk from his lips.

"Let's begin shall we?" He folded his arms, creasing his suit even more.

"Aren't you going to record this?" I asked noticing once more that the table was completely bare. He lazily pointed his thumb towards the blackened window, peaking my curiosity.

"I have all the surveillance I need. So," he drew in a deep breath, "what's your name?"

"Lissa Jones."

"Your accent is certainly not American. British?" I nodded my assent. "And you've been working at the cafe for two years?" I nodded again. "Why do you work there?"

"A regular job with regular money, it helps me pay my living and accommodation costs at the university," I tried to fold my arms but the handcuffs only resulted in my arm muscles twigging in pain, I laid my arms heavily on the table.

"And what do you think about your employers? Alan and Stew Bates?" I was a bit confused why he was asking the questions, but I answered honestly, eager to be home finishing off that history paper needed for tomorrow on the Vietnam War.

"I get along better with Alan than Stew, they're fair but firm employers."

"What do you think of their business?" He asked smoothly. What on earth did the FBI want with a little cafe?

"Well," I sighed more astonished than perturbed now, "slow but they turn a profit, it is but a little cafe so you can't expect wonders."

"No, Miss Jones," he leaned across the table interlocking his hands; I felt the need to lean backwards as a foul stench invaded my nostrils. "You misunderstood, I meant their other business."

"What other business?" Now I was more confused than ever. He leaned back suddenly with a large sigh.

"Just as dumb as your friend then? Do you really expect me to believe you know nothing about it?" His voice had turned cold and bitter. I sat up straighter in my chair, my pride taking a stab from the word 'dumb', my anger fizzing.

"It depends on your interpretation of 'dumb' doesn't it? Academically my intelligence is sound and I believe I do not reflect the stereotypical dumb blonde, but in the case of my employers I suppose that had they had another business that I am not aware of, then I guess, yes, I am dumb as I did not know." I returned his full cold gaze unwaveringly. He suddenly pushed his chair away from the table and walked towards the window, he banged roughly on the window shouting:

"You deal with this! You do whatever it is you can do! I am sick of lying women!"

"Wait!" I jumped up from my chair before he had chance to leave. "I'd like a pen and some paper please." I tapped my index finger rhythmically on the table, my voice was sweet as I pushed the thought into his mind. I guess you could say that my gift was a sort of hypnosis.

"Fine!" With that last angry word he flew out of the room.

"Somebody's tired," I murmured quietly. A few moments later, the door opened again and in walked the young man in the suit that I had labelled Rachel's prey. He lazily handed me a small notepad and a pen. Hurriedly I began to scribble some ideas down for my essay; important words like conspiracy theory and assassination as well as important names like Diem and Ho Chi Minh which I underlined heavily.

The young man had short soft black curls and deep green eyes, his suit contrasted that of the previous man, his was black and trim with a stylish waistcoat and rolled up white shirt sleeves. I could just hear Mrs Grey my landlady saying 'Very dapper!' He quietly sat down opposite me raising his eyes to meet mine.

"Let's start again," his velvety voice began making me immediately stop my hurried note taking. He leaned forwards across the table like the man before except this time I felt myself leaning towards him instead of away. "Your full name, including middle name?"

"Lissa A Jones," I sighed. "I don't know what the 'A' stands for." Unusually at this revelation he merely raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but he did not ask again.

"Mine is Victor Benedict." He smiled easily, I was beginning to realise that perhaps he had had Rachel hanging on his every word instead of the other way around.

"Benedict?" It sounded so familiar, like a name read in a long forgotten book.

"You know it?" I shook my head in dissent. He smirked, disbelieving my movement. "What did you need the paper for?"

"I have a history paper due in for tomorrow," I cast my eyes back to my notes, quickly scribbling forgotten ideas.

"You study history at the university?" I nodded. "Can I see?"

"No!" I pulled the notebook away from the outstretched hand he held before him. "I never let anyone read my work, even if it is notes."

"All the same, I'd like to read it," his hand remained outstretched in front of me. "Your reluctance says you're hiding something." I pushed the notebook towards him. "Hefty on the politics?" He perused the notes. "Is that something you're interested in?"

"I'm more interested in seeing how politicians can often get away with what any other person would be locked up for," I shrugged at his expression. "A want for justice that can never be, I guess." He smiled softly, I found myself lost in his green eyes.

"We usually get our justice, so I'm guessing you would rather help than hinder us?"

"I would, but I'm confused at what crime you're investigating," I fiddled with the handcuffs, hating the press of the cold metal against my skin.

"Ok, let's start from the beginning then," he placed the notepad on the table and leaned towards me once more. His voice turned even more velvety smooth and I felt a presence trying to slyly push its way through my shields. "What do you know about Alan and Stew's other business?" I felt the answer crawling up my throat and fall from my lips as if I had no control over the words.

"I didn't know they had one until your friend asked me the same question ten minutes ago." As soon as the words escaped my lips I clamped my hand over my mouth in astonishment. "How did you do that?" I murmured quietly. He couldn't possibly be a savant? No, the only others I had ever met worked in the cafe.

"The same way that you could easily persuade my boss that you needed a pen and some paper," he leaned back, perfectly at ease with his situation. "My talent is something of persuasion, but judging by the tapping of your fingers on the table when you spoke I'm guessing yours is closer to hypnosis."

"But... I..." I was lost for words. "Umm..."

"A cafe full of savant employees," he continued as if he had said nothing of consequence. "Not your everyday situation."

"You're a savant?"

"Yes, as is everyone else in my department and everyone else working in your cafe." Suddenly I could feel his soft presence trying to break my shields. I wondered if he could use telepathy like the others in the cafe, his presence wasn't quite the same feeling, but I felt a strange yearning to know more about him. "Why do you work at the cafe?"

"Regular money that I need for university and because they are the only other savants I've ever known." The words fell from my lips once more. "Stop doing that!" I almost yelled at him. "It's horrible, I feel helpless and for another thing it's just plain rude!" That made him chuckle.

Lissa, this is an interrogation. There is no strict etiquette.

His telepathy hit me like an electric shock. I jumped from my seat, knocking the chair backwards, holding my handcuffed hands to my mouth. Not possible. It was just not possible. When Rachel told me about soul finders I thought it was a myth. But as my mind tried to dissuade me from the obvious, I felt the centre of my being change into utter devotion and need for the man in front of me.

"What's wrong?" Victor asked innocently, perfectly unaware of the overdrive that he had sent my beating heart into.

I thought soul finders were a myth.

My telepathy hit him with as much force as his had hit me. He jumped from his chair, inadvertently knocking it to the floor as his eyes scanned my very being up and down. I suddenly felt very conscious of my plain white shirt and the very short black skirt and apron combination.

We just stared in silence, unable to speak.

I couldn't believe it, not only were soul finders real but mine was standing here in front of me. A guy who I would usually leave to the mercy of Rachel believing him to be far out of my league. His mouth slowly spread into a wide smile that made me weak at the knees, he began to walk towards me when-

BANG!

The door to our room flew open and in walked Munchkin and the large man from before.

"Soul finders! Are you kidding me?" Shouted Munchkin, he marched across the room to roughly pull up my chair and drag me back to a sitting position.

"Don't touch her like that." Victor's voice was ice cold as he noticed where Munchkin's hands had been placed.

"You can no longer continue this interrogation, Victor," the large man muttered as he closed the door. "Your personal link might lead you to be too lenient with your questions."

"It seems to me that there isn't much more to question her with, Larry," Victor crossed his arms, his stance turning defensive. "I persuaded her as you instructed and she clearly knows nothing of the business."

"You may have missed something," Munchkin snivelled. "I suggest we leave her here overnight-"

"No! No soul finder of mine will spend a night in here." He sighed, gathering himself. "Let's just finish any questions you want to ask her and then I will take her home." Seemingly resigned, the three of them gathered chairs and sat around the table. Victor began, his expression betraying something of pain.

"Did you ever see anything weird or something that you couldn't account for happen in the cafe?" I noticed how he did not use his persuasive skills this time.

"Yes," I nodded. "At least twice a month we would have a man come in asking to speak with Alan or Stew. Rachel and I stopped asking after a while what they came to talk about because they never gave us an answer. They had strange names, like Stew told us last night a man by the name Manhattan would call in."

"Yes I heard him say that," said Munchkin as he wiped his nose on his shirt sleeve. "Can you remember any other names?"

"Dakota, Texas, Boston and then some British ones like Bournemouth and Northumberland." I couldn't remember a lot of them. "There was no specific pattern to the names."

"Did you ever converse with any of these men?" Munchkin asked as the men seemed to be hanging on my every word. Was this really important? My soul finder was sat across from me within reaching distance and they wanted to talk about this? I shook my head. "Could you identify any of them, say in a police line up?"

"I doubt it, there were too many of them," I admitted. "It just became the norm, a fixture which I hardly took notice of." My gaze kept flitting back to Victor sat in between the two men.

"Did you see anything else unusual?" Larry asked.

"Not that I can think of," I so badly wanted to leave this dingy place. "It was just what I thought was a normal cafe. What is going on? I mean, no one has told me what this business is or why those men came every month."

"It's difficult to say." Munchkin sat back in his chair wiping his eyes beneath his glasses, clearly exhausted from his hard day. "We can't tell you yet at least and in some ways it might be better if you don't know at all."

"Can I take her home now?" Victor's voice was insistent as he stood from his chair.

"On one condition," Larry said as he manoeuvred his foul gum around his mouth. "You bring her back tomorrow after we have talked to the rest." Larry and Munchkin tiredly left the room leaving Victor to pull some keys from his pocket and release me from my cuffs.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered to me with an enticing smirk as he led me out of the room.

Hi readers (I hope there are some), I'm sorry it will be a few days until I can update but I have lots of ideas.

Plus, don't be afraid to review! Be honest, if something is awful then please do help me.