Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except my characters. Which are quite a few this time around. Let's try it this way: I don't own any Marvel characters that happen to show up in the upcoming chapters and which I'm sure you'll recognise without any need to name long lists.
3. Alberta: Easy Nicknames
Creed stretched lazily. Outside, the birds were kicking up a racket as the sky started to become lighter. He glanced at the stove. Isabel would come back in from the outhouse shivering, despite having gone out buried under coats and blankets, and would no doubt want to start a proper fire. The thought of doing it for her flickered through his mind but he didn't feel like getting up. Yawning, he stretched again and made himself comfortable.
He was leaving the following day. He was still determined to get the woman an air-tight new identity, even if the process was proving to be slower and more irritating than he had expected. The thought of heading out to the city and diving into the morosity of bureaucracy made him feel lazy and sleepy. Sure, he could hire an expert to deal with the whole thing but then he'd have to kill the guy and expert document fakers get noticed when they disappear. People wonder which job got them killed and there's always the chance someone can find a loose end that wasn't well hidden. No. He wasn't taking chances.
The way to go was getting someone to do a step of the process, then do another step himself and get someone else for the next step and so on. Tiny steps, one by one, all apparently disconnected from one another and always using small time people, whom he could later kill without getting much attention. In this particular case, first of all, he'd identified an actual couple of Portuguese immigrants living in Canada that matched all the criteria he required and then found himself a middleman to start working on creating Isabel's identity in Portugal.
The second step had been to pay someone to issue a Family Visitor Visa for the immigrant couple's daughter, born and raised in Portugal, who had come in to stay for some months.
The trickiest part had been creating documents to prove she'd arrived several months earlier but it was done, including a paper trail of car and camping rentals. The easiest part had been paying someone to photoshop hundreds of images to be uploaded onto Isabel's new Facebook account, never fully showing her face, and tampered to have their meta-data indicate the appropriate geo and time stamps. Of course that guy was going to meet an early death when his house spontaneously combusted, right after his cloud was properly scoured for any stray copies. And once Creed had the photos, he could finally create her Facebook account.
After that, he'd have her apply for permanent residency using her supposed parents as sponsors, although they were never going to know about it. It was not going to be easy, since he didn't really have all the documents required, but he had gotten the name of a clerk who could give him a hand with that. The only problem was that he'd have to take Isabel along. Afterall, he couldn't keep her hidden in the woods forever.
He heard Isabel rushing through the snow and grinned. That woman had definitely not been born to live off the grid. She closed the door and hurried to the stove, where she soon had the fire going strong. To her credit, she had never uttered a single complaint, not even about the cold. She might groan a lot when she had to go to the out-house in the middle of the night, or when the weather wasn't at its friendliest, but she didn't gripe about it.
Isabel peeled off her coat after a few minutes warming up by the stove. He knew what was coming next: the woman's favourite method of warming up. He really didn't feel like leaving the following day.
She glanced back and smiled at him. She was always smiling these days, which was a great sign. It meant she wasn't in pain, whether physical or psychological. The more often she smiled, the sooner he could stop being so gentle. He had first decided to hold back for at least three months, but now he was sure he wouldn't need to wait that long. Another two weeks and it would be two months since he'd saved her. It would be enough.
Creed grinned as she sat on her haunches and slowly lifted her pyjama top over her head, but instead of coming over to him, she closed her eyes for a moment and moaned as she teasingly enjoyed the heat coming off the stove. He lay on his side and licked his fangs, which had the little minx giggling.
"That ain't much of a show." She stopped moaning for a moment. "Why don't ya play with yer tits fer me ta see, huh?"
Her smile morphed into a lopsided grin as she gazed straight at him.
"No," she said in a casual voice. "I prefer play wid oder things."
She mockingly bit her lower lip, staring straight at his eyes, and slipped a hand into her pyjama bottoms. Then she let her head fall back as she moaned.
"Yer fuckin' tease!" He grinned, still too lazy to go after the woman. "Get yer ass over here, Izzie."
The pet name had popped up in his head a few times already, but had never slipped out before. It fit her like a glove, he thought, so he was kind of surprised when the woman stood up with a shocked face. Linguistic problems again, he guessed.
"It's a pet name," he explained.
"Pet?"
Creed sat up the moment he heard the anger literally making her voice break. That reaction was way over the top.
"Not pet as in an animal," he said. "It's just short fer Isabel, that's all. Ya know, ya can call me Vic too, when there's no one around. Izzie, Vic, it's all the same kind o' thing."
Her fury did not abate. Creed didn't think he'd ever seen her so mad, not even when he'd called her frail, a few weeks before, and she'd blown that she wasn't a weakling doll about to break for him to call her frail, although not in those exact words, right before bursting into tears. Right now, she was actually shivering in rage and she was so pale anyone would think her on the verge of keeling over. He had no idea what could have caused such a reaction.
"What?" He ended up asking.
"You think I look easy?"
Creed groaned. It was always the same linguistic crap.
"I didn't say 'easy'; I said Izzie. It's two completely different words."
Her glare could have killed. It was hate, disdain and disgust rolled into a withering force. Enticing.
"Listen: easy; Izzie. Can't ya hear the difference?"
And then it ocurred to him that she was constantly mixing up beach and bitch, sheet and shit, leave and live…
"It's two completely different sounds an' two completely different words."
"You call me dat again and, I promise you, I leave dis house and you never see me again."
Fine, whatever!
"Then I'll call ya Belle." He said it without thinking, but the moment the name rolled off he could have grimaced. It sounded all wrong for the woman. "That's yer new nickname."
She breathed out fiercely. Good. He'd let her shoot down that name while he thought up another one that fit her better. Let's see… Isa? Ibbie?
"You take de day to offend me? First is easy dat isn't easy, den is bell. You think I look like a bell?"
"It ain't bell like a church bell, ya ass. It's with the French spelling, with an e at the end."
Bellsy? He'd heard that before somewhere but… Elle or Ella, maybe. Ellie.
"Listen: I have two names, ok? Isabel and Inês. You call me one or you call me de oder, e acabou. Fineesh."
Creed snarled at her. He was trying to think up a proper nickname here and she was not helping. Maybe a Spanish one, like Chabela or Chabelita.
"Or call me woman. I can leave wid dat."
"It's live, not leave. And ya are gonna have a nickname an' that's the end of it, got it?"
She crossed her arms under her naked breasts and his mind got distracted for a moment before going back to business. Lizzie. That was a good option, unless she got it into her head it sounded too much like Izzie and tried to storm out.
"Not Isa and not Bé" the woman grunted, her arms still crossed and her voice sulky. "Belita and Belinha, never. Dat is hit in de head in Portuguese."
And she slapped her head lightly to exemplify.
"If you prefer go wid Inês," she continued, "everything minus Nênê."
Well, since pretty much all nicknames for Isabel had been shot down, Creed thought about Inês. The Portuguese sound, Eenesh, opened itself to Ina, which could quickly become Inny, but he didn't like either. The Spanish had the traditional Inesita. Maybe. He tried it out loud.
"Ok," Isabel reacted with an annoyed shrug. "You can call me Inesita."
It was rather long though.
"No, I prefer Nesita." The woman rolled her eyes but didn't say anything against it. It was still a bit longish though. "Or Nesi."
Isabel shrugged again and picked up her pyjama top.
"Call me what you want. Nesi, Nesita. You decide." She put on the top and walked over to the cupboard. "I go make breakfast."
No fun and games this morning, then. Why did she have to be such a moron when it came to the language?
"Coffee fer me," he flopped back onto the mattress. "Strong. And bacon."
"But, Victor…"
Now what? He glanced her way. She had a frying pan in her hand and was looking intently at him. Not annoyed or sulky, though.
"You only call me dat here, when we're alone, right? Because only you know my real name. No one else, only you. No one can know my real name, remember?"
Yeah, yeah. She belonged to him so only he could know her true identity. He remembered the childish pact of hers. No sweat.
"Ya think I'd let anyone hear me call ya dumb sappy names?"
Still, it was a pitty. Izzie would have fitted her so perfectly.
I know, this one was short, too. But next chapter will be longer. Hopefully, it'll make clear just what the hell Isabel sees in Creed.
If you've enjoyed the chapter, please leave a review. Just let me know what you liked and disliked so I can keep improving my writing skills. Thank you.
