Chapter 4
In the other room in the suite, all by myself in the large bed, I find it impossible to sleep. I'm not sure if that's because my mind refuses to tick off or if it's simply because I'm honestly not used to sleeping in a very large bed all by myself now that I've been married to Christian for quite a few years.
I've gotten used to sleeping next to him so now, spreading out with my legs and arms only to find the whole entire space next to me completely bare, it feels odd.
I sigh loudly as I roll onto my back with a frown. I feel bone-tired yet my mind won't cooperate with me. Today has been so hectic and wild. I still don't know all the answers about what is happening and Christian hasn't given them all to me.
I wonder who is after us, though. Obviously it has something to do with Christian's work. Not as a CEO as I initially thought and had believed but as a... undercover agent or something. I still can't help but to beat myself up for not seeing it in advance. I had been so blind and so trusting, completely believing everything the man had said. But now when I think about it, there were actually a few signs that I hadn't picked up on.
My mind drifts off to other things that had happened between us after we'd met; Things I hadn't even bothered to question at the time yet now with the knowledge of Christian's true profession, it begins to make sense. Like the time we'd gone out for a date to this carnival place where they held games...
...
"How cute is that?" I had pointed out to Christian as we'd walked down the alley together, hand-in-hand, looking at all the fun games lined up in the stalls. We had walked past some balloon dart game where you had to pop most of the balloons to get your prize.
Next to that stall was a game where you used a paintball gun thingy to shoot at a few moving targets. One of the prizes was this huge love heart cushion that I instantly had my eye on.
We'd stopped right at the stall as I had pointed out to Christian the adorable love heart cushion. It was probably the biggest prize there.
"You want it?" he'd asked me.
"It's the biggest prize though. You'll probably have to shoot all the targets to win it."
"Easy." I remember feeling so amazed by Christian's easy confidence as he spoke to the man behind the stall while pulling out his wallet to pay for a game. "How many do I have to shoot to win the love heart cushion?" he'd asked the man while paying for a game.
"You have to hit above seven in a row with the gun," the man informed us. Above seven moving targets?
"Sounds simple enough," Christian had said, unfazed. The man showed him how to operate the gun and where the trigger was while I watched nervously.
It had seemed so difficult and at that point in our relationship, I wasn't sure whether Christian was a sore loser or not. If he lost, I'd hate for him to be sulking and moody all the way home.
"Um, I think it'll be too hard," I'd said while standing directly next to him. "Any prize is great. It's OK if you don't win the cushion. Really."
"You want the cushion, baby." Christian had turned to give me a look while setting the butt of the paint gun on his right shoulder, getting into a stance with his legs a width apart. He crooked his index finger over the trigger, lining it up to one of the targets, getting ready. "Whatever my girl wants, she gets it."
I'd laughed off his comment about him getting me whatever I want, because I knew this wouldn't be easy and he'd probably be upset if he lost. The man had pressed a little switch and the game had started with silly flashing lights and carnival clown music, the targets beginning to move in a line.
It had all happened so quickly, really. I'd stood a few inches away to give Christian some space while he got into it, squeezing down on the trigger; A determined, deadly serious look in his eyes and on his face. I'd never seen him look so absorbed as he concentrated on something before.
Thack! He hit the first moving target. Thack! Then the one right next to it.
Thack! Thack! Two more targets shot. Both me and the man that owned the game were surprised at this point at Christian's effortless skill. It had been so sexy and admittedly, I think my admiration for the man I was dating had shot up sky-high level.
Barely a quick and speedy thirty seconds later, the game had ended, the flashing lights and music shutting off. The owner had looked very disappointed with himself as he reached down beneath the table, grabbing a new love heart cushion for me which I accepted with glee, hugging it tightly in both arms.
"Well done," the man had said grudgingly to Christian, his face red.
"Beginners luck," Christian had muttered back coolly, then he'd reached over to wrap his arm around my neck loosely, the pair of us walking away.
It had been so impressive. I knew those carnival games were not the easiest and often they were rigged. I honestly hadn't expected Christian to have won me the cushion I'd wanted.
"Wow," I'd gushed, looking down at the fluffy heart cushion in my arms as I squeezed it. "You were amazing back there. Have you played that game before?"
"Never. Like I said to the man in the stall, baby, it was beginner's luck. And besides," he'd added, leaning down towards my ear, his voice softer, sensual, "Like I also said. What my girl wants, she gets."
"You definitely know how to make a girl feel special," I'd whispered back contently. "Thank you."
"Anytime."
...
Now when I think back to that moment, I begin to see it a whole lot differently than I initially did. Christian must know how to operate guns and aim precisely with his job. If so, then it's truly no wonder he had been so skilled at aiming at targets.
And how he's such a polyglot! His fluency in so many different languages that I've always found so sexy, his seeming ability to easily speak in different languages. I had just assumed he was so cultured, so worldly. When really, I suppose, it probably helped with his profession, being able to speak fluently in different languages in order to fly under the radar. One particular special moment comes back to me..
...
Christian on his knees below me, dressed in nothing but his boxer briefs. Me in just my bra and underwear.
We'd been dating over two months when he'd finally said it. And like the awestruck, foolishly smitten woman I was, I hadn't thought much into it at all.
He had always been an incredible lover. When we'd first been together, I couldn't have believed my luck. Even two months in, I was still deliriously happy. He was on his knees kneeling down at my feet, making me feel like he was worshiping every inch of me. His masculine coarse hands were trailing up and down the length of my bare legs, from my very ankles, up towards my inner thighs and straight back down again. Every now and then, he'd assault me with surprise kisses in between, his mouth and lips warm.
And then he'd started as I'd reached down, grasping his head with a groan, twisting my fingers into the thick strands of his hair as he began nuzzling at my legs with his nose, his face.
"Ich liebe dich," he'd murmured throatily into my inner thigh, breathing all over me. I'd recognized the language immediately though I did not speak it myself. I had no idea what he was saying at the time.
"German?" I'd murmured hoarsely, my navel jolting as he'd lifted his head, his hands gliding up past the band of my underwear to my hips. He'd squeezed gently with his fingertips as he leaned forward, pressing a kiss into the middle of my belly, just inches above my belly button.
"Jag älskar dig," he'd breathed next, his parted lips mashing into my skin. When I hadn't said anything, remaining silent while trying to place the language, he'd said "Swedish" into my hipbone.
"So that was Swedish this time?" I'd whispered down at him, still unsure what he was saying. "You do realize I have no idea what your saying to me, don't you?" I giggled when he'd began alternating with soft kisses and using his teeth, nipping at my skin gently.
He'd reached down with his hands again, running them down to the back of my calves. Then he'd lifted them higher, up around the back of my thighs, over my buttocks still covered with the material of my underwear.
"Je t'aime," he'd breathed effortlessly, the language curling off his tongue as he leaned forward on his knees.
"Shit," I'd sighed with a smile as he pressed a kiss straight through the fabric at the front of my underwear, making me feel him right there. My breathing had become shallow and too-loud as he'd paid me a lot of attention down there, tilting his head and covering me down there through the thin cotton of my underwear with his mouth. I could feel him, straight through the fabric. Immediately, I had grown moist and hot. "French? I know that's French but as you know, I'm not the best at speaking it fluently?"
He'd moved back to peer up at me, something intense and meaningful shining in his gray eyes. He'd licked his lips as I gently ran my fingers through his thick hair, through the back of it and at the nape of his neck, caressing his head.
"What are you saying?" I'd asked urgently, feeling really confused.
"I'm saying that I..." He'd paused, an air of anxiety coming over him that I hadn't seen from him before. Usually he had seemed so confident, so in-control and smooth. He'd ran his fingers slowly down my legs again tenderly as he held my gaze, "Ana, baby, I... I'm saying that I love you."
That was the first time he had ever told me that and my heart had jolted in my chest, my throat closing over my emotion, with happiness and intense joy.
"You were telling me that you love me?" I'd asked, stunned, as I cupped his face in my hands. "In German and Swedish? French too?"
"I was. I do."
It had been the most romantic yet sexiest thing a man had ever done to me; Proclaiming his love hotly in multiple languages.
"I do too, you know," I had declared back, in my voice unsteady. "I was just holding off saying it until you said it first." Clasping my hands over his face tighter, I'd bent down, pressing my lips hard against his, trying to push all my happiness and emotion into the kiss.
He'd leaned back with a low hiss through his teeth as he muttered, "You do too -what?"
"I love you too," I'd explained and the look on his face, the sheer relief and pleasure on it, as if he'd began to doubt whether I'd felt the same way or not, it had taken my breath away.
Tears had sprung to my eyes emotionally as he had gotten up to his feet, reaching up to grasp my face between his hands. He'd chuckled in what seemed immense relief and I'd laughed too, then we were both laughing, deliriously happy.
And then he'd kissed me and I was kissing him back while wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, thinking I was so pleased that I had at last found someone who I had loved and they had seemed to love me back, every single part of me.
...
Things had seemed so happy back then when I was more ignorant and blissfully unaware. I honestly had no idea Christian wasn't truly the hot-shot, well-paid CEO he'd said he was. He had covered his tracks well though, without garnering any suspicion from me whatsoever.
He'd worked nine to five hours, just as he said he did. When I wanted to surprise him at work, he'd always ask that I tell him beforehand first- something I probably should have found was suspicious.
He'd then ask for us to meet at some restaurant and he'd introduce me to some employer that was there as well. Sometimes a blonde woman he'd claim was an assistant when really, I realize now, they were probably in on the lie too to cover their tracks. I'd taken his word for it so many times without once suspecting anything was different.
I suppose that's partly my fault; I had been so wrapped up in everything that I just completely forgot to truly pay attention.
He still hasn't explained to me about the stain though... I think that terrifies me most of all, the idea that he is cheating. Maybe even more so than any of this other stuff, like his job and the fact his real first name is Trevelyan rather than Christian.
If it turns out that he is in fact having an affair...
I think that would devastate me most of all, much as I am mad at him and confused about him lying about his entire job thing and whatever the hell is happening right now with people after us with guns trying to kill us.
Despite my madness, I still love him regardless of finding out he had lied about a few several things about himself. And he'd assured to me that our marriage and us, it wasn't a cover like I'd suspected. If that part involving us was true, then should it matter so much- the profession and the name- if his heart was truly involved in this, just as mine was?
We'd had some great times together. Him winning me the best prize at a carnival game stall was definitely one of them. So was the first time we had actually admitted to loving each other, two months into our relationship. Meeting his family had been real; Getting along really well with his little sister Mia, and his brother Elliot, and his mother Grace and father Carrick- that had to be real as well. You couldn't fake something like that.
All our laughter and tender kisses; our talks of starting a family together and having a real good future. Surely they couldn't be something easily faked either, could they?
And lying in bed, all alone in the Cascade Suite of some fancy hotel under the alias Mr and Mrs Taylor- it has definitely given me time to find a better perspective on things.
It just isn't the same sleeping in an overly large bed without Christian in it with me. And it's obvious my mind notices and refuses to switch off mainly due to that. With a heavy sigh, I sit up against the headboard, reaching over to turn on the old antique lamp by the dresser. I know I'd said earlier while helping patch up his injured arm that I would have preferred to sleep alone for once. But it's impossible without him.
Throwing the duvet off, I get to my feet, padding my way down the hallway towards the other room that he's in. Immediately I know he's awake the instance I hear the noises coming straight through the opened doorway in the room he is occupying; He's still awake, watching the TV in the room, I think. So he has a TV in the room as well?
In all the 4 years I've known him, Christian has never been overly enthusiastic about watching television- having preference for being active and getting out and about in the world. He's always lectured me, explaining how television is a waste of time. And yet what do we have here?
I find him on top of the sheets laid out with his upper body still uncovered without a shirt aside from the bandage I'd wrapped around his wound on his forearm earlier, his legs crossed and head propped up against a pillow as he watches the images flickering on the screen. He must see me standing there, even in the dark without the hallway light on, because I see his head turn into my direction.
"I thought you said that we should sleep in separate rooms for tonight?" He's pointing it out to me, rubbing it all into my face, his voice both amused and surprised all at once at my coming to the room he's sleeping in.
"Yes, I did say that but then my mind refuses to sleep." I shrug and lean off the door frame, shuffling my feet against the carpet. "I think my brain likes it better and feels more safe when I'm sleeping next to you in bed." I reach the side of the mattress and gesture towards it uncertainly, "Can I?"
"Like you even need to ask," he mutters offhandedly with a shrug.
I take that as my invitation and I sit down, drawing my legs up, tucking them under my knees as I sit propped with my back up against the headboard next to him. Christian presses the remote to the flat screen again, flicking through different channels mindlessly.
"I thought you always said watching television is a waste of time?" I murmur with amusement as a yawn escapes my mouth.
"Oh, it is. I still feel that way." He finds a channel then stops on the late evening Seattle news, throwing the remote down carelessly on the bed near his foot.
Since it's dark with only the TV screen on illuminating everything, I stare at this man that is my husband. OK, so he lied about what he truly does for a living and he also neglected to tell me that his first name on his birth certificate is Trevelyan. Despite all that and despite the raging sense of betrayal I feel at him, I cannot help still being in love with him. He was my 1st boyfriend and my 1st ever committed relationship with a man. And then he'd asked me to marry him and suddenly things were so serious in ways I never dreamed of. How can I not still love him in some way?
"How's the arm?" I murmur quietly through the voices on the TV.
He turns to look at me in the dark. "It's doing better, baby. I'll survive."
"When's your birthday?" I ask before I can stop myself. I just wonder if there's anything more that he hasn't been completely honest about.
I can only just see his eyebrows arching at me incredulously in the dark. "You already know when my birthday is?"
"Right. So it is truly June 18?" I have to say I'm relieved.
"Yes, it is actually June 18," he replies in an exaggeratedly slow voice. "What? You think I was lying even about my birthday to you?" He doesn't sound completely angry with me. Just a little amused and disbelieving.
"Well, no offense, but you've revealed quite some startling information to me within the past few hours. Sorry if I feel both the curiosity and the need to question everything."
"Well, let me make it clearer on you then," he begins softly. "June 18 is my birthday, as I've told you. Detroit is the place I was born in, as I told you." He starts counting off on his fingers one by one. I know he's just doing it to get a rise out of me but I'm too exhausted to argue again tonight. "I was adopted around four years old by Carrick and Grace Grey after my biological mother died."
"OK, OK," I whisper, frustrated. "I think I get it. Thank you for clarifying all of that up for me." His words in the car come back to me. "Please clarify and make this clearer on me as well so that I can start to understand," I begin gently.
"What?" he asks, and he settles himself in, leaning over on his good arm to stare at my face.
"So like you said when we met at France at the Inn near the markets that day, you were the one responsible for all of those horrible explosives going off?"
"Yes, that's right," he murmurs, sounding pleased that I've started to understand.
"And like you also said, you were there not as a hot-shot CEO for some company to meet with shareholders but you were sent there to France to... to do some covert mission where you kill some terrorists with explosives?" Even as it comes out in one single breath, I have to try refrain from laughing. It all sounds so ridiculous, so James Bond. "You work for some government organisation that does that type of stuff?"
"That's right, baby." He runs his hand slowly through his hair, using his good arm. "I work for the CIA. Clandestine Services." It doesn't really make proper sense to me but I try to wrap my head around it any way. "I decided this was what I wanted to do as a career when I was around 18. I studied for a while to obtain my bachelors degree in both homeland security and criminology."
Now that is what I cannot grasp my head around. The true him and his career is so far from the one he'd told me he was, how he had a bachelor's degree in business and finance. Why keep it from me?
"Why did you keep it from me all this time?" I demand, flabbergasted. "Why not just tell me? Wouldn't that have been easier than forcing yourself to lie about it to me?"
He sighs loudly through his mouth. "Baby, I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to," he says, his voice low with anxiety and empathetic. "I was sworn to secrecy and I didn't want to get you involved."
"Funny. I think we're both a little too much involved now though, aren't we?" I mutter dryly. "So is that sort of a prerequisite?" I ask curiously, thrown again by the fact that he is so good with speaking fluently in different languages.
"What's a prerequisite?"
"You know, with how you're so good with being able to speak different languages? The French and German? All of that? Is that something that's required with this job that you do?"
"It isn't always required but it certainly does help to make the job easier."
"And what about-" I begin, then hesitate, biting down on my lip as my stomach tightens into uncomfortable knots. A part of me needs to know about this most of all yet I'm also petrified to. "What about the stain on your shirt that I found while I went to wash it?" I turn my eyes onto him, trying to watch him carefully through the dark.
He's silent for a few moments as he brings up his hand to rub his fingers around his chin. It's almost like he's not completely sure what to say to me, but he has to have something to say about it, doesn't he?
"Where?" he asks finally, his voice tight. "You mention about this supposed stain on my shirt, but... whereabouts was it on the shirt exactly?"
I almost laugh out loud angrily at his question. How can he not really know the answer to that already? I mean, it's his shirt! "You never noticed any stain on your shirt?" I breathe out.
"Honestly? No, I didn't."
I don't know whether to believe him or not. My 1st impulse is to do anything but trust him. "Is there someone else?" I ask nervously, the question that's been haunting me ever since I 1st laid eyes on that stain that appears remarkably like a woman's lipstick.
"Why do you think there's someone else?" I really wish he'd just be straightforward and answer the damned question. "Just because you found some supposed stain on my shirt that I myself can't even remember?"
"God, please just tell me, Christian!" I snap.
"No! Is there someone else? The answer is a big resounding no!" he mutters, and he sounds exasperated and appalled, and so many other things at once. "This side of my life- this part with you and us- I am perfectly content with. Why would I want to even jeopardize that or fuck it up by seeing someone else?"
Trying to seem nonchalant while asking but still dreading some horrible answer, I ask, "So there's never even once been someone else? Is that what your saying?"
"Yes! Never has there been anyone else aside from you! You were the 1st woman who made me see that it was possible to still have a normal stable life with someone despite this other side of me when it came to my job!"
"OK, but the-"
"-Since when have I ever given you the impression that that was the sort of man that I was?" he asks and I hear a tone of hurt in his voice. I've offended him and I suppose I can't blame him for that. "That I was the type of man to go back against my vows and be unfaithful?"
I take a deep, steadying breath at his words. I still don't know what to think.
"Ana, baby, look at me."
I lift up my chin, meeting his shining eyes in the dark nervously.
"Your the only one for me. I know that probably sounds like just words to you but they're true."
I know he isn't lying then; I know there isn't another woman in his life then. But what of the lipstick stain on his shirt? I was so certain it were actually a woman's red lipstick!
Reaching over, he lays his hand on my bare kneecap. I really wish I wasn't just wearing my old flimsy camisole and satin shorts but at least he doesn't try doing anything else to me. He simply keeps his hand on my knee, stroking around it with his fingers. Barely a second later, I give in and crumble while covering my hand over his, tracing over his knuckles with my thumb.
"From this point forward, there will be no more distortions of the truth, OK?" He holds my gaze sincerely as he rubs my knee. "Anything you want to ask me, I promise you it will be the absolute truth from this point forward no matter what. Whatever comes into your head, whatever you need to ask, just ask it and I'll answer as straightforwardly and as honest as humanly possible from this point on."
"OK," I agree softly. But why say that now? Why wait 4 years into us being together to finally do that?
As soon as I ponder that, I think I already have my answer. Why wait 4 years of us being together to finally do that? For him to answer whatever question comes into my mind as honestly as possible?
Because we're already in deep shit and we could die at any moment, that's why. We're already knee-deep in crap obviously and someone's out there after us, wanting to shoot us both.
Something distracts me and tears me away from Christian's voice momentarily. The images on the TV screen.
"Holy shit, Christian," I gasp out shakily. He looks over at what I'm looking at himself, and I notice him freeze and stiffen himself.
We're on TV. Both Christian and myself are on television on the news; A head shot of us both. And then, an even bigger shock, Jose Rodriguez is there being interviewed by a female reporter, speaking about the pair of us and how we seemed like your average normal happy couple.
"Here's your boyfriend," I hear Christian mutter bitterly at Jose's picture on the screen. "I knew he couldn't help himself."
I shoot him a warning glare while yanking my knee free from his hand. Jose Rodriguez is our next door neighbor back at our house. We've been invited over to his house several times for a few drinks and friendly get-togethers. I'm not sure why but Christian has always disliked Jose for some reason.
I think it's because Christian feels Jose wants into my pants simply because he's always been nice to me and he makes sure to say hello whenever I pull up into the driveway in my car. I honestly can't see where Christian gets that impression that Jose wants me, an already taken and married woman, all for himself.
"You really need to stop calling him my boyfriend." Christian opens his mouth to argue back but I shush him. I really want to hear this.
"Dios mío, it was so terrifying," Jose says to the camera while holding a hand up to his chest in fright. "I could have sworn it was gunshots going off in that house next door. Which is really strange because I used to have the Grey's over all the time and they were always so friendly and nice. You never would have thought they were the type of young couple to be in deep trouble."
"Because he wants in your panties," I hear Christian mutter beneath his breath during Jose's speech.
"God, Christian! Just because he's always nice to me and he always wants to be a good neighbor by saying hello, it doesn't mean he wants in my panties!"
"Yes it does," he argues back. "Trust me, it does."
"Does not."
We're quiet for long enough to hear the reporter ask for any information on the whereabouts of the pair of us and that if anyone knows what has happened, could they please come forward. Apparently we have people searching for us after what happened with the shoot-out at our place. Concerned people want to know where we are, if we're still alive after the shooting or if it was terrorism or gang violence related.
"He wants in your panties," Christian says again as if I hadn't heard him the first time around. "Remember that weekend when he invited us over for wine? He was practically salivating at you!"
"Shut up! You think everyone wants in my panties!"
He shifts his head side to side, deliberately feigning thought. Then he shrugs with his good arm. "Hmm, I suppose that's both a fair and true assessment."
Despite the gravity of our situation, I can't help giggling a little at us. It's ridiculous. Here we are, arguing and play-fighting over our neighbor when this is practically life or death.
"Seriously now and putting Jose Rodriguez aside, what are we going to do?" I ask out loud, trying to steer the conversation back where it should be. We should be serious and focused on this.
To my relief, Christian stops playing around. He sighs loudly while running a hand through his hair slowly. "Well, we can't tell anyone where we are right now. Not even if it's the news station wanting to know that we're all right."
"So who... who's after us?" I swear he has to know who is after us. He just has to.
"That's the problem. I'm not sure exactly who it is right now, but I do have a few hunches."
"Care to enlighten me with those hunches then?" I prompt.
"I have a feeling it's to get back at me." He uses his fingers to rub around his forehead area, like he's having a migraine or headache developing.
"Get back at you for what?"
"Because of my job. Clearly I upset someone and now... now they want us dead." My heart races at his ominous words as my body goes icy cold with fear. He says it so calmly. 'Now they want us dead'. It's like he's speaking of anything other than the fact that people want us dead.
"Those people that shot at the house? The ones inside with the guns that you managed to fight off?"
"What about them?"
"Well, could you recognize any of them at all? Did you think of taking off one of their masks to see who they were?"
"I took off both of the men's from downstairs," he explains quietly. "Thing is, I didn't recognize their faces. I haven't dealt with those men before."
"Y-you think you'd remember them if you had?"
Christian turns to give me a look, one I can't really describe accurately in the dark. "I definitely would remember them if I had dealt with them before. Believe it or not, I'm not one to forget faces easily."
My throat tightens, my voice hoarse and unsteady, "But someone obviously sent them off to our house to kill the both of us?"
"If they had guns, baby, I'd say that's likely and safe to assume."
It's horrifying, the thought that people are out there to kill us. And they had been so close earlier tonight. If it hadn't been for Christian being a capable enough fighter to knock them out then... I hate to think what could have happened. And not to mention how I had been getting prepared to leave him because of my assumption that he'd been having an affair.
I shudder at the thought of what may have happened if Christian hadn't been able to somewhat get through to me earlier tonight and delay me leaving the house. Would these people have followed straight after me in the car after leaving both Christian and the house? Would they have shot straight through the glass windows of my car as I drove away. Would they have even possibly kidnapped me or brutally assaulted me if they had the chance to? Probably.
It's scary to know how close we came earlier tonight. I really do have Christian to thank for making sure I stayed upstairs in the bedroom with the door locked the way he had.
Guilt crushes deep into my heart as I shudder again. I had been so horrible tonight, treating Christian so badly. Hurling accusations at him when, really, I should have been thanking him all along. He protected me tonight. He's the true reason I'm here the way I am now, safe in the warm and cozy Cascade Suite with him, alive and unharmed while he fared worse than I did.
Him getting his forearm slashed by the man with the knife downstairs... Him having endured a bloody nose from what was probably a vicious punch. He'd done all that to protect me tonight.
And yet I had treated him so badly.
thanks so much for your reviews and the very encouraging alerts, I honestly didn't think someone would like this plot much. hopefully some things are answered and that you are still interested? as for the stain thing, its half answered for now and will be another additional plot point as the story progresses. i apologize again if my writing is not very good in both style and word wise. as always advice is happy accepted if you have any.