Chivalry
An Adventures of Tintin Fanfic by SouthernImagineer/ecto1B
(A Modern Retelling)
Six.

Warning: Graphic scene (blood).

The viscous red liquid seeped in her hands, down her fingers, staining the padded tips crimson and collecting beneath her neatly manicured fingernails. A few droplets found their way to her wrists and pooled along the skin's grooves there. They were like exterior veins, curling themselves, forming intricate patterns as her hands rose higher into the air. A web of scarlet lines ornamented the ample flesh of her forearms, trickling, dancing, snaking back and forth, weaving unsystematically. A few reached her elbow and dripped down the creased outcrop, smearing the carpeted floor and the blue bed sheets.

It was blood. She was covered in it, and it wasn't even hers.

His name was a mantra in her mouth. Wax caught between her teeth. Glue sticking to the inside of her jaw. No matter how many times she spoke his name, pleaded with God, or cursed under her breath, the man lying there would not move. He would not respond. He would not open his eyes. Even when she'd dug her fingers into his shirt, rolling him in the bed so that he faced her, there was no excess movement. The skin she touched was cold. The eyes she yearned to see were dim, hidden beneath blood-marred eyelids. The ring on his left hand was soiled with dried crimson, marked in such a way that the gold material refused to shine, even when touched with sunlight from the nearby window.

"Great snakes!"

Footsteps sounded as the hotel room door swung wide. Someone ran to her from behind. Arms locked about her waist, tugging her, heaving her from her position on the bed. The man's voice, too, switched to autopilot, and her name was repeated, parroted for moments and moments on end. Unlike her, though, his pitch changed dramatically over time. At first, he was loud. Vehement. Then, he became soft and soothing, her name accompanied by heavy breathing and a dry throat. He dragged her sobbing, blood-covered body to the ground, pulling her against him as he collapsed against the wall. Her body, as limp as the one lying on the bed, pitched into the journalist's small frame, and for a while, the two people became swathed in each other.

"Anna… Anna… Anna…" The redhead's pale, flushed face buried in the woman's mess of tangled blonde hair as he wrenched her closer. "Anna… God, Anna… I'm so sorry… I'm so sorry… Anna…"

She reached out to the wall. A bloody handprint appeared on the blue wallpaper.

"Noah…" Her words fell from her mouth in a single breath; they were hoarse, darkened beneath hyperventilating sobs. "Noah… not Noah… Oh God. Noah. Not Noah…"

The journalist, knowing there was nothing he could do to help his friend, shut his eyes and laid his lips atop her head.

"I'm so sorry, Anna," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Back to the present time…

They arrived at the hotel that evening, after a short flight and a brief drive from the airport. Captain Haddock, Tintin, and Snowy took one room, the one with two beds, while Annalise took the room across from them. Lights were out by eleven; all were rather exhausted when they reached the hotel, and no one stirred until midmorning. Tintin took his routine shower the second he awoke (Haddock claimed himself to still be clean after his shower the day previous, and no one felt the need to argue), and by nine-thirty, the gang had regrouped in the lobby, alert and ready to begin the investigation.

Tintin was desperate. Desperate for leads. His head reeled with the thrill of visiting a new place, embarking on a new adventure. How could he keep calm when the mystery of Noah Woodcraft's disappearance sat before him like a freshly baked chocolate cake, just waiting to be attacked with a fork? And the atmosphere, the people, and the land differed dramatically from his home in Brussels. That, too, aided in galvanizing him. At the airport, he'd received kind smiles from workers there, handshakes and dips of the head from flight attendants and crewmembers that knew his name on the spot. How was he not to become exhilarated by the rush of new experiences?

Tintin exited the elevator and stepped into the hotel's lobby, ready to tackle anything Annalise Crane threw at him.

She was quick.

"I believe I have our first lead," Annalise said as Haddock and Tintin took a seat on the opposite couch. She set her purse down on the coffee table, glancing briefly around the lobby before extracting her cell phone from the bag's depths. "One of Noah's associates here in Alabama called me before I came downstairs."

Tintin, still on his rather enthusiastic high, leaned his elbows on his knees and folded his hands in front of his mouth to hide his waning smile. "Continue."

"James Cochran." Annalise held up a photo on her phone. It was of two men, shoulder to shoulder, dressed in business suits. One was wearing a trucker hat atop his unruly black hair. The other was Annalise's fiancé, Noah. Tintin recognized him from another photo Annalise had shown him during their first meeting. "James is Noah's closest friend here in Alabama. They were childhood friends that coincidentally wound up working for the same company. I found him yesterday and left him a message. Luckily, he responded."

"Wha' did the man have to say 'bout Noah?" Haddock asked.

Annalise visibly swallowed. "He's worried. He, too, hasn't heard from him since Friday. Apparently they were going to meet for coffee on Saturday morning, and Noah never showed up."

"How does Mr. Cochran help us, though? What information can he provide to us that we haven't yet acquired? He has had the same exposure to this case as we have." Tintin rolled his shoulders a bit, blinking at the woman. "Or does he have any crucial details about the moments before Noah's disappearance? About the assignment he was working on? The companies vying for the job?"

"I'm getting to that. He does." Tintin's eyes lit up at her words. "But he actually asked to meet with us in an hour or two so he can give us the information in person. His Southern hospitality demands a good conversation… not one over the phone."

Haddock and Tintin exchanged glances, glances that only they could interpret.

"That's perfect," Tintin said after a second's pause. "Where are we meeting him?"

Tintin had taken classes on body language, and it was easy for him to detect Annalise's discomfort by the way her body language shifted at his question. Her gaze diverted to the left, her fingers locked on her lap, her chin lowered, and her body became smaller, as if protecting herself from harm.

"Erm… well, here's the thing." She paused to cough. "James and a few of his more… redneck… friends… are on a barbecuing team. They… um… have a competition today in a nearby town, and James has… well, he's requested we visit him… there…" she trailed off, catching herself in another cough.

The captain scratched his beard. "Barbecuing?"

Annalise waved a hand. "You'll understand when we get there. But do you mind? These are… very Southern people." She gulped. "I was afraid you two would feel out of place with them."

Tintin shrugged. "They're just people."

"Loud people," Annalise added. "A gregarious bunch. I've met James before, and he's normally very relaxed, but I've never been around him while he's barbecuing, however, so I can't guarantee anything there. Noah says James can get pretty redneck around his grill. And his wife was born and raised here in Alabama; she could be a little loopy."

"Look here, lass." At last, the captain spoke more than a single word. He wagged a wrinkly finger at Annalise, his bushy brows furrowing to the bridge of his nose while he spoke. "Tintin an' I have been all 'cross the world, encounterin' folks from all walks of life. I think we can handle some American rednecks for an hour or two."

Annalise released herself from her defensive position. "Are you sure?"

"The captain's right, Miss Crane—"

"Annalise."

Tintin smirked, and she faintly smiled back. "Oh, my apologies. Annalise. We are fully prepared to face these Southerners. Especially if it will grant us more information about Noah."

Haddock slapped his shoulder.

"Good on ya, lad."

The woman across from the men tried to conceal her face, the corners of her lips rising considerably at their banter. "I'm glad you believe you can handle them," she said. "You're going to need that confidence when we do meet them."

Tintin, flashing his best, most handsome toothy grin, bobbed his head.

"As you Americans say, bring it on."