HI GUYS! I'm back. Not as long of an absence as last time, and I promise that will never happen again. Anyway, here's chapter SEVEN! I'm thinking this story will be roughly ten chapters. Ah. ~DP55
Seven
The Mill
"How was your day, Nollie?" Isabelle asked. She'd been calling me every evening for a week now, and I always delighted in talking with her. She'd go on and on, telling me about her day at school, how far along she was in her new favorite book, and then ever-so-quietly gush about this boy who sat in the seat adjacent to her in school.
"His name is Wesley," she cooed, "He's blond, and he's got green eyes, and—" she began talking so quickly that all I heard was a hum through the receiver.
"Isabelle?" I called into the phone, thinking she'd hung up.
"W-what?" She paused, and the hum stopped.
"You were talking really fast," I chuckled.
She laughed, "Sorry. Anyway, how was your day, Nollie?"
"Boring, compared to yours," Always is, I thought to myself, "I wish I'd finished school."
"Why didn't you?"
I paused at her question. Did I feel comfortable telling her about Aunt Martha? The only person who knew was Tintin…
"No reason really. My parents moved around a lot…My mother took up teaching me from home, but when she died…"
"Oh, I understand. I'm sorry, Nollie."
"It's all right. It was a long time ago, actually."
"How did your parents die?"
"They, uh… They were killed. Car accident."
"That's too bad."
"Yeah."
That evening, Tintin and I were eating dinner in the kitchen when there was a knock at the door. Snowy yapped and raced down the hall, Tintin following him. "Stay here," Tintin instructed as I got up to follow them. Ignoring him, I stood in the doorway and listened, peeking out to watch every now and then. He opened the door and almost immediately tried to close it, but a black leather oxford stopped the door from closing.
"Please," the shoe's owner squeaked, "Please let me talk to you. Listen—listen. I don't want anything to do with the vault anymore. Okay? Now, please let me talk to you…"
"Fine." Tintin pulled the door open slowly, glancing back at me and shaking his head. He mouthed something I couldn't catch and motioned for me to leave. I ducked back into the kitchen and hid behind the doorway, listening. Tintin led the man with the oxfords into the parlor, inviting for him to sit on the sofa.
"Splendid place you have here," Oxford man said. His voice was heavily Scottish, making me think of Porter. Oxford man got up from where he sat on the sofa and I heard the floor squeak right in front of the fireplace. "Who's this? She's awfully pretty."
I could see Tintin from where I stood, and he tensed at Oxford man's discovery, "You aren't here to talk about my place," he growled, rising from his chair and snatching the photograph from him. "Please, sit. Would you like some tea?" Oxford man sat on the sofa once more, and I got a glimpse of his face. Jet-black, wiry hair, handlebar mustache, dark eyes. He looked nice enough. What did Tintin have against him?
"Sure," Oxford man shrugged. Tintin rounded into the kitchen, so quickly he startled me. He reached for the tall cabinet containing the pots and pans and tea kettle, beckoning to my side. He sifted through the pans noisily even though the kettle was right in front of him, and leaned over to whisper in my ear.
"You need to get out of here."
"Why?"
"He's onto you. I can't let him know you're here."
"Tintin, he seems—"
"It's an act, Nollie. I know it."
"But—"
"Go to the dining room and stay there. Now. Please," he instructed. I looked at him and he nodded. He finished his ruckus with the cabinet and grabbed the kettle, filling it with water, and setting it on a burner. He went back out to the parlor at that, apologizing to Oxford man as he entered. I snuck back into the kitchen after he left, listening to their conversation.
"Forgive me, the kettle had been misplaced," Tintin murmured, sitting down once again.
"Oh, no worries. Now," Oxford man leaned forward and lowered his voice to a tone I couldn't make out. Tintin leaned away from him after he finished speaking, shaking his head.
"No. I thought you were finished with the matter?" As soon as he said this, the kettle began to whistle. "The tea…" He moved to stand, but Oxford man was quicker.
"I'll get it for you, Mister Tintin," he announced, marching towards the kitchen with Tintin on his tail.
"No, Mister Bateson, that's quite all right," Tintin tried to stop him, but it was no use. He was in the kitchen in an instant, and I was face-to-face with Mr. Bateson, the oxford man. Tintin entered a moment later, horror flickering in his eyes when he saw me. "Nollie," he murmured, "I told you—"
"Why, the girl in the picture," Mr. Bateson smirked, "You're much prettier in person."
"Do not speak to her," Tintin pushed himself between myself and Mr. Bateson, "She is not involved in this matter."
"She is too," Bateson looked at me wryly, "She's been listenin' to our conversation." Truly, I had, but I hadn't heard whatever Bateson had whispered to Tintin a moment before. All I knew was that whatever he'd said had made Tintin very upset.
"I have not," I snapped, standing up straighter, "I have not been listening." Bateson took a step forward and Tintin prepared to block him from coming any closer.
"Then what were ya doin' in the kitchen?" Bateson hissed.
"Well, a woman belongs in the kitchen, correct?" I shrugged, sarcastically. "Honestly, why do you care? It's not like I could understand a word you said, with that accent," I challenged.
"Nollie," Tintin chided. I turned to leave, but Bateson grabbed my arm.
"Let go of me," I snarled, yanking my arm from his grasp and storming out of the kitchen and up to my room. Bateson left not long after that, with Tintin promising he would never be allowed back into the flat. After he'd gone, Tintin appeared in my doorway. "Please tell me what he told you," I murmured. He walked to my bed and sat down beside me, close enough for me to lean my head on his shoulder.
Tintin explained everything. There's a rickety old mill several miles away from here, in another town. It had once been a shoe factory, but it was shut down twelve years ago due to a fire taking out the entire top floor. "On the top floor, there is a vault hidden in the wall. The vault has tens of thousands of dollars inside of it. Tens of thousands, Nollie. Anyone who finds that vault is rich."
"So what's the catch?"
"It is virtually impossible to reach that level of the building."
Oooh. I've actually had the idea of an old mill for years now. Since I was a freshman, when I first started writing these stories xD isn't that crazy? And NOW I'm using it. Anyway, review for chapter eight! Yay! And check out Tintin and Nollie's blog... tintinnollie. tumblr. com (remove the spaces. Or just google search tintinnollie and it's the first thing that pops up.) ~DisneyPrincess55
