ONE NOTE: sorry i over reacted earlier when I said I wouldn't continue uploading to ff . It was 2 am when I was trying to post and I got frustrated that copy and pasting the story wasn't working. So now, i just have to upload a doc file instead of copy n pasting. My apologies u_u
Here we go with chapter seven at 6538 words.
TERRIBLY SORRY for the late update. I've been packing for college so there's been no progress on chapter eight and I usually like to have a chapter queued for the next posting.
So here I am, posting chapter seven, three months after chapter six, and nowhere close to finishing chapter eight yet.
As always, credit given to my lovely Irish beta ScarletPrussia on :D
Also! Shout out to a fan that I met in a AmeCan server on slack (you know who you are ;) )! Brownie points for making that night one of my happiest :) I love meeting fans! Track me down! :D
Arthur slipped out of his dreamless sleep slowly. His shoulders were sore and his entire back felt stiff and tight. He groaned softly and opened his eyes slowly, but despite his muscles protest of moving, he struggled to sit up and found that his body was enveloped in warm cloth.
"How are you feeling, Arthur?" someone said from Arthur's right. Arthur turned his head and saw Alfred Jones sitting in the chair near a desk. "You slept for a long time..."
"What is the time?" Arthur asked, regarding Alfred cautiously. He felt the small burn marks on his legs tighten. They had scabbed over now and Arthur couldn't help but to run curious fingers over his body's healing efforts. He pushed the blanket back a little and frowned at the ugly deep-red clots and the redness around them, then shifted the blanket to hide them from view again.
"You mean the date. It's November sixteenth, around seven pm." Alfred said. "Thankfully, you slept through the night and an extra day without problems."
Arthur paused. The date was two days from the first day of the convention. He realized he had almost missed the entire reason why he was in America again. Then he realized who he was talking to and the memories of his rescue came rushing back.
"Hi..." Arthur said hesitantly. He no longer wanted to be conscious now. Or at the very least, in Alfred's apartment with Alfred.
"Hi," Alfred stood from where he sat, blue eyes trained on the English man. "Are you hungry?" He was acting as if everything was normal, and Arthur frowned.
"Uh... wait..." Arthur said as Alfred moved his attention and body towards the door momentarily. Alfred waited, his analyzing azure eyes once again on Arthur. He suddenly felt nervous with the American's attention on him. "How... How did you find me?"
"I don't know, but we'll talk more after we eat, okay?" Alfred said, almost shaking his head. Arthur nodded and felt his stomach demand nutrients.
Alfred left Arthur alone in the room and the author couldn't help but to be a little nosey about his surroundings.
Alfred's bedroom was cozy and masculine. Modern and chic light fixtures lit the room with a soft, friendly glow. A nice sized rectangular mirror hung over a chest of oak drawers and floor to ceiling windows covered one wall. Curtains hung to the side and beyond, the city of New York alive and well on the streets below. The sky had just turned a deep navy blue with tinges of pink and purple. Alfred's room was pretty high and the view was spectacular.
The bed was soft and comfortable even if Arthur was still in the dirt smeared pajamas that he had been taken in. A tinge of unreasonable guilt tainted Arthur's mind. Here he was, a lowly author from England in sweat, blood and dirt-stained nightwear, tainting the bedroom of his ex who was obviously doing quite well for himself. The only thing that could be the cherry on top would be if Alfred had pictures of a gorgeous lover all over his apartment.
Just to make sure, Arthur looked around the room and even dared to slide open one of the bedside tables drawers. No pictures of a gloriously stunning person. Arthur didn't know if he should be relieved or confused. Why did he care? They hadn't seen each other for more than five years.
"Arthur? Are you coming?" Alfred called from the other room. Arthur had gotten lost in his thoughts.
"Coming!" Arthur called back. Very slowly, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and set his feet on the floor. Carefully, he stood, relieved to find only a bit of soreness in his knees. A few areas of his skin felt tight, as if a bandage were keeping the skin from shifting as he walked, but, all in all, Arthur didn't expect a long recovery. Then he tried walking, his legs only a little wobbly, and he made it to the other room where Alfred was.
Arthur found Alfred was standing in his kitchen with his back to the bedroom door. He was wearing a loose t-shirt and dip-dyed jeans.
Something smelled divine.
"I hope you don't mind that I made you waffles and bacon," Alfred turned when he heard Arthur. He pulled a just warmed cup of what Arthur knew to be real maple syrup from the microwave (Arthur remembered that Alfred's brother, Matthew, forbade Alfred from ever purchasing the fake maple syrup. Matt said if he ever got word that Alfred bought that "low grade fake shit", he'd have Alfred deported to a real maple syrup farm for the rest of his life to experience the real stuff).
"Not at all," Arthur nodded, taking a seat and sneaking looks at the rest of Alfred's apartment. The kid had taste, that was for sure. The kitchen took up half of the second room, the other half occupied by a leather grey corner couch facing a big flatscreen. Arthur saw a pillow and a bed sheet thrown over the couch and mentally apologize for making Alfred sleep on the couch while he got the bed.
Plates of fluffy waffles and fatty bacon were set on the bar top island behind the stove and Alfred pulled out a chair next to Arthur and almost immediately began to consume the food.
"So, why breakfast foods if it's almost night?" Arthur asked, eating his food, but with less gusto.
"Thought you might enjoy it. Plus, the smell of bacon is sooooooo good," Alfred grinned between bites. His smile was a welcome sight. Arthur didn't want to get to the heavy stuff yet.
For now, Arthur enjoyed the sweetness of the syrup and the rich (if not greasy) taste of the bacon. Somehow, having 'dinner' like this felt... natural. Like they hadn't broken up five years ago.
"So... How'd you find me?" Arthur asked again. Most of his food was gone now and Alfred was making seconds.
Alfred made a weird face. "You texted me."
Arthur stopped eating and frowned at Alfred. Why would he make up something like that? "Seriously."
"I am being serious, Art. You texted me. Or someone did with your phone," Alfred pulled out his phone to show Arthur. The author could and could not believe it at the same time. "Who would text me using your phone number? Especially to direct me to you in... that condition." Alfred wondered. How was Arthur going to explain this? Fake innocence? Tell him the truth?
But one thing was for sure, Arthur now knew that Alfred finding him was no accident. Jack had deliberately led the American to him. What was he planning?
"Well..." Arthur said, not meeting Alfred's eyes. "I know the answer... but you have to hear me out until the end." This time, Alfred was the one who frowned.
"This better not be some sick prank," Alfred said, suddenly suspicious. Arthur rolled his eyes. Both of them knew that Arthur really wasn't one who enjoyed pranks but Arthur supposed that Alfred was just covering all his bases.
"Okay..." Arthur said, taking a deep breath. Please, please believe him. "You remember that I said I wanted to be an author, right?" Alfred noded. "Well... I write under the pen name, Arthur Harris-"
"I know. I've read them. Whoever was using your phone told me you were an author." Alfred said as a matter of factly. Arthur paused, frowned a little and then continued.
"Well... the characters from the books... They're real. And... They're here in New York City right now."
There was a very long pause.
Alfred blinked a few times and Arthur could practically see the cogs working in Alfred's mind.
"So... the one who kidnapped you was...?"
"Jack O'Connell."
"The mastermind killer."
"Yes." Arthur said. "And somehow, I need to put them back into the book, or do something to get things back to normal."
"But why are they here in the first place?" Alfred ased. "If the series is done, then shouldn't the character arcs be finished?"
"One would think..." Arthur said. "But they're here anyway..."
"So... if your killer's here... where's your protagonist? Um... Francis is his name?" Alfred asked. Arthur felt a pang of guilt. Here he was having an absolutely lovely breakfast/dinner with his ex (of all people) while Francis could still be, or is, in Jack's possession.
"I don't know... I don't know anything of... 'normal' life since last night... or two days ago..." Arthur said, a seed of anxiety already blossoming in his mind.
"Well... would you be up to returning to that hotel?" Alfred asked, watching Arthur carefully.
Arthur glanced up from his folded hands to look at Alfred. "Yeah... I'll be fine."
"Alright. Did you want to borrow something of mine to wear and get cleaned up before we go?" Alfred asked as he stood. He took both of their plates and rinsed them before putting them in the chrome dishwasher.
"Sure, um... Thank you... Alfred," Arthur said gratefully. Alfred's name felt foreign on his tongue. It had been so long since the two had a normal (or at least civil) conversation.
Arthur got up from the bartop and navigated himself to Alfred's bathroom. When Arthur saw himself in the mirror, he frowned at what he saw.
His hair was pointing in every different direction, his skin was dirty and clammy, the pajamas he wore were torn and burnt and most of all, the dark circles and bags under Arthur's eyes were so intense, Arthur felt like he was turning into an old racoon. No wonder Alfred seemed hesitant with Arthur. He looked like he'd been living in the rubbish bin for the last five years since their separation, Arthur thought bitterly.
Arthur turned on the shower and stepped in, washing his hair and lathering his body quickly. He scrubbed his skin until all the dirt had been washed down the drain and Arthur's skin had turned pink with friction and heat.
When he got out, he saw that Alfred had placed clean clothes and a towel out for Arthur. With a blush, and a realization that Alfred had entered the bathroom while Arthur was showering. Arthur quickly dried himself off and then dressed. Arthur wasn't sure if it was the heat of the shower water or if it was the fact that he'd dated Alfred, but having Alfred's clothes on, just being in Alfred's apartment, made him feel... excited.
But then his mind turned to Francis and it all felt wrong.
"Alfred? I'm ready." Arthur said, coming out of the bathroom. He stood in a pair of Alfred's jeans (much too baggy for Arthur's leaner figure) and a t-shirt of Alfred's that declared "Nerdy And Proud". Alfred looked up from his desk and stifled some laughter.
"I forgot how much smaller you were than me..." he chuckled. "You look like you're still in college..." Arthur scowled at him.
"Belt up, wanker. I just didn't want to look like I had... you know... just been... ah, nevermind," Arthur trailed off, not really wanting to think about where he was two nights ago.
Alfred nodded, his laughter dying down. "Yeah... Just noticing that you haven't changed much since I last saw you... Let's go then," he stood and went to the apartment's door, making sure Arthur was following.
They walked down to the elevators and finally made it to the street. Arthur felt himself feeling a little overwhelmed by the loud honks and chatter of people talking even though the light was disappearing from the sky. Arthur thought to himself that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to tolerate city life for very long. He felt the world starting to swirl around him a bit and a churning of his stomach made him wobble a little.
Then, Arthur felt a set of hands on his shoulders. "You alright?" Alfred asked from behind Arthur. Somehow, he'd noticed despite all the distractions from the New York streets.
"Yeah... I'll be fine..." Arthur said softly. Alfred hailed a taxi and the two waited until one finally pulled over for them. All the while, Alfred kept one hand on Arthur's shoulder. Somehow, it settled his stomach and Arthur didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. Finally, they got a taxi.
They sat in silence for the entirety of the ride to the hotel, but to Arthur, it was... a relatively comfortable silence. Arthur was okay with silence with company.
They arrived at the hotel and Alfred paid the cabbie. They stood on the sidewalk together, looking up at the building, both deep in thought.
I should've called Kiku when I woke up... Arthur thought guiltily. I hope he's not too worried.
They walked into the hotel and rode the elevator up to Arthur's floor. It's unusual that Alfred's so silent, Arthur thought. He's definitely changed...
They walked to Kiku's room first. Arthur knocked on the door. There was a pause before the door opened and Kiku opened the door, saw Arthur, and immediately hugged him.
"Where were you? You and Francis disappeared without telling me! Were you mad that I went to the party after the convention?" Kiku asked, looking Arthur up and down once he released him. "Forgive me for my forwardness, but you really worried me... Are you alright?"
"Ah... I'm fine..." Arthur said, pleased and also guilty that Kiku was so worried. "Francis isn't with you?"
Kiku motioned for him to come inside the room, looked Alfred once over before inviting him in too. "I was about to ask you the same thing... Please, tell me what happened..."
The three sat down and Arthur quickly caught Kiku up, leaving out some of the... details of his time with the killer. Needless to say, Kiku was more than surprised that Arthur and Francis were missing because of another real life fictional character and not because Kiku had a moment of selfishness.
"So... Jack kidnapped Francis at the same time, but he hasn't been found yet..." Kiku said after the long explanation. "Now... who is he?" He looked at Alfred now who was calmly looking around the hotel room.
"I'm Alfred. Ex." Alfred looks at Kiku and half smiled. Arthur nearly scowled at Alfred for the simplicity and shortness of his answer. "For some reason, this Jack character led me to Arthur."
"He must have a reason for doing so..." Kiku's petite eyebrows furrowed. "Jack is a character who likes to 'play with his food before eating it'..."
"I can't imagine what he wants with me or Alfred," Arthur said.
"Well... why does this guy usually kill?" Alfred asked. "Why did you make Jack a killer?"
Kiku and Alfred's eyes were on Arthur now and he suddenly felt nervous.
"Why does that matter? He kills because he wants to compensate for something..." Arthur said nervously. "Usually, serial killers go through some sort of traumatic event, or they're lacking some sort of emotion. That's the thing they have to compensate for."
"What happened to him then?" Alfred prompted.
"I, um..." Arthur struggled, his mind racing to come up with an answer.
Arthur didn't want to admit it, but he had created Jack to recover from the termination of his relationship with Alfred. He wanted to create someone who was impervious to emotional pain. That person had to be directly opposite to Francis, the flamboyant, kind, emotional journalist who had casual relationships like having a bag of crisps. He was what Arthur wanted at the time. Arthur did not want to feel emotional pain again.
"His family never loved him. They loved others, but not him. He grew up without ever having experienced love." Arthur finally explained. He drew from an article he read while researching serial killers. "Jack wanted to 'love' in the only way he knew how."
"That's fucked up, Art," Alfred made a face, breaking the morose feeling that had started to descend over the trio. Kiku and Arthur glanced at each other, and then at Alfred. "It's horrible to think that there are actual people who have the will and desire to do shit like that..."
"Well, I still don't understand how learning about Jack's past would reveal why he would bring you into the mix, Alfred," Arthur sighed. He was curious himself though, of course. "Our main focus right now should be finding Francis."
"Right. We should check the rest of the hotel then. Alfred, if you will permit me to have your phone number, I can go down to the lobby and ask if they've seen Jack or if he left any clues about Francis's whereabouts," Kiku held out his hand and Alfred easily and willingly plunked his phone into the Japanese man's hand. Kiku fiddled with the screen a bit before handing the phone back to Alfred. "There. You two should probably stick together since Arthur doesn't have a cell phone."
Arthur looked a little sheepish (if not slightly annoyed that everyone insisted he have a portable landline) but he nodded in agreement anyway.
The trio stood and parted ways, Kiku descending and Alfred and Arthur ascending. After Alfred hit the floor number, the two fell into an uncomfortable silence. After a few minutes, Alfred spoke.
"So, what is Francis to you, Arthur?"
God, what timing, you wanker, Arthur thought.
"Why does it matter to you?" Arthur asked. He refused to look at what kind of face the American was making. He would not even dare a peak.
"Because I don't want to be saving a total douche." Alfred shrugged. Really, he wanted to know if, by some miracle, Arthur now prefered French men, and if Alfred would have to brush up on his French.
Arthur rolled his eyes. Forget what he thought earlier about the possibility of Alfred maturing. He was still such a child. "Don't be ridiculous. You've read my books. He's not a douche. He's a respectable man." Arthur then realized that he was defending the character he had hated and killed off. What a strange turn of events. But now, Alfred's question rattled around in Arthur's mind. What was Francis to him?
The elevator dinged quietly as they rose to the upper levels.
"So what room did you find me in?" Arthur asked, even though he felt himself tensing up at the thought of going back in that sinister hotel room.
"Uh... room thirty-five?" Alfred said. He gestured down the right hall and Arthur led the way, silently counting the room numbers as the pair passed each numbered plate.
Arthur's heart beat rapidly as he neared the door. He walked closer and closer to the room until he could just reach out and set his hand on the door's handle.
He tried the door. Locked.
Confusion ran through Arthur's eyes. "Alfred... the door's locked."
"What? How is that...?" Alfred frowned. Arthur moved out of the way and Alfred tried the handle too. "What the hell?"
"I don't know... Are you sure this is the right room?" Arthur asked. He looked down both ends of the hall as if something would pop out at him to make the door unlock.
Suddenly, Alfred began kicking the door close to the lock, each kick planted with significant force, each accompanied by a loud bang. Arthur yelped and jumped back, until the lock on the door cracked and the door slammed open.
"Bloody hell, a little warning before you turn into a battering ram?" Arthur mumbled. He walked inside the room only to find it... normal.
The furniture was placed similarly to Kiku's room, no longer pushed to one wall. The door that Arthur had been kept behind had been repaired, the hinges screwed back into the wall, the cracks somehow repaired and painted. His prison/room had been cleaned, the lights and furniture replaced.
"What the..." Alfred said from behind Arthur. He sounded just as confused as Arthur felt. "Everything's normal..."
"I know... How are we going to find Francis if the room's been cleaned?" Arthur wondered aloud. There had to be a reason as to why it was cleaned and why this room in particular.
Then... something seemed to click in Arthur's brain.
"Alfred, why do you think I was kept in this room? Why not the top floor as far away as possible from other people? There are still people in this hotel. " Arthur asked. He left the room quickly, frowning as he feared his suspicions might be correct.
"Wait, Arthur!" Alfred followed the rushing Brit to the elevators. "Where are you going?"
"Alfred, one of the most noticeable things about Jack is that he's a sucker for numbers with meanings." Arthur nearly punched the elevator button, turning on Alfred. "What floor are we on right now?"
"Uh, the twenty third. Why?" Alfred asked, hesitant and still confused. "What's so suspicious about that? It's pretty high."
"Don't you remember? It's my birthdate. The twenty-third of April! St. George's Day!" Arthur said. "If I'm correct, Francis will be on..."
"Dude, I literally don't celebrate other countries' holidays." Alfred deadpanned. "I'm American. The most foreign thing we celebrate is St. Patrick's Day."
Arthur rolled his eyes. "The fourteenth of July. France's independence day! Bastille Day!"
"Why'd you make that his birthday?" Alfred made a face. "To make him special?"
The elevator door opened and Arthur ran in, pressed the button for floor fourteen. "No stupid, I just... didn't have any other date in mind. That's like asking why you were born on July fourth."
"Francis wasn't born though, Arthur. I was." Alfred made an 'I'm so not happy with you right now' face but Arthur ignored the look.
The elevator seemed to descend slowly but pretty soon they were being let off at the fourteenth flour. The hallway was silent when they stepped off.
"Arthur!" Alfred whispered. "What if Jack's still in the room?"
"Then you'll knock him out." Arthur said. The walk down the hall seemed like it was taking forever. His heart thumped wildly in his chest and everything in his body was simultaneously telling him to rip the door off the frame and also run away and return to England on the first plane out.
They finally reached the thirty-eighth door.
"Wait, why are we here?" Alfred asked, confused again.
"Because Francis is thirty-eight years old."
"Francis is thirty-eight?" Alfred asked in disbelief. "He looks so young! Twenties!"
Arthur resisted another eye roll. "He's older than me in this world, apparently. In my series, he's twenty-five."
"How'd you know he's older in the 'real' world then?" Alfred asked. He was a little worried now that Francis was around Arthur's age.
"He came with an ID card," Arthur said. "Quite conveniently actually. Apparently he's had amnesia for a while."
"Hm," was all Alfred could say. The two stood in front of room thirty-eight. "Ready?"
"Ready."
"Francis, Francis, my lovely Francis," the voice sung. Though the room was dark, the man's leer was bright as day for the Frenchman.
Francis struggled against his bonds, letting out a pitiful whimper.
"You were the toughest to crack, but I did it once~" The man sang with glee. "It's a shame you don't remember anything..."
"And I'm glad I don't!" Francis yelled, however his words were met with a loud and very hard smack across his right cheek.
"You will have to be broken again," Jack hissed. He clamped his hands on Francis's shoulders, then slid them down to the front of Francis's shirt. Jack hauled him to his feet, pulling him almost nose to nose with the other man. "As I said before, the next will be yours!"
Francis's eyes widened as he actually recognized the words, not from the book but from his actual life and memories.
Flashes of a woman holding his hand suddenly clouded his vision, images of bloody corpses, and flashing police lights. He remembered snuggling with someone in a small flat, spritzing on cologne that smelled of flowers and wood, of listening to police radio frequencies and writing down the words.
But he also remembered Arthur's cat, Elizabeth, as she rubbed her face on his ankles. He remembered Arthur's small house that smelled of freshly brewed tea and honey. He remembered Arthur's beautiful green eyes that were lit by the restaurant's candle light and the way they looked at the books he held and the way they looked at Francis.
The Frenchman was then shoved back against the cold tile floor and his heart clenched painfully.
"You'll remember!" Jack crowed. "You'll remember and you'll repeat yourself again!"
Francis squeezed his eyes shut and curled up into a ball, trying to ignore Jack's maniacal laughter. He heard Jack open the door again and then the sound of it closing. He heard a lock and then it was blissfully silent.
Slowly, Francis's heart beats became less intense. Francis did not dare open his eyes because he knew he would see red. He knew that anything he touched would turn red. He nearly laughed to himself out of the irony of his situation. He'd escaped his story and yet, here he was, repeating the plot again.
He didn't know how much time had passed now but the next thing Francis knew was that the door had been flung open and a pair of voices filled the room.
"He's not here, Art!" one said.
"That's good! I found him, Alfred! Francis? Francis, it's me, Arthur," A gentle hand was placed on Francis's shoulder. The touch was light and unthreatening.
Francis peaked his head out of his curled form to see those beautiful peridot eyes. Somehow, they had found their way to him. Somehow, they were saving him.
Francis cried then. Big, hot tears rolled over Francis's bruised cheeks and he found himself uncurling himself only to curl back into Arthur's chest.
Arthur gently embraced the Frenchman back, glad to have found him. "Shhh... it's alright... it's alright... You'll be safe now..." He rubbed a comforting hand on Francis's back in big, slow circles.
"We're going to get you out of here, alright?" Arthur said. "Can you walk?"
It took Francis nearly five minutes to finally compose himself.
"Yes, but I am bound..." he said. For once, he struggled with his words and with keeping his voice from shaking.
"Right... hmm... this time, he used rope..." Arthur said as he looked around the room for something sharp to cut Francis's bonds. He was both disappointed and somewhat relieved that he didn't' find anything. "Alfred? Can you find something to cut rope out there?" Arthur called.
Francis, though his mental state was in question at the time, was less than pleased when the American who seemed to radiate promise, hope and success walked through the door to free him. Francis was torn between wanting to be free and wanting Arthur to explain who this new man was and what he may mean to the Englishman.
Arthur cut the ropes with a pocketknife he pulled from his jacket's pocket and stepped back, each man sizing each other up. Arthur suddenly felt very aware and very uncomfortable with the tension in the air. He chose to ignore it.
"Come on, Francis. We should get you out of here..." Arthur stood up and offered a hand to Francis, who gratefully took it. While Arthur led Francis out of the room, the Frenchman had no shame in exaggerating his shaky legs and leaned on Arthur a bit more than he was probably allowed.
"Where are we even going?" Alfred asked, choosing to ignore his new rival's terribly obvious actions. "Your hotel room or my apartment?" Alfred really didn't want to invite his enemy into his private home but he also wanted to show off the established life that Francis did not have as a fictional character.
"We need to reconvene with Kiku. Can you call him and tell him to meet us at our hotel room?" Arthur asked Alfred. The American nodded and called Kiku.
"He'll meet us there," he reported shortly.
"Thanks. Francis, are you alright?" Arthur asked, concerned again with Francis's well being. Francis felt that he could get used to the care.
"Yeah, just... processing," Francis nodded, smiling small.
"You can take a nap if you want while Alfred, Kiku and I talk about what happened, okay?" Arthur said, watching for Francis's reaction. Having been through a similar ordeal, he predicted Francis would sleep almost as soon as he was laid down on a bed.
"Ah... I want to listen..." Francis said as the three rode the elevator down to Arthur and Kiku's adjacent rooms.
"Are you sure? Well, we should get your ah... injuries tended to before we start though..." Arthur said, trying to keep the conversation going as Alfred had suddenly gone quiet since they entered Francis's make-shift prison. The elevator ride down and the walk to the hotel room was uncomfortably quiet.
Kiku came out of the room, saw Francis then ushered the trio inside.
"Will you be okay?" he asked Francis urgently. He gently pushed Francis to the shared bedroom and went to the bathroom to see if he could find any medical supplies or something to treat the small cuts and scrapes.
"I will be fine. Thank you, Kiku," Francis said. He could already feel himself getting more tired as he started relaxing into the bed, but he fought the need to sleep. Not yet, I have to keep an eye on Arthur.
"I am assuming you did not confront Jack then?" Kiku asked, coming out of the bathroom with some bandages and hydrogen peroxide he had fortunately packed in the small medkit he usually packed.
"No, he was gone when we arrived." Arthur said, his disappointment evident. "Though, we really had no plan for if we did come face to face with him..."
"Do you think we should... end Jack's life?" Kiku asked for a moment. "Do you think we should let the police handle this?"
Arthur thought, no knowing the answer himself. What would happen if Jack was killed? Would Arthur's story be affected? Would Francis?
"Would they believe us?" Arthur asked in response. Everyone was silent for a moment as they thought to themselves, imagining hypothetical situation and outcomes.
"How do we get rid of this guy?" Alfred asked. "How should we?"
"Okay, let's think this out then... We know hardly anything about this situation. We know we have a killer at large who likes to play with his victims and knows he's a character. Why does he know who he is and not Francis?" Kiku said, pulling out a pad to take notes.
"Might as well add that question to the ever-increasing list of questions," Alfred said dryly. "This really isn't something you can Google."
Arthur sighed and was about to say something to Alfred about his less than helpful remark when Francis started to speak.
"I... I actually remember," Francis said softly. Arthur turned to look at him and, this time, really looked at him.
Francis's hair was wiry and ruffled, not as shiny as it once was. His stubble had grown, giving a rougher texture to his face. His beautiful sapphire eyes seemed to have darkened and Arthur noticed some extra lines around Francis's eyes. The last thing Arthur noticed was Francis's posture. The French man's posture had changed from a slightly overconfident stance to a withdrawn and more internalized demeanor. Francis sat with his legs tucked closer than before his arms crossed and pressed to his abdomen.
"I remember parts of the story..." Francis said again, bringing Arthur out of his trance.
"How... What made you remember?" Kiku asked, who was the first to regain his tongue of the group.
Francis looked away then. "He... he said some stuff from your book and I guess they triggered some memories..."
More silence.
"What did you remember?" Arthur asked, his eyes still on Francis.
"A lot," he takes a deep breath. "But I think I remember more than you wrote about me, Arthur..." He looked up at Arthur. "I am remembering memories of my mother... And people who are my siblings... I remember lunch with coworkers at what I can assume is the office where I reported to my boss for stories and lunch time with the other reporters..."
"Wow... I... What does that mean then? You're developing your own... life?" Arthur said in amazement. Now, not only were his characters in the real world but now Francis had a developing history. What if Jack had remembered his own past?
"I guess..." Francis said, acting almost sheepish. "I'm not sure how... to handle these memories though..."
"Do you remember anything about Jack? Anything that would help us?" Alfred spoke. He met Francis's gaze with his own. It was steady more than anything, if not a touch bit challenging.
"No, nothing," Francis said but kept his head high anyway.
"Then we're at an impasse," Alfred said. "How about we take a break and try to sleep on this?" His entire stance screamed annoyance at Francis and his tone was curt and short, but Arthur and Kiku didn't seem to notice.
"Fine, I could do with a few more hours of sleep..." Arthur said, standing from where he sat. He yawned and nodded to the other members of the room. "Goodnight Kiku, Alfred, are you going to go back to your apartment?" Before Alfred could say anything, Kiku spoke up.
"Alfred, if you would like, you may sleep on the pull out couch to stay close to us. Now that you're involved, you may be at risk."
Alfred paused but then nodded. "Alright. Thanks, Kiku." Kiku nodded and went to get some extra sheets.
Arthur and Francis bid Alfred and Kiku a good night and went to their own separate bedroom. Alfred's eyes naturally followed Arthur as he disappeared through the door and he wished that he didn't know that Francis and Arthur would be in the same room.
"So, who is the American?" Francis asked casually. Arthur shouldn't have been surprised but he felt some of the tension between the two men.
"He's... just an old friend." Arthur said, not really wanting to get into this awkward and not-so-happy topic with Francis at the moment. Though Arthur had to hand it to Francis. He probably wouldn't have the effort to talk about such an exhausting subject if Arthur were in Francis's place.
"Oh," was all Francis said, surprising Arthur. Arthur was expecting some more questions or a bit more curiosity but... there was none. Francis just went to the bathroom and starting brushing his teeth. Alfred had asked the same thing as Francis had but had followed up with more comments. Arthur on the other hand didn't know how he felt about either of them, to be honest.
While Arthur was thinking, Francis finished brushing his teeth and got a good look at himself then.
He saw only an aged, if not scruffier, version of himself but felt... okay despite coming face to face with Jack. He reached for his razor though, wanting to rid himself of the longer, darker hairs that grew around his neck and chin. His hair grew quite quickly but it was a nice inbetween of prickly and soft.
As he slathered on the shaving cream and started dragging the razor over his skin, Arthur left the bathroom after having brushed his own teeth and changed into a new pair of pajamas. Francis heard Arthur moving around the other room and felt himself relax some more. He sighed and began to rinse his face and the shaving cream off. The cold water felt good on his skin and he splashed the cool liquid over his entire face, rubbing at his eyes gently.
Then he straightened up and looked in the mirror, suddenly jumping back and letting out a strangled scream. There, written on the mirror were the very words that Jack had last said to him. Francis's fingers were covered in warm, sticky blood and he suddenly felt nauseous, the world tilting around him.
"Francis? Francis!" Arthur came skidding around the corner. He grabbed Francis's wrists, holding them firmly. "Francis, what did you do to yourself?"
Then, everything was clear to him.
The words were not a hallucination of his fragile mind. They were real and Francis had written them with his own blood. Francis's cheek stung where the razor had cut him and he felt the blood trickle down his cheek and down his neck. Francis moved a hand to his cheek to stop the blood flow.
"That's a pretty serious cut, Francis..." Arthur said, getting a towel for the cut, pausing only when he saw that the towel was white. He mentally apologized to the hotel staff as he pressed towel against the cut gently. "Here, hold this. I'm going to see if I can get Kiku's med kit... Stay here, okay?" Arthur was about to leave when he saw the words that had been smudged on the mirror.
"Francis." Arthur's voice was firm, but looking at Arthur's face, Francis could see something resembling guilt from the creases in the author's face. "Do not let him or the story get to you. You are separate from your story now." Arthur stared into Francis's eyes, his hands once again on Francis's cheeks, avoiding the towel and the cut. He pressed his forehead to Francis's. "You are more than Francis Bonnefoy, the journalist main character of Arthur Harris's series."
Francis smiled slightly, though he couldn't get rid of the knot in his stomach. "Thank you," he whispered. He felt some of his panic die down a bit now. "I know. I'll do my best."
"Good. Do better than your best though." Arthur said. "I don't want to see you suffer..." Then, he paused and kissed Francis's forehead gently.
Francis was pleasantly surprised when he felt Arthur's lips and smiled.
"Well, that makes all of this worth it," he looked at Arthur when they parted. Arthur's blush made it even better. "You're very cute, mon petit chou," he paused. "And I still love you, you know..."
Arthur smiled despite his extreme embarrassment and the urge to hide under his blankets away from Francis. "I may not be... right for you and we're practically from different worlds but... I think I can return your feelings..."
Francis couldn't help but to feel one-hundred times better than before. He felt lifted, excited, and hopeful again. The churning of his stomach seemed to just evaporate away. THe problem of Jack and where he came from and what his life was like before Arthur didn't matter anymore.
Francis leaned in to kiss Arthur properly this time and the kiss, the blissful moment was gloriously shared between them.
"I've still got to get you a bandage, I'll be back, okay, love?" Arthur said after they pulled apart again. He fidgeted a little under the Frenchman's soft gaze but also seemed calmer than Francis thought he should be. Almost... cautious?
Brushing off Francis's suspicions, he leaned back against the wall and sighed to himself. Overall, he was content now, but he knew and remembered that the battle with Jack was just getting started.
16
