A.N. I have a lot to say, but I'll save it for the end.
Read ahead.
Chapter Thirteen:
This is what Eugene dreamt:
He stands upon a deserted alley, waiting for the signal to come. Anticipation races through his being. Tonight will mark a turn in the life of Flynn Rider. For two years, he has crept through the streets of Corona, vying for himself, struggling to survive. If he succeeds here, he might never have to worry about sustaining himself. If he succeeds here, poverty will fade into some distant memory.
A call rings out in the silence, three short blasts, like a crow, and a smile takes charge of his lips. He has never done anything quite like this before, but Hunter has promised him great success, has promised him that this cannot fail. And he believes him, entirely. For two years he has known only turmoil and uncertainty, but Hunter promises to change all that.
He moves through the streets like a phantom unseen. Dusk has fallen on this place, on the town of Corona like a dark cover, but there's a light burning in him, a beacon of hope he cannot dim.
Hunter stands at the corner of a street dressed in black pants and a navy blue top. He does not glance at Flynn as he passes. Such is the plan. They need not speak, need not make contact. Their parts are known and they will be played. They can talk when it is done.
Eugene keeps moving in stealthy silence, his excitement fading to slight anxiety as the weight of the task falls upon him. He knows what is expected, knows the pressure upon him to succeed, but he cannot let it stop him. He must embrace this sudden panic, and use it to his advantage as he has done on many occasions before.
The houses down the next street are all the same. They rise up before him, edifices of brownstone. Here reside the rich: the wealthier and more prominent citizens of Corona, citizens who serve the kingdom as intelligentsia, bureaucrats, and merchants of trade. Most are members of the council of advisors that serve the king. Unlike the rest of Corona, these houses stand with an elegant grace, signs of a growing distance between the rich and the poor. It angers Eugene and solidifies his intent to succeed.
He reaches the house that tonight will change everything. It looks no different than those flanking it on either side, at least not on the exterior. Inside, though, its potential is unlimited. He pulls a piece of paper from his pocket, not for lack of remembrance, but because the scrawling lines of Hunter's hand, detailing his point of entry in an accurate diagram, holds some reassurance.
Pausing for one final second in the dark shadows, he takes a deep breath to calm his raging emotions before crossing into the street and creeping behind the promising structure.
He presses himself against the wall, recalling all of Hunter's instructions. There is a drain near the edge. It will be his guide to the top floor. But first, he must wait.
Minutes pass; he cannot be sure how many, but time seems to drag slowly at a most agonizing pace until finally the sound of whistling fills the air.
Peering around the corner, he watches as Hunter stalks into view, looking rather jovial. As he watches, Flynn finds himself mesmerized by the self-assured calm of this boy only three years his senior. He seems so much older in this moment. He always has been an intimidating figure in Flynn's life, like an apprentice and his master. This is his first chance to prove to Hunter that he is capable, that he hasn't placed his trust in the wrong man's hands. He will not fail.
Hunter disappears from view, but Flynn can imagine him in his mind, crossing to the front door, without trepidation, his fist rising to knock upon the ebony door.
He hears the knocks. There are three, each a short blast of a signal. This is it.
There is no time to be wasted. With able hands, Flynn clings to the drain and scrambles up the wall as if he cannot fall. He has become rather adept at wall climbing, and this drain makes his job ever simpler, permitting him to reach the window sill within seconds, just as a voice echoes from the front of the house.
"Can I help you?" The voice is gruff, distrusting. This man he does not know. Only a name. Vincent Larsus. A merchant, the most prominent merchant burdened with a great treasure. He will not be burdened for much longer.
Hunter's voice comes next, gentle yet assured. "Good evening, Mr. Larsus. I hope I'm not disturbing you at this late hour…"
Flynn pays no more attention as he pulls at the window. There is a lock, just as Hunter said there would be. That matters not.
Taking his dagger, he works away at one pane, cutting it from its holding. He catches it before it can shatter upon the ground below and cause a commotion and slides it away as he works next at the lock at the window.
He hears the click and a triumphant grin takes its place on his lips. He should not be cocky. This is only one obstacle overcome.
In silent stealth, he crosses into the room, bringing the window to a close behind him. He glances around the space, remembering the diagram again. Hunter labelled this as Study.
The table and shelves of books confirm this. So where to next?
He creeps into the hall, careful now. There is staircase to his left. Below he can hear the sound of voices. He does not know how long Hunter can keep Vincent talking. He should not worry about it. That is not his job. His job is finding the treasure and getting it from this place as silently and quickly as possible.
So which room?
There are four rooms on this floor. Study. Bedroom. Spare room. Treasure room. He doubts Vincent calls it such, but if all is as Hunter says, this is where he'll find the abundance of wealth.
"Hello?"
The voice takes him by surprise, so quiet, so high-pitched. It is a child's voice, a girl's voice.
He turns to see the small figure lingering in the hall behind him. A door is ajar to her left. Spare Room. It is her bedroom. Why didn't Hunter say?
In all their discussions, Hunter has never brought up such a detail. He is fairly certain that Hunter never made any reference to any family. This strikes him as funny, but he has no room to dwell as the girl continues to speak.
"Who are you?"
She is tiny, so very young, he guesses no older than five. Her hair is a chestnut brown and is rather long. She has large round eyes, crystal blue, like sapphires. She seems frail.
"Just a friend." This is the first thing that pops into Flynn's mind. It is the first thing he says.
She regards him with drooping eyes. Her hands rub at her face as a yawn escapes her lips. "A friend?" she repeats.
Flynn nods, suddenly fearful of the time starting to run down. He listens for voices, and he can hear Hunter's muffled voice still talking, though it sounds aggravated now. He cannot linger anymore.
"My name's Eugene," he tells her, uncertain why he is telling her that. He realizes the name sounds funny on his lips. He has not called himself that in a while. "I work with your father. We were just having a meeting." The lie flies easily from his mouth and she drinks it in with trusting eyes. She has not yet learned the danger of strangers. She soon will. "You should get back to bed." He words it as a suggestion, trying to use a gentle tone, one he used to fall on when reading nighttime stories to the children at the orphanage.
She tugs at her nightgown and yawns again. "Okay," she whispers, turning then. "Goodnight Eugene."
"Goodnight." He feels a tug on his heart, though he does not know why. Waiting until she is gone from sight, he speeds towards the next room, the room where he will find his intended prize.
Coming into the room, he closes the door behind him. It is plagued in darkness.
Taking a match from his pocket, he lights it. There is a candle on the table beside him. He puts the match to the wick, watching as the fire takes root, and then permits himself to gaze around the room.
He has not expected this.
There is a fireplace pressed against one wall. The opposing one supports a bookshelf. The rest of the walls are blank; the rest of the room is empty.
"What the…"
His thoughts are silenced as the sound of a door bursting open pervades the room. He can hear yelling and he knows something's gone wrong, terribly wrong.
Filled with sudden panic, he prepares to leave, but he cannot. I have to do this, he thinks fiercely, looking around the room once more. I can't give up.
Hoping that Hunter can hold back Vincent, he hurries to the fireplace. He is certain that there is some secret room here, some special compartment where Vincent's belongings are hidden. But where?
His fingers roam the entire fireplace, searching for some loose piece, some button, some contraption. There is none.
He moves next to the bookshelf as the sound of yelling grows ever more rowdy. For a second, his thoughts fly to the girl. He wonders if she is scared. It is wiped from his mind as a large banging noise echoes next. He has no time to wonder.
Books fly by as he wrenches them from their place hoping one will guide him to some discovery. But the bookshelf is emptied and there is nothing for him to show. He is going to fail. The thought rushes through him painful clarity. All this will be for nought.
He slams his foot forcefully on the floor in aggravation and the tile beneath it dislodges.
Bending down in disbelief, he pulls it free and stares down into the abyss below. He can see nothing.
His hand reaches for the slab beside it and works this free too. Four or five more come out at his guidance and suddenly he can see the treasure he has come for.
There are three boxes lying there. He removes all three. They are not heavy, a fact that makes him grow suspicious. He has not yet realized that silence has fallen through the house again.
He lifts the cover of the first box. Inside lies a parchment, tied in a scarlet bow. He places this aside, considering it to be of no value before moving towards the second.
"Flynn!"
Hunter stands in the doorway, looking furious. There is a cut above his right eye and a bruise beginning to blossom on the same cheek. Blood drips from his mouth.
"What happened…"
"No time," Hunter interjects, racing to his side. He sees the boxes and a triumphant glean takes its place in his eyes. "You found it."
"I think so," Flynn concurs. "What…"
"Later. We're leaving now."
In haste, Hunter grabs the three boxes while Flynn stands. Hunter hands them over. "Go from the back. I'll meet you at our rendezvous."
He wants to question him, to understand the reason for the hurriedness, but he does not. There is some fierce expression on Hunter's face, one that is aggravated and he does not care to provoke Hunter's anger.
Shoving the boxes into the bag slung round his shoulder, Flynn hurries to the Study and makes his way down to the ground below. He realizes now in the cold air that they have won. Whatever obstacle Hunter might have met, they have succeeded. The burden of the boxes does not feel an unwanted weight. It is a welcomed one.
He takes to the back of the houses, moving further away from Vincent and possible demise. There is no one to stop him, but as he goes, he can hear the sound of screams filling the air. This alone causes him to hesitate.
Turning, he wonders after the sounds, his mind urging him to go back, that something might be wrong, that Hunter is in danger. But then Hunter's figure arrives, looking grim but triumphant.
"We're not safe yet, Flynn," he says, running past him.
Flynn makes to follow but then stops again as the smell of acrid smoke reaches him. "What's going on?" he asks, his eyes trying to glean the distance.
Hunter pauses hesitantly. "Must be a fire," he says unemotionally.
Flynn's heart skips a beat. He remembers lighting a candle. "At that house."
"It was starting when I left. But I got Vincent out. He's fine."
But Flynn was not thinking of Vincent. With sudden ferocity, he wrenches the bag from his shoulder and drops it to the floor. He runs back, Hunter's voice calling after him. He ignores his protests. He does not understand. In his mind he sees the little girl: Vincent's daughter.
He does not know why he cares, but he does. He faces danger should he return, but he has made a mistake, a dreadful mistake. He cannot stand idle.
The house is alight with fire as he returns. He does not know how it caught so quickly, but he does not stop to think on it, his mind forcing him to focus on the girl.
There is a crowd gathering in the front of the house and from the back he can see a man lying dazed on the floor, surrounded by other men. He cannot see the girl and his heart plummets.
The drain is hot, but he crawls despite the biting pain and bursts through the window.
A cloud of smoke meets him and he begins to cough. The fire has not reached here yet, but it will not be long. Out in the hall it rages like a storm, the tongues of the flame licking the wall. It has not yet reached her bedroom. It relieves him slightly.
He coughs as the smoke fills his lungs, stealing his breath. He stumbles into her room. She is not in her bed. Perhaps he was wrong. But then he hears it, the small plea for help.
His body flattens against the floor, and he sees her lying on the floor, her tiny frame curled in a ball in fear. Her eyes meet his and he can see the tears in them. He does not hear her voice, but he sees her lips move and he knows what she is saying. Eugene.
Crawling forward, he reaches for her, and pulls her into his arms. It is becoming ever more difficult to breathe but he cannot stop now.
Her breathing is weak, the coughs wracking her body.
He holds her closer as the flames reach her doorway. There is a window, but it is too small. He will not be able to fit there, and he cannot simply drop her.
His mind is racing. He is running out of options. Pressing her closer, he races forward, breaking through the flames.
He feels as if he's burning, his vision blurring now too as the smoke becomes an impenetrable cover, slowing him, weakening him. Was all this for nothing? Is this his doomsday?
The floor beneath him creaks suddenly and he can hear the cracking and knows what is coming before it does.
It opens up beneath him and he throws himself to the side, protecting the girl in his arms.
He whispers words of comfort to her as he sets his sight on their last chance for escape. Eugene Fitzherbert might have given up, but not he, not Flynn Rider. There is an instinct to survive, a need to prevail here. He cannot fail himself. He will not fail her.
He rushes for the Study, hardly able to breathe. His heart pounds as he clutches to the girl in his arms. He will make it. They will make it.
He flies through the window, the cold air meeting him with kind welcoming. His lungs are hurting, his skin burns as if the fire is on him, but for the moment he forgets. He is sailing through the air, and for a moment, just a moment he wonders if he will continue on, wonders if gravity will loose its hold on him.
It does not, and he plummets downwards towards the ground. But he has fallen before, from greater heights and escaped unscathed.
His body curls around hers as his feet touch upon solid earth and he rolls, his hand cradling her head. He does not let her go as they tumble.
When they come to a stop, he lies still, just breathing. There is pain, but it is not great. He can suppress it for now.
He can hear shouting, but he pays it no heed. They have seen him, he knows this, but for the moment his entire being is focused on the body in his arms. It takes him a few seconds to process, but soon he comes to realize she is not moving.
His next actions are those of a man lost to senselessness. He bends over her, his hand pressing against her chest. He has seen this done before on a friend of his. It worked then, he knows it will work now.
He does it a few times, but there is nothing so he presses his lips to hers, and breathes.
Once, twice, thrice. Nothing.
He goes down again, but a figure crashes into him then, sending him away. A punch falls against his face, and then a second, and then a third. A fourth falls upon his gut and he curls up in agony.
"Vincent, s-she's not moving."
A voice calls the man off Flynn.
"Cordelia!" He cries in frustration as he flings himself over his daughter, performing the manoeuver Flynn has just attempted. He does it in vain.
Flynn watches with wide eyes, a dull ache growing through him. He knows he should escape now while eyes are off him, but he cannot. He can only watch as the man cries in desperation.
Minutes pass, but Flynn feels as if days have gone as he just stands watching, praying to some god, hoping for some miracle. None will come, but he does it anyway as tears rise in his eyes.
Vincent's face lifts then, his own expression caught in distraught sorrow. He is inconsolable in this mourning, but through the lines of loss his features brew to hatred. "You...monster," he hisses. He cradles his daughter's head to his chest. "YOU MURDERER!"
The rest of those gathered turn to Flynn and in this instant, he realizes he can no longer linger in this place.
He runs and they pursue.
Through the darkness, they give chase. He is aching with a number of emotions, but as they push him to fits of adrenaline, he is able to gain ground and the distance between them grows until he breaks into an alley where safety awaits him.
He stumbles into the apartment he has come to call home. Hunter is not there.
As the adrenaline dissipates, he slumps to the floor. Tears course down his cheeks as sobs wrack his body and the events of the night take him over.
A.N. This chapter should not have happened. In my mind, when first I conceived this moment in Eugene's life, I had a rather different image in mind. But it was destroyed the minute I started typing. There was supposed to be so much more to this chapter, but Eugene's dream became bigger than the story, became bigger than everything else and it stole me away and this is the end product. I swear, I've never had such a hard time writing a chapter. I don't know why, I just feel as if it's important to Eugene's character and I hope you will agree.
I would really appreciate response to this chapter, just because I'm not sure about my own feelings for it and I would love to know what you think.
I also want to thank everyone for the extraordinary reviews you've left. Your words make my heart billow with love and I thank you for your support.
Great thanks to Liliththestormgoddess, Wheels4TheOneTrueGod, Tinkfan14here, nikkibeckett1947, 122, Knighting Gale, Cc, Sam, Jnet, mwaterbender.
A few people commented on grammatical errors and I am terribly sorry for them. I do rush to post and don't usually check over my work unless I'm dissatisfied with it. I have read this chapter over a few times, so hopefully there won't be much. But thanks for letting me know and I hope to improve for you all :)
Also, in terms of inconsistency with posting. I am dreadfully sorry about that and hope to be a little more constant. It's hard with school but I think I can promise a post a week for sure, if not sooner. But no longer than a week. I promise. I want to see this story through, and I will not leave it unfinished.
WOW!
Sorry for the long rant, but I just wanted to take care of a few housekeeping things.
Review please. And have *faith* in me. This story will reach its end.
Love,
Faith Rivens