Hello! Yes, I've finally updated!
First off, I must thank the gracious, wonderful, talented, patient Ten for her help!
Another shout out to Xanthia. I will try to incorporate your idea in the next chapter.
I will be fixing some or all of my earlier chapters, so prepare for a slew of updates. This chapter is the only new one.
Many thanks to all who reviewed. It is greatly appreciated.
CHAPTER 21
The soft rays of dawn hit upon the slumbering man's face, causing Dorian Gray's eyes to open in alarm. Morning? How long had he slept? Cursing under his breath, the immortal fumbled around for his pocket watch, his ire growing when he noted it was after 7 a.m. A myriad of terrible things could have happened to that insufferable Sawyer while he lay sleeping...
Gray settled himself. No, he wasn't in Hell...yet. As he tried to smooth out his rumpled clothing, the aristocrat briefly scanned the bedroom he was in. Did the chap who owned this hovel have anything he could possibly borrow? Maybe if he looked more like the buffoons who lived in this part of the woods, he could sneak in closer to find out what was going on with his 'charge'.
A quick rifling through the closet produced a jacket and pair of trousers. The length was longer than what he was used to, but Dorian found them to be an acceptable fit. Besides, he doubted if the man who lived here even knew what a tailor was for. Searching inside the dresser, Gray found a decent shirt, and another item that would help him immensely.
Tucked underneath several articles of clothing was a small, black leather flip wallet. Gray nearly giggled out loud at his luck. It was a badge belonging to a Secret Service Agent. As he hurried to the modest bathroom to tidy himself up, the immortal pushed his curiosity aside.
It wasn't his concern why the owner of the badge didn't take it with him.
77777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777
Skinner silently watched the woman gently run her hand down the side of Sawyer's face as she hummed. It sounded close to a lullaby his own mum sang to him when he was a wee lad. This lady was certainly no threat; acting like what any good mother would do if her child was hurt. Was this Sawyer's mum? The gentleman thief studied her features, but found no similarities that he could tell. If she wasn't the kid's mother, she sure thought she was.
The rogue smiled to himself. Damn, how did Tom do it? He got Quatermain practically foaming at the mouth with worry over him, and now this lady was treating the spy like he was spun gold.
A log rolling into the metal screen in front of the fireplace surprised the normally unflappable Rodney Skinner. The fire was getting too low, but he faced the dilemma of scaring the woman in the room with him if he tried to replenish the wood. The last thing Sawyer's recuperation needed was a hysterical lady. Skinner had never met a woman who didn't at least scream when he made his 'invisible' presence known.
In the bed, Sawyer shivered slightly. The cozy warmth was starting to fade, and it was drawing him closer to consciousness. Something else was wrong. The strong voice and touch that had led him from the point of no return was gone, replaced by another. Deep down he knew the soft voice now speaking to him, but it didn't matter. Why didn't it matter?
As his thoughts began to clarify, Tom's head tossed weakly back and forth, his eyes clamping tighter in distress. He had to find out something, but what? Who was he searching for? The movements grew more urgent as the young man came closer to awareness.
"Blimey," Skinner muttered under his breath when he saw Sawyer begin to stir. Should he get Dr. Jekyll? Maybe even Quatermain? He stood still for a few moments, watching the woman try to soothe the agitated blonde, but it seemed to upset Tom further.
"Sh-h-h...," Mrs. O'Brien pleaded with the young agent. "It's all right, dearest, Miz Aimee is here." An agonized moan left Sawyer's mouth, followed closely by another. The woman immediately dropped her hands, afraid to do more. Was the boy in pain? Was he reliving how he got his injury? Maybe she should call for Dr. Jekyll...
'That's it. I'm getting help,' the former thief thought to himself. He would have to risk upsetting the lady to aid his friend. Before he could put his thoughts into action, the answer to his dilemma came briskly through the bedroom door. Good old Allan's super-sensitive hearing must've picked up on Tom's voice.
"I don't know what's wrong...," Mrs. O'Brien tried to explain to the newcomer as he gently, but firmly moved her off to the side. "I can't seem to get through to him," she said as her eyes began to swim with tears of concern.
Quatermain ignored the woman, instead placing all his attention upon Sawyer. Using one of his large hands, he placed it on the right side of the youth's head, instantly stopping the frantic motions. "None of this, Thomas. You're supposed to be resting," the hunter chastised gently.
Sawyer drifted deeper into sleep. Everything was right again.
777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777
"Did you find out anything?" Campion Bond asked as he entered inside the spacious sitting room of the apartment that the British government set up for Mrs. Harker. Things were getting worse by the day. First these 'beings' were only interested in spies, now they were going after military personnel. Who was next? And what would be left to defend the nations of the Earth?
Lifting up a beaker filled with liquid, Mina tried to hide her disappointment. "This substance appears to be ordinary," she informed the master spy. "I've done every chemical test I could think of, and there's still no trace of any exceptional properties."
"Yet this white powder has been at every abduction site," Bond mused out loud.
Mina only nodded in reply, rubbing at her tired eyes. It had literally been a week of Hell. She had managed to save a paltry amount of soldiers from the invaders, but the number of the missing seemed to grow by the hour, along with her feelings of hopelessness. What she wouldn't give for a dose of Sawyer's optimism...
The thought of her young friend brought the vampiress out of her defeatism. He was the true reason she was doing this, and why she had to succeed. She felt sorry for the other unfortunate souls who were taken, but it was Sawyer's fate that controlled her actions, as if by helping them, she was somehow keeping Tom safe.
"Have you heard if the others had reached Mr. Sawyer?" she ventured to ask her visitor.
"No," Bond admitted, "but I can't see Mr. Quatermain failing in anything he sets his mind to. Have no doubts that the young man is safe in your leader's care."
Normally a comment like that about Quatermain's 'superior attributes' would have irked the auburn haired beauty, but for Sawyer's sake, she prayed the old adventurer was living up to his reputation as being the undisputed hero of lore.
"I hope the American government shares your high esteem of Mr. Quatermain," Mina said with an unfelt smile as she turned back to her work. "They seemed most unwilling to let Mr. Sawyer join us."
Placing his hands behind his back, Bond grinned. "He has that under control as well."
The lady vampire's head snapped up in attention. "How can he achieve such cooperation when it was so forcibly denied on prior occasions? Even your requests were rebuffed."
"Alas, I do not have unlimited access to the Queen Mother."
"Mr. Q does?" Mina looked on in surprise when Bond nodded in the affirmative.
"He has a special dispatch from the Queen herself to the President of the United States," the portly agent supplied. "Your leader has convinced Her Grace to turn Agent Sawyer's involvement into a diplomatic issue. The Americans will not refuse, because they want to improve their relationship with Britain."
Her lips quirking into a genuine smile, Mina nearly jumped up from her chair. Instantly her Victorian 'sensibilities' kicked in, and she stopped herself from the outward display of joy over the news. Besides, she shouldn't be sharing her hug of happiness with the dour man before her; it belonged to the man who would soon be rejoining the League.
777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777
"What's wrong?" Malloy demanded in Quatermain's direction, his head popping inside the bedroom's open doorway.
"The lad's fine now that I'm here," the hunter replied smugly. "Would it be too much for you to ask President McKinley to come in to finish our conversation?"
The chief spy was about to mutter something akin to 'Go straight to hell', but with the country's leader so close by, he chose to grunt a response instead. The great Allan Quatermain was going to find out the hard way that payback was a bitch.
"Did you just say President McKinley?" Mrs. O'Brien asked Allan in a hushed voice. "My Tom knows the President of the United States?" She stood silent for a moment, digesting the knowledge. "I-I guess that would be so...my boy does work for the government."
The adventurer studied the woman, wondering how much she knew of Tom's actual role. "Sawyer told you about his occupation?"
"Oh yes. My dear boy chases after criminals who try to steal or copy our currency." There was obvious pride in Mrs. O'Brien's voice. "He's even gone overseas to catch those awful forgers." She turned anxious eyes to Quatermain. "Is that why my Tom was hurt?"
Seeing the genuine concern in her features, Allan let down his guard a bit. "We don't honestly know, but it's a very real possibility that it was related to his job," he offered as truthfully as he could without giving too much away.
"You must know my Tom very well," Mrs. O'Brien noted, seeing how Allan's hand had not left Sawyer's body. It was now resting upon the spy's left shoulder. "I didn't see you in the picture Dr. Jekyll showed me. Did you come with him?"
"I was...gone...when that picture was taken," Quatermain admitted with a heavy heart. And he certainly was 'gone'...gone into denial and pity, leaving the weight of his death on shoulders that shouldn't have been bearing it.
Pointing to the slumbering youth, the lady gave Allan a warm smile as she reached out and gave the aging man's shoulder a slight squeeze. "Well, my Tom is glad you're here now, and that makes you all right in my book."
Surprised at how her words eased his guilt, the adventurer found himself giving the woman a tiny smile back. "Thank you, Mrs. O'Brien."
"Tsk! Don't mention it! My husband should be here any minute, so I had best get things ready to make breakfast for you all. I know my boy is in good hands."
"There is no need to go to all that trouble...," Allan began to protest.
"I'm here, and I will!" Mrs. O'Brien interrupted, her hands on her hips. "Last night was the first time I laid eyes on my Tom since sweet Huck's funeral, and he and my Joey are all that's left. It's a small thing I can do for him and his new friends."
"Joey?" Quatermain questioned. He recalled a Huckleberry Finn being mentioned by Tom, but he didn't know this other name.
"My Tom, Huckleberry, and Joey were childhood friends. Even worked together." A sad expression overcame the woman's face. "A part of my two boys died when they laid that dear soul to rest. My Tom was the charmer and obvious leader of the three, dear Joey was more practical, and sweet Huckleberry was a laid back, thoughtful boy. Charlie and I adore them like they were our own."
"They sound very close," the explorer said with a glance towards Sawyer.
"Especially my dear Tom and Huckleberry. Those two were thick as thieves." The lady sighed and turned away, quickly dabbing at her wet eyes.
The hunter felt a knot form in his stomach. This 'Joey' was a fellow agent, and an endeared friend as well. Was this young man one of the missing? Would Sawyer have to suffer through another painful 'loss'?
Allan ventured to find out more. "Did this 'Joey' keep in touch with you after the funeral?"
Mrs. O'Brien shook her head. "I stopped by his home before coming here. He had to be told about Tom..."
"So you did talk to him?"
"Yes, I did. He should be coming by soon."
A wave of relief flooded over the seasoned explorer. It was going be hard enough telling Tom about his missing colleagues, but a missing friend would intensify matters worse. The worry became a spark of curiosity. This Joey person obviously knew the Thomas Sawyer he had read about in the scrap book, making it a golden opportunity to ask some questions.
"Mr. Quatermain?"
Allan's head jerked up, his musings interrupted by the arrival of the President into the bedroom. Before he could answer, Mrs. O'Brien chimed in, apologizing for her rude conduct from earlier when she had not realized who he was.
McKinley smiled in understanding. "There was no indiscretion committed, and don't worry a moment longer on the subject."
"Oh, thank you, Sir! I mean, Mr. President," Mrs. O'Brien gushed, inching herself out the door. "Do you like pancakes, Mr. President?"
"Why yes...," the leader answered with a raised brow. He looked over at Quatermain, who rolled his eyes in response.
"Mrs. O'Brien insists on making breakfast," the adventurer explained.
"Thank you, but I won't be staying long," McKinley said apologetically to the woman. "I have some other matters to attend to." The American president turned his attention to Allan. "Captain Nemo will fill you in on some matters," he said in a lower tone, his eyes straying towards the sleeping agent.
"I thank you again, Mr. President," Quatermain said in parting, shaking the man's hand.
He could tell McKinley wanted to say more, but with Mrs. O'Brien standing nearby, it would have to wait till another time. The hunter did his best not to glower at the woman, since she was just as concerned about Sawyer as he was, but dammit, she was a bit underfoot.
President McKinley and Mrs. O'Brien left the room together, giving Allan a moment of peace. Two of his goals were met; Sawyer's safety, and his return to the League. The only thing left was to get the boy aboard the Nautilus, away from all the mysterious disappearances. Hopefully that end wasn't far from being fulfilled.
"Cor! I'd thought she'd never bloomin' leave!" Skinner huffed out, a floating log signaling his intentions. "The room's been practically freezing, and I couldn't do nothing about it, unless I wanted a screaming banshee running about," he mumbled as he placed several pieces of wood upon the dwindling flames.
Quatermain frowned to himself when he realized the room had indeed dipped in temperature, but it didn't seem to him to be that drastic. He looked in the general direction of his invisible, and unclothed teammate. "I guess it would be freezing to you..."
"You forget, Allan, I walked for miles in that bloody ice box called Mongolia. A feat that no other human could survive...minus his fur coat, shirt, pants, under knickers, socks, and boots. Compared to that, this room is rather balmy."
"Skinner, you truly are extraordinary."
"Me?" The invisible man feigned surprise. "Does being revived from the great beyond suddenly bring great wisdom as well?"
Knowing his comrade was jesting, Allan tried to hide the bitterness in his voice as he softly patted Tom's shoulder. "Let's just say it makes you more aware of what you had left behind."
77777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777
Gray studied his reflection in the mirror. A bath and change of clothes had done wonders, even if the attire was less than acceptable. Grabbing the mug full of shaving cream, the immortal dabbed the thick mixture upon his day old stubble, and began to meticulously shave. After he had completed the task, Dorian once again eyed his reflection. No, something wasn't right... He looked too dapper to pass for a Secret Service agent. If Sawyer was any indication of how the rest of the field looked...he could never hope to downplay his visage and breeding.
With a dramatic sigh, Gray picked up the shaving brush and applied cream to his goatee and mustache. He would have to make sacrifices if this ruse had a chance to work. Ten minutes later the aristocrat was done, viewing the change skeptically.
Dammit! He still looked too attractive. Frowning, he grabbed a nearby hairbrush and began to brush his luxurious, dark brown locks back from his face, hoping that would help. It did a little, but not enough for his liking. There had to be something else he could do to better disguise himself...
Dorian hurried out of the bathroom, scanning the home for anything he could use to help in his plot. It was only a matter of time before Sawyer's superiors would find out he had escaped. The more different he looked, the better his chances of getting to Tom, and then to the other League members.
His dark eyes rested upon a coat tree beside the front door as he tried to pick his brain for any kind of idea. Unable to come up with anything, he actually prayed for the first time in centuries. As if a ray of heavenly light had filtered down to show Gray a sign, he saw the lip to a hat sticking out among the coats.
Perfect!
The immortal grabbed his prize and rushed back into the bathroom, instantly placing the Stetson hat upon his head. Keeping his hair brushed back, he nodded in approval. If he kept the lip down low enough, it would shade his eyes enough to avoid direct eye contact. Satisfied with his new appearance, he boldly opened the door to the house and stepped outside. After all, he was now Special Agent Reginald Peterson.
Gray didn't bother to hide the smirk playing at his lips. Agent Sawyer was soon going to learn there was no getting rid of him!