13. Breakfast (part 1)
The sunlight lit her up from behind when she turned. The dawn crawling up the windows, bathing the room, was now all soaked into that mass of dark red hair. Illuminating her like a candle.
Peter Lake felt the hum of discouragement again. That sinking in his belly. That bite. She was not a ghost. She was there. Seated. Looking at him.
And her gaze struck him. The same way gravity had struck him when he had climbed that wall to the rooftop. The same way the music had struck him just a minute earlier. An explosion.
Because she was a woman, alone, in a nightgown, barefoot. In a cold, cold house. And now she was seeing that she was not alone. That there was a man in the room with her. An intruder. A stranger. With unknown plans and unknown desires.
Her eyes were alert. Intelligent and fixated on him. But the rest of her features were shockingly composed. One hand twisted around the backrest of the chair. A moment ago, that same hand was moving in a frenzy.
And Peter Lake braced himself for a scream. A run for the door. He waited to let her go. Let her run. Waited to run away. Not toward her, but away. Away from that strange, cold house. Away from the City of Justice.
But she was silent. So silent. Almost as if she was waiting for him to do those exact things, in that order.
And when the moment came where his lips finally parted, all that Peter could say was, "It… squeaks."
Her own mouth slightly opened.
"What?"
"The floor… The floor squeaks."
"I… I see that."
He didn't know what to do. What he was doing. He moved his foot. Demonstrated. She watched it all. Her eyebrows arched, just a touch.
"It squeaks."
"It's an old house… Old floor…"
She looked at him. The whisper of a grin crossed her face.
"You have a gun."
As if she were talking about the weather or the winter plans. Peter remembered the weapon he was holding.
"Ah… yes. I- I am- It's yours, actually."
"Really?"
"Well, yeah. It's all I could find in the safe."
"Oh… that's a pity."
Her smile was there, somewhere. It was barely visible to the eye. If another person had looked at her face at that moment, they would say, without the shadow of a doubt, that she was not smiling. But Peter could see her smile. If he looked at her for too long and without breaking eye contact, he could see it.
"I'm just robbing the place…"
"Oh, alright."
"N- No, I- Well, my intention was to rob the place, but… I mean, not anymore."
"It's not your intention anymore?"
"Not really."
"Did I interrupt you?"
"In a way…"
"Well, sorry about that."
And she did smile now, unmistakingly. The teeth shone between her lips and she let out a soft chuckle. Peter Lake was too confused by her reaction to respond to it. He just looked at her, dumbfounded.
"I should- I'll put the gun back."
"Leave it on the desk, I'll put it back later."
"O… Okay."
So Peter did as he was told. He returned to the study. The writing desk with its quills and papers. He left the gun there. And silently returned to the piano room. Part of him hoped she had used this strange request to distract him and flee, but when he came back to her, she had not moved from the chair. She also hadn't stopped smiling. Her eyes were bright with amusement now. Their former alertness had vanished completely.
"I left it."
"Thank you."
Again, he was at a loss for words. He was still waiting for her to drop this strange act and break into a run. His stubborn cling on reality had yet to be broken. He had flown over the city and tasted it. He had taken orders from a white horse. And still he persevered. His feet were on solid ground now. This woman was a human being. She was his equal, a person, and she therefore, surely, had common sense.
Surely.
"It's very early," she said.
"Yes."
"Are you hungry?"
Her question left him in another state of awe for some seconds. She had to ask again in order to force a reply out of him.
"Sir, are you hungry?"
"Uh… pardon?"
"Well, the least I can do is offer you a cup of tea."
Was he hungry? Yes. Yes, he was hungry. Very hungry. He couldn't stop himself.
"I... some breakfast would be nice... ma'am."
And only then did she rise from the chair and float across the room and go into the hallway. But she didn't run. She walked. The little smile stagnant on her lips. This was an invitation.
And Peter couldn't do much else but to follow her.
Author's Note: More changes to the dialogue! Expect that a lot for the next chapter.
If anyone is here today, thank you for reading.