Part 8
Le tossed about souris
We're moving again. This time in another car.I think its some kind of town car, -or- contentinental, some car with more class than the citreon. I have more room now, but Arnaud is delibrately going over every single imperfect in the road. He may have even ran on the sidewalk a few times, and I think we ran over a bike. For now, I have managed to keep hold of the back of the back seat, I don't know how much longer that will last though, my shoulder is throbbing, my wrists have lost most of their circulation, and so my hands do not one to stay there, but lay helplessly by my side.
Arnaud hits a large object, it must be another bike, and my hands give way. I land hard on the floorboard. Now my whole right side is in pain. I need some Scotch -or- Vodka, something so I don't have to feel the pain. I scramble to get back onto the seat. I
I get almost all the way up, Arnaud brings the car to a screeching halt.(I thud harder to the floor, it makes the car shake a little.)
I hear the squeal of other cars breaks as well. "Stupid Americans, making me of all people stop at a red light!!!" I hear Arnaud scream from the front seat. Then, I hear him say a string of french curse words.
Why we are stopped, I take it as the perfect opportunity to scramble onto the seat, I buckled myself in this time. I do not need anymore stupid injuries, though I do think I will be getting worse injuries later, but they won't be something like falling on the floorboard. I am glad I do not belong to a savage roaming tribe, who believes pain is good, I can just see us around the campfire. "And how did your side get damaged little one?" "I fell on the floorboard." I can hear their laughter ringing through my ear, and it reminds me of The Official, Fawkes, and Hobbes. They probably are laughing at me. He got himself kidnapped by Arnaud, and he injured himself the most by falling on a floorboard. The seat feels soft, I feel as if I could sink into it. (that's another reason I believe its a luxury car.) It reminds me a little of my bed, which I wish I hadn't vacated this morning. Why hadn't it been my day to catch the stomach flu going around, not like I really want it, but it may have been better than this, but in a way this is exciting. If I am still alive in twenty years maybe I will laugh at this, I may even be laughing at it next week, if I am still alive.
I turn to snuggle my face against the seat, it smells like vanilla perfume, it seems so cozy. I feel the thrust as he hits the accelerater. I am glad I can not smell the rubber on the tires. They are probably smoking. Arnaud has put the Bizet cd in again. The melody drifts through the air, and I can see myself, the excited chorus member watching patiently in the wings, and watching the magic eagerly. I love that Opera, and I am so glad I was apart of those few performances with the London Opera House, too bad it had to end. That was one of the best pieces I was involved in, in my brief stint in theater. Maybe I should go back to theater for a bit, if I get out of this alive. I know I will probably have to stop performing in plays after awhile, like the last time, there is too much The official demands of me at the agency. I close my eyes, and imagine myself on stage again, the bright lights, the smell of the stage makeup, the applauds of the audience ringing through your ears, no matter what part you had, the autographer signing with slippery palms and slippery pens on multicoloured paper, and especially the cast parties with the sweet sensation of the cork popping, and getting a nice bubbly glass of champagne. That's it I shall think of this as if I were performing in a play.
When I open my eyes, I realize I had fallen asleep. My right side has gone to sleep as well, I don't think I will be able to wake it as quickly as I woke up though. I shake my head harshly, so I won't fall back asleep.
The car comes to a complete stop. "We are at the last 'home' you will ever see." I winch as he makes the postive connotation of home, sarcastic.
I try to unbuckle myself, but I can't feel my hands anymore.
"Can't you free yourself?" He yelps at me angrily.
I shake my head, "My hands are numb. " I mumble through the tape.
He unsnaps the belt, and drags me out where I am standing. "What was that?"
"My hands are numb."
He tries to figure out what the mumbling could mean. It only takes him a second. "You're hands are numb, aye, well we do not need them to stop working yet." He unties the rope, and ties it looser. "Is that better, little mouse?"
I nod.
"Good," He pushes me in front of him as we go inside. He stops at a door, pushing me hard against it. I hear what sounds like him punching in a security code. We walk down a hallway, where we must bend down to get through. I find this out after I slam my head into the cool metal. Arnaud laughs a little behind me. We walk a little ways, then he pushes me against another door.I hear him punching in a different security code. It sounds like 007, the first one sounded like 261. I'll have to remember those. I am glad I have gotten so used to security beeps. Having been around so many for so long. I duck down as we go into the next hallway, he pushes me up. Obviously this isn't one isn't as small as the latter one. We walk for a bit more, then we come to another metal door, and yet another security code.
This time the code is longer. It sounds like 77476637, crap I remember that from a detective novel I once read. the number corresponded with letters on the phone, now what did it spell out. PRISONER. I guess I am glad the code wasn't dead man walking -or- something to that effect. I don't think the other codes mean anything else, except 007 maybe a reference to James Bond. Arnaud would be the type to read/watch him, probably gets some of his ideas from there.
I try to make out images, a person comes towards us, they have something in their hands, probably a weapon.
"Hello, Mr. De Theil. Right this way." I notice the voice is feminine.
We walk for a bit until we come to a small room. Arnaud removes the sunglasses. The room is small, with only a bed. "This is your cell for now. If you behave well, Miss De Vere will play her violin for you, from that room." He points to a large ajacent room, that I hadn't noticed. It is secured where I can't get out but they can get in.
"But first, Mister Eberts, time for a little cat nap." I feel something injected into the back of my neck. The room goes black.
Le tossed about souris
We're moving again. This time in another car.I think its some kind of town car, -or- contentinental, some car with more class than the citreon. I have more room now, but Arnaud is delibrately going over every single imperfect in the road. He may have even ran on the sidewalk a few times, and I think we ran over a bike. For now, I have managed to keep hold of the back of the back seat, I don't know how much longer that will last though, my shoulder is throbbing, my wrists have lost most of their circulation, and so my hands do not one to stay there, but lay helplessly by my side.
Arnaud hits a large object, it must be another bike, and my hands give way. I land hard on the floorboard. Now my whole right side is in pain. I need some Scotch -or- Vodka, something so I don't have to feel the pain. I scramble to get back onto the seat. I
I get almost all the way up, Arnaud brings the car to a screeching halt.(I thud harder to the floor, it makes the car shake a little.)
I hear the squeal of other cars breaks as well. "Stupid Americans, making me of all people stop at a red light!!!" I hear Arnaud scream from the front seat. Then, I hear him say a string of french curse words.
Why we are stopped, I take it as the perfect opportunity to scramble onto the seat, I buckled myself in this time. I do not need anymore stupid injuries, though I do think I will be getting worse injuries later, but they won't be something like falling on the floorboard. I am glad I do not belong to a savage roaming tribe, who believes pain is good, I can just see us around the campfire. "And how did your side get damaged little one?" "I fell on the floorboard." I can hear their laughter ringing through my ear, and it reminds me of The Official, Fawkes, and Hobbes. They probably are laughing at me. He got himself kidnapped by Arnaud, and he injured himself the most by falling on a floorboard. The seat feels soft, I feel as if I could sink into it. (that's another reason I believe its a luxury car.) It reminds me a little of my bed, which I wish I hadn't vacated this morning. Why hadn't it been my day to catch the stomach flu going around, not like I really want it, but it may have been better than this, but in a way this is exciting. If I am still alive in twenty years maybe I will laugh at this, I may even be laughing at it next week, if I am still alive.
I turn to snuggle my face against the seat, it smells like vanilla perfume, it seems so cozy. I feel the thrust as he hits the accelerater. I am glad I can not smell the rubber on the tires. They are probably smoking. Arnaud has put the Bizet cd in again. The melody drifts through the air, and I can see myself, the excited chorus member watching patiently in the wings, and watching the magic eagerly. I love that Opera, and I am so glad I was apart of those few performances with the London Opera House, too bad it had to end. That was one of the best pieces I was involved in, in my brief stint in theater. Maybe I should go back to theater for a bit, if I get out of this alive. I know I will probably have to stop performing in plays after awhile, like the last time, there is too much The official demands of me at the agency. I close my eyes, and imagine myself on stage again, the bright lights, the smell of the stage makeup, the applauds of the audience ringing through your ears, no matter what part you had, the autographer signing with slippery palms and slippery pens on multicoloured paper, and especially the cast parties with the sweet sensation of the cork popping, and getting a nice bubbly glass of champagne. That's it I shall think of this as if I were performing in a play.
When I open my eyes, I realize I had fallen asleep. My right side has gone to sleep as well, I don't think I will be able to wake it as quickly as I woke up though. I shake my head harshly, so I won't fall back asleep.
The car comes to a complete stop. "We are at the last 'home' you will ever see." I winch as he makes the postive connotation of home, sarcastic.
I try to unbuckle myself, but I can't feel my hands anymore.
"Can't you free yourself?" He yelps at me angrily.
I shake my head, "My hands are numb. " I mumble through the tape.
He unsnaps the belt, and drags me out where I am standing. "What was that?"
"My hands are numb."
He tries to figure out what the mumbling could mean. It only takes him a second. "You're hands are numb, aye, well we do not need them to stop working yet." He unties the rope, and ties it looser. "Is that better, little mouse?"
I nod.
"Good," He pushes me in front of him as we go inside. He stops at a door, pushing me hard against it. I hear what sounds like him punching in a security code. We walk down a hallway, where we must bend down to get through. I find this out after I slam my head into the cool metal. Arnaud laughs a little behind me. We walk a little ways, then he pushes me against another door.I hear him punching in a different security code. It sounds like 007, the first one sounded like 261. I'll have to remember those. I am glad I have gotten so used to security beeps. Having been around so many for so long. I duck down as we go into the next hallway, he pushes me up. Obviously this isn't one isn't as small as the latter one. We walk for a bit more, then we come to another metal door, and yet another security code.
This time the code is longer. It sounds like 77476637, crap I remember that from a detective novel I once read. the number corresponded with letters on the phone, now what did it spell out. PRISONER. I guess I am glad the code wasn't dead man walking -or- something to that effect. I don't think the other codes mean anything else, except 007 maybe a reference to James Bond. Arnaud would be the type to read/watch him, probably gets some of his ideas from there.
I try to make out images, a person comes towards us, they have something in their hands, probably a weapon.
"Hello, Mr. De Theil. Right this way." I notice the voice is feminine.
We walk for a bit until we come to a small room. Arnaud removes the sunglasses. The room is small, with only a bed. "This is your cell for now. If you behave well, Miss De Vere will play her violin for you, from that room." He points to a large ajacent room, that I hadn't noticed. It is secured where I can't get out but they can get in.
"But first, Mister Eberts, time for a little cat nap." I feel something injected into the back of my neck. The room goes black.