Part 4
I had too much dream last night.
I am almost to the end of my narration, when Georgie cuts me off. "We just got a case, I need to go, I would like to hear the rest though. It sounds terrifying, and I do hope you are okay. Please don't go wacko on us like you did in junior year." He sounds sympathic, but it doesn't bother me. I know hes worried about me.
"I'll be fine, go get that killer." I tell him in a normal voice, I had been talking in hushed tones to tell him the stories. Their are ears everywhere, whom I don't want the sympathy from, I already know the Official was listening in. A few minutes after Claire left, he dropped the phone, I know for a fact he probably wasn't tired of listening, she probably walked in on him while he was "talking with someone important"
"Thanks. Call me later okay, actually, I better call you. This may run long." I know if it runs a few days hes going to have "the voodoo pin of worry." lodged into his brain. Probably going to be drinking coffee non stop and drive research insane. I wish I can see it. Knowing my luck he will get his chance in the field, wait that may be interesting. Bailey will probably kill him though, -or- keep him far from coffee, after he startes the twenty-five cups in one hour.
"Okay, don't drink too much coffee."
"You just been tortured and you are worrying about me drinking too much coffee."
"Yeah, don't okay, I will tell you the rest of the story, you know that, so don't get all stressed out over there about me. And don't worry about Rich, he'll probably come crawling back on his knees, begging for forgiveness, just concentrate at the matter at hand. Tracking that serial killer."
"Okay, " I can see him with a little, tight smile as he hangs up the phone. He always does that during times of crisis. Its like me with my worried expressions. Which I am very good at for some reason.
I look vainly around the room for a clock, I know their is one around here somewhere. I have forgotten where, I think I spent too much time staring at that damn spot in the wall. Its still in front of my eyes. Out damn spot out, get out of my eyesight. I shake my head. I amuse myself too much sometimes. Out damn Spot out, what has the torture made me become Lady MacBeth. I sure hope not. I don't think that would be any fun, I would probably be an ugly woman, at least George would stop making me so bloody uncomfortable by kissing me on the lips everytime we meet. He knows how much I hate it, but we have an understanding, he doesn't hit on me and send me any emails -or- videos, describing -or- showing what he and Rich are up to, and I don't ask questions, unless they are having a fight -or- something and he needs to vent. We have always been there to vent to each other. I glance at the clock the hands point at 5:30, then I realize it means nothing to me because I can't even prove we are on the same day, as when I was kidnapped. If it really is the same day, then this must be the slowest day ever, unless we are really in Alaska, and its part of the sixmonth day, but I doubt that.It may be fun in Alaska though, I have always like the cold. I always wanted it to see it snow here, and throw a big snowball at the Fat Man. I would probably have to run for my life, but I knew once he had a security guard catch me, (there is no way he can catch me, he is like a turtle when he runs,) I would at least die laughing my head off. I can just see that and hear the loud ploop as it knocks his glasses off his face. I don't know why I have the urge to hit him in the face, but it seems like the best place to hit him. I start laughing. It is not the evil laughter, I had been doing before, though that was fun in a way, it was a soft chuckling.
I need some sleep. I close my eyes. That is when it dawns on me, what if Arnaud comes back, to torture me some more. My eyes snap open, and I begin staring at the door, waiting for to appear to open by itself. It will definetly look that way when Arnaud comes through it. I hear a small whine as the door opens, I grab hold of the edge of the bed, bracing myself. I close my eyes.
"Are you okay, Eberts?" Claire asks.
I open my eyes. I breathe a mental sigh of relief. "I am fine, just tired." He will becoming though, I can feel it deep inside.
(more to come)
I had too much dream last night.
I am almost to the end of my narration, when Georgie cuts me off. "We just got a case, I need to go, I would like to hear the rest though. It sounds terrifying, and I do hope you are okay. Please don't go wacko on us like you did in junior year." He sounds sympathic, but it doesn't bother me. I know hes worried about me.
"I'll be fine, go get that killer." I tell him in a normal voice, I had been talking in hushed tones to tell him the stories. Their are ears everywhere, whom I don't want the sympathy from, I already know the Official was listening in. A few minutes after Claire left, he dropped the phone, I know for a fact he probably wasn't tired of listening, she probably walked in on him while he was "talking with someone important"
"Thanks. Call me later okay, actually, I better call you. This may run long." I know if it runs a few days hes going to have "the voodoo pin of worry." lodged into his brain. Probably going to be drinking coffee non stop and drive research insane. I wish I can see it. Knowing my luck he will get his chance in the field, wait that may be interesting. Bailey will probably kill him though, -or- keep him far from coffee, after he startes the twenty-five cups in one hour.
"Okay, don't drink too much coffee."
"You just been tortured and you are worrying about me drinking too much coffee."
"Yeah, don't okay, I will tell you the rest of the story, you know that, so don't get all stressed out over there about me. And don't worry about Rich, he'll probably come crawling back on his knees, begging for forgiveness, just concentrate at the matter at hand. Tracking that serial killer."
"Okay, " I can see him with a little, tight smile as he hangs up the phone. He always does that during times of crisis. Its like me with my worried expressions. Which I am very good at for some reason.
I look vainly around the room for a clock, I know their is one around here somewhere. I have forgotten where, I think I spent too much time staring at that damn spot in the wall. Its still in front of my eyes. Out damn spot out, get out of my eyesight. I shake my head. I amuse myself too much sometimes. Out damn Spot out, what has the torture made me become Lady MacBeth. I sure hope not. I don't think that would be any fun, I would probably be an ugly woman, at least George would stop making me so bloody uncomfortable by kissing me on the lips everytime we meet. He knows how much I hate it, but we have an understanding, he doesn't hit on me and send me any emails -or- videos, describing -or- showing what he and Rich are up to, and I don't ask questions, unless they are having a fight -or- something and he needs to vent. We have always been there to vent to each other. I glance at the clock the hands point at 5:30, then I realize it means nothing to me because I can't even prove we are on the same day, as when I was kidnapped. If it really is the same day, then this must be the slowest day ever, unless we are really in Alaska, and its part of the sixmonth day, but I doubt that.It may be fun in Alaska though, I have always like the cold. I always wanted it to see it snow here, and throw a big snowball at the Fat Man. I would probably have to run for my life, but I knew once he had a security guard catch me, (there is no way he can catch me, he is like a turtle when he runs,) I would at least die laughing my head off. I can just see that and hear the loud ploop as it knocks his glasses off his face. I don't know why I have the urge to hit him in the face, but it seems like the best place to hit him. I start laughing. It is not the evil laughter, I had been doing before, though that was fun in a way, it was a soft chuckling.
I need some sleep. I close my eyes. That is when it dawns on me, what if Arnaud comes back, to torture me some more. My eyes snap open, and I begin staring at the door, waiting for to appear to open by itself. It will definetly look that way when Arnaud comes through it. I hear a small whine as the door opens, I grab hold of the edge of the bed, bracing myself. I close my eyes.
"Are you okay, Eberts?" Claire asks.
I open my eyes. I breathe a mental sigh of relief. "I am fine, just tired." He will becoming though, I can feel it deep inside.
(more to come)