Three Bricks Shy-Alias, PG-13 (A touch of the occult and some humor)
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
*****
Chapter Ten
I wasn't surprised to see that our car had been towed. Did I warn her? Shit, yeah, and did she listen? Does she ever listen? Has she ever cared about anyone's opinion other than her own? She thought of this as a lark and I thought of it as a trial by fire and wondered what I had done to deserve this.
We hailed a cab that brought us to the garage that had our car and had to wait while she flirted with the garage owner and every single one of his employees. They were on a first name basis, which told me this had happened before. Weiss occupied himself with his yo-yo while I fidgeted with growing impatience.
"This is a fucking nightmare," I muttered.
"Patience, young Skywalker." Weiss said, looking behind me to indicate that my aunt had heard me.
Trish patted my arm like she was comforting a small child. "The night is young and the air is sweet. What more could you want from life?"
I didn't want to rain on her parade, truly I didn't. She was lonely and grieving and we were probably the first bright lights that had entered her life in a long while. But there was a far more pressing matter to attend to, and she was acting like it was of no great consequence. "We shouldn't be partying. We should be thinking of ways to help Sydney."
Trish looked between us with a sigh. "Can we get to the journal tonight?"
"Well….no. It's locked up," I admitted.
"And everyone has gone home?" Trish inquired edgily.
"Probably," Weiss offered, fending off my glare with a shrug. "No one's there, Michael. Even Sydney has been moved to a secure location."
I hated that they were right. "Maybe you should drop me off at the hotel," I suggested wearily.
"Nonsense. You haven't lived until you've sampled the food at my favorite bistro. It is to die for."
My stomach betrayed me by growling audibly. "All right," I conceded reluctantly, not remembering the last time I had eaten.
Weiss and Trish got in the front seat, which meant I got to play with the hump and pretend I was a contortionist. As they chatted easily, I reviewed the events of the last few hours and could not dispel a feeling of dread that grew with every passing minute. I could not say what triggered it or why I was having these feelings, but it slithered along my skin and coiled tightly in my stomach. Along with the lovely feeling of lead gut, that damned photo of the hockey player floated in front of my eyes, mocking me by dancing at the very edge of my roiling thoughts. That's when it hit me. Sudden knowledge…..no, what I was thinking couldn't be right. It was madness.
Trish turned around, clearly concerned by my silence. "Is everything OK?"
I couldn't find the words to tell her how I felt. There was too much to absorb, too much to wrap my mind around, and the person I trusted the most was incarcerated. So that left Trish and Weiss as my closest confidantes. Rather than lie, I took advantage of the fact that we'd pulled up in front of the bistro. "Let's eat," I said flatly, avoiding her eyes and leaving the car before I said something we'd both regret.
The food was indeed marvelous and the wine was even better. It helped me forget for awhile and lessened the shaft of pain that lanced my head with every passing sip. The third course proceeded to desert and I excused myself to get some air. Before I got to the door, I heard a band start up in the main lounge. Some torch singer was doing a pretty good rendition of an old standard by Sylvie Vartan and I found myself humming along as I found a place along the back wall. If I squinted just a little, I could pretend that my mother was up there, singing like she had always done when I was a little boy. The singer moved on to some Frank Sinatra and I felt someone touch my arm lightly. "May I have this dance?"
I was used to women hitting on me and was an expert in turning them down with no hard feelings. But the person next to me was Trish, and the light and expectation in her eyes was more than I could bear. "Yes." The dance was a fox-trot and I felt my feet forming the familiar steps before we made it to the dance floor.
Her eyes crinkled as I twirled her around. "A pit bull, eh?"
"What?" I exclaimed, losing my rhythm and falling off balance.
"I'm glad you think so highly of me," Trish replied without a trace of her usual sarcasm.
"I'm not going to ask how you picked up on that." What else did she know? Did she see all the unanswered questions lurking in my heart.
"That's good, because I am not sure I could explain it." Her dark green eyes danced with some inner light, but then they grew more serious as she seemed to withdraw into herself.
Half a dozen questions threatened to burst from me but I let my most pressing concern assert itself. "Where's Eric?"
Trish smiled sadly and looked at the bar where Weiss sat shooting the breeze with some jailbait. "He found someone more to his liking."
"I'm sure that's not true." The song ended and we settled near an open window where I welcomed the breeze wafting over me.
"Come now, you don't have to flatter an old woman. I never seriously considered…..well, you know," she said, her tone surprising humble.
"First of all, you aren't old….not even close, and second of all, Eric likes to chat up women. He's kind of like…." I tried to find an appropriate frame of reference but she beat me to it.
"I was at the same age? Yes, I know," Trish murmured as she lit up a cigarette.
The time was right to broach the subject that tore at me, but I would start gently. "You're quite the artist. I had no idea…..you had such talent."
"No, I'm sure you didn't." Her words carried no resentment, but they were full of hidden meaning. My mother rarely spoke of her, and even less so after my father was murdered. "We all have dreams, Michael. Even one such as me…..wishes for something more."
"What was your greatest dream?"
"To study at the Sorbonne." Trish's voice came from faraway and I knew she was in the grip of memories.
"What happened? Why didn't you go?" I asked breathlessly, knowing this was the turning point.
Trish stared at me pointedly before blowing a smoke ring that floated away with the freshening breeze. "Life happened. Things changed…..and circumstances prevented me from following my heart."
The words rushed out before I could stop them. "Is this where the hockey player comes into the story?"
"The hockey player." Her words echoed oddly and her eyes filled with unshed tears.
"The one in the picture on your wall," I prompted gently, knowing full well that she had understood me the first time. "The one who looks like me."
She opened her mouth to answer at the exact moment that Weiss decided to rejoin us. "So, shall we go hit some bars?"
"No." Trish beat me to the punch. "I am tired. Take me home, please."
There was no argument from me. Maybe I wasn't ready to hear the truth, no matter that my heart told me otherwise. Eric frowned at me, puzzled by the tension between me and Trish. The three of us filed out of there in a silent column and piled into the car. We said our farewells at Trish's front gate, and I watched her huddled shape as she fumbled for her key and staggered into the house. For a long moment, I watched her house and knew that whatever the morning would bring, it would focus on something other than my problems. That was my purpose here, wasn't it? That's what I thought when I came out here, but now I wasn't sure about anything anymore.
*****
Peregrine
Alias is owned by ABC, Touchstone and is the creation of JJ Abrams and Bad Robot Productions.
*****
Chapter Ten
I wasn't surprised to see that our car had been towed. Did I warn her? Shit, yeah, and did she listen? Does she ever listen? Has she ever cared about anyone's opinion other than her own? She thought of this as a lark and I thought of it as a trial by fire and wondered what I had done to deserve this.
We hailed a cab that brought us to the garage that had our car and had to wait while she flirted with the garage owner and every single one of his employees. They were on a first name basis, which told me this had happened before. Weiss occupied himself with his yo-yo while I fidgeted with growing impatience.
"This is a fucking nightmare," I muttered.
"Patience, young Skywalker." Weiss said, looking behind me to indicate that my aunt had heard me.
Trish patted my arm like she was comforting a small child. "The night is young and the air is sweet. What more could you want from life?"
I didn't want to rain on her parade, truly I didn't. She was lonely and grieving and we were probably the first bright lights that had entered her life in a long while. But there was a far more pressing matter to attend to, and she was acting like it was of no great consequence. "We shouldn't be partying. We should be thinking of ways to help Sydney."
Trish looked between us with a sigh. "Can we get to the journal tonight?"
"Well….no. It's locked up," I admitted.
"And everyone has gone home?" Trish inquired edgily.
"Probably," Weiss offered, fending off my glare with a shrug. "No one's there, Michael. Even Sydney has been moved to a secure location."
I hated that they were right. "Maybe you should drop me off at the hotel," I suggested wearily.
"Nonsense. You haven't lived until you've sampled the food at my favorite bistro. It is to die for."
My stomach betrayed me by growling audibly. "All right," I conceded reluctantly, not remembering the last time I had eaten.
Weiss and Trish got in the front seat, which meant I got to play with the hump and pretend I was a contortionist. As they chatted easily, I reviewed the events of the last few hours and could not dispel a feeling of dread that grew with every passing minute. I could not say what triggered it or why I was having these feelings, but it slithered along my skin and coiled tightly in my stomach. Along with the lovely feeling of lead gut, that damned photo of the hockey player floated in front of my eyes, mocking me by dancing at the very edge of my roiling thoughts. That's when it hit me. Sudden knowledge…..no, what I was thinking couldn't be right. It was madness.
Trish turned around, clearly concerned by my silence. "Is everything OK?"
I couldn't find the words to tell her how I felt. There was too much to absorb, too much to wrap my mind around, and the person I trusted the most was incarcerated. So that left Trish and Weiss as my closest confidantes. Rather than lie, I took advantage of the fact that we'd pulled up in front of the bistro. "Let's eat," I said flatly, avoiding her eyes and leaving the car before I said something we'd both regret.
The food was indeed marvelous and the wine was even better. It helped me forget for awhile and lessened the shaft of pain that lanced my head with every passing sip. The third course proceeded to desert and I excused myself to get some air. Before I got to the door, I heard a band start up in the main lounge. Some torch singer was doing a pretty good rendition of an old standard by Sylvie Vartan and I found myself humming along as I found a place along the back wall. If I squinted just a little, I could pretend that my mother was up there, singing like she had always done when I was a little boy. The singer moved on to some Frank Sinatra and I felt someone touch my arm lightly. "May I have this dance?"
I was used to women hitting on me and was an expert in turning them down with no hard feelings. But the person next to me was Trish, and the light and expectation in her eyes was more than I could bear. "Yes." The dance was a fox-trot and I felt my feet forming the familiar steps before we made it to the dance floor.
Her eyes crinkled as I twirled her around. "A pit bull, eh?"
"What?" I exclaimed, losing my rhythm and falling off balance.
"I'm glad you think so highly of me," Trish replied without a trace of her usual sarcasm.
"I'm not going to ask how you picked up on that." What else did she know? Did she see all the unanswered questions lurking in my heart.
"That's good, because I am not sure I could explain it." Her dark green eyes danced with some inner light, but then they grew more serious as she seemed to withdraw into herself.
Half a dozen questions threatened to burst from me but I let my most pressing concern assert itself. "Where's Eric?"
Trish smiled sadly and looked at the bar where Weiss sat shooting the breeze with some jailbait. "He found someone more to his liking."
"I'm sure that's not true." The song ended and we settled near an open window where I welcomed the breeze wafting over me.
"Come now, you don't have to flatter an old woman. I never seriously considered…..well, you know," she said, her tone surprising humble.
"First of all, you aren't old….not even close, and second of all, Eric likes to chat up women. He's kind of like…." I tried to find an appropriate frame of reference but she beat me to it.
"I was at the same age? Yes, I know," Trish murmured as she lit up a cigarette.
The time was right to broach the subject that tore at me, but I would start gently. "You're quite the artist. I had no idea…..you had such talent."
"No, I'm sure you didn't." Her words carried no resentment, but they were full of hidden meaning. My mother rarely spoke of her, and even less so after my father was murdered. "We all have dreams, Michael. Even one such as me…..wishes for something more."
"What was your greatest dream?"
"To study at the Sorbonne." Trish's voice came from faraway and I knew she was in the grip of memories.
"What happened? Why didn't you go?" I asked breathlessly, knowing this was the turning point.
Trish stared at me pointedly before blowing a smoke ring that floated away with the freshening breeze. "Life happened. Things changed…..and circumstances prevented me from following my heart."
The words rushed out before I could stop them. "Is this where the hockey player comes into the story?"
"The hockey player." Her words echoed oddly and her eyes filled with unshed tears.
"The one in the picture on your wall," I prompted gently, knowing full well that she had understood me the first time. "The one who looks like me."
She opened her mouth to answer at the exact moment that Weiss decided to rejoin us. "So, shall we go hit some bars?"
"No." Trish beat me to the punch. "I am tired. Take me home, please."
There was no argument from me. Maybe I wasn't ready to hear the truth, no matter that my heart told me otherwise. Eric frowned at me, puzzled by the tension between me and Trish. The three of us filed out of there in a silent column and piled into the car. We said our farewells at Trish's front gate, and I watched her huddled shape as she fumbled for her key and staggered into the house. For a long moment, I watched her house and knew that whatever the morning would bring, it would focus on something other than my problems. That was my purpose here, wasn't it? That's what I thought when I came out here, but now I wasn't sure about anything anymore.
*****