Chapter 20
In Which We Wrap Up a Few Things and Unravel Others
Arnold finished adjusting the painting in the window. He stepped back to see if it was straight.
"Looks good Arnold, let's go see it from the outside."
He smiled and followed Mrs. Vitello out to the front of the shop. They stood in the sidewalk and watched the snow fall in front of the window display. There were hardly any other people around, it was past closing time and Hillside had never had much of a night life.
"Well now, I think that came out fine, just fine. Thank you Arnold." Her eyes traced the lines of Arnold's Christmas painting. It wasn't really anything special. After his Lila painting he just hadn't had the energy to do anything spectacular. But then, a simple painting was really what Mrs. Vitello – Rosemary, he reminded himself automatically – wanted for the store. Christmas in Hillside portrayed the street the flower shop was located on, covered in snow and Christmas decorations. Very simple, but Arnold had a warm feeling looking at it just the same.
"Thanks Mrs. Vitello. I think so too." And amazingly enough, he did.
"What about you?" she turned towards him and looked down her nose sharply, "How are you doing?"
"I'm fine too." With a start he found that he was telling the truth. He was ok. He gave Mrs. Vitello a wink to show her he meant it.
"I'd better get home. My Grandparents are waiting on me for dinner."
"Alright. I'll finish locking up the store."
"Thanks." Arnold waved and headed down the street. His mouth wasn't actually smiling, but his eyes gave that impression just the same. Maybe a painting wasn't a miracle, but it was good enough for him. Mrs. Vitello had liked it, and now the price of his first sold painting was resting nicely in his pocket. It was all he could do not to skip down the street.
***************
"Uh, Syl? Syl…I can't breathe, Syl…"
Syl let go of Helga and stepped back. "I'm sorry, I just…when I saw you…" Gerald realized looking at Syl that her eyes were wet. Helga was nodding.
"No I get it. It's ok Syl, I finally get it." she told her, and Syl in response burst into tears.
"Well I don't." Gerald pointed out. "Anyone going to enlighten me?"
"Les," Helga glanced at Syl to make sure she was right, "is Syl's husband."
Gerald blinked, but Syl didn't deny it. He found a handkerchief somewhere in his outfit and handed it to her.
"I'm guessing," Helga continued, "That he's working at the camp against his will. Some kind of debt to pay off to Phil or something. That's why Syl's living out here in the middle of nowhere – she's keeping an eye on him, with Mr. Smith's help I assume. And Les is probably slipping her information that she can pass on to Mr. Smith in return, whenever he can."
"Which is why Les helping us is such a risk," Gerald ventured, "Because there's always a chance that someone is already suspicious of him?" She must have been watching from the jungle when Helga took that bullet for Les then, that's what the sudden attitude change is all about.
"Exactly." Helga turned back to Syl, who was pulling herself together. "Am I right?"
Syl nodded. "I can't give you details of course but as far as the basics go…that about sums it up." She took a breath and handed Gerald's handkerchief back.
"How long has it been like this?" Helga asked in a surprisingly gentle voice.
"Fifteen years."
"Fifteen years?"
"In three days, yes."
Gerald wondered what it would be like to be apart from your spouse for fifteen years, except for the occasional two-minute meeting or a letter you would have to destroy.
"Well Syl," he told her, "I think that makes you about the bravest person I've ever met."
Syl laughed a little. "I hardly think that – Helga are you ok?" Helga had leaned against the wall a bit abruptly and probably harder than she had meant to.
She shook her head. "Fine. Just a tad dizzy is all."
But Gerald was already picking her up, and Syl nodded at him. "Yes we need to get that bullet out and I don't have the tools to do it here. Come on, we can talk on the way."
*************
The ruins were long and cold, but eventually they came out of them, and from the end of the ruins to Syl's jeep was less than half a mile. Still, it was a long way to carry Helga, and by the time they reached the jeep Gerald wanted to collapse on the ground and just stay there for a millennium or so. Instead he leaned against the car and watched Syl get ready to dress Helga's shoulder. It was a sign of how much pain she was in that she hadn't complained about being carried once.
"This is going to hurt," Syl was telling Helga, "There's nothing I can do about that." Helga clenched her teeth in response.
Gerald tried to keep his eyes on Syl.
**************
"We'll head to the airport," Syl shouted over the racket as they careened along the dirt road back towards the city, "I've already talked to Mr. Smith and he says it's safe for you to return to the US – safer than staying here anyway."
"Does that mean Phil…"
"Dead. Found him already with a nasty gash in the back. Smith is still figuring out what all happened in there, you left quite a mess apparently. Best guess is he was killed for incompetence, which means they'll leave off chasing you for the time being while they sort out who's in charge. And decide if you're really worth the trouble. Meanwhile, Smith set up a flight for you and said he'd call me when he has more information." She patted her jacket where a bulge indicated her satellite phone.
Helga nodded and closed her eyes, her hand resting on her shoulder bandage gently. She was obviously still in pain, but no longer in danger. Gerald had washed the bullet off with water from a canteen in the jeep, and was now saving it for her in his pocket.
"One thing I still don't understand," Gerald yelled to Syl, "If you didn't tell the camp, how did they know we were coming?"
"Probably the same way I found you," she answered, swerving around a pot hole that threatened to swallow them whole.
"How was that?"
Instead of saying anything, Syl rooted around under the seat where she had stashed her backpack. Gerald had to stop himself from grabbing the steering wheel while she ducked her head beneath the windshield. In a few moments she pulled something out and tossed it to him.
It was a gadget of some kind. Come on Gerald you can do better than that. Helga would know the name, type and model number by now. Get with it man! He studied it and noticed a small blinking light near the center. Ah ha.
"A homing device? But what is it tracking?"
Syl grinned at him. "Smith told you to get rid of those keys!"
"But I took off the beacon in the airport." Gerald checked his pockets and drew out the Mustang's keys. "See?" He handed them to her.
Syl took them and started laughing so hard she had to pull over. Then she leaned against the wheel until she could catch her breath enough to talk.
"Look Gerald." She took a penknife from her jacket and slit open the plastic cap on the end of one of the keys. She frowned at it then slit the other key. The frown lifted and she handed the keys back. Gerald stared at the tiny blinking light inside.
"But…but I threw away…"
"Well if I don't miss my guess, I'd say you threw away the keyless entry remote. You know, the one that uses a little laser to unlock the car?"
A sound from the back seat made Gerald turn around. Helga was shaking with laughter. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. Gerald half-smiled back at her and rolled his eyes.
"That's what I get for indulging my sentimental side." He leaned out of the window and threw the keys as far as he could. Syl tried her best to wipe the smile off her face as she put the car back in gear. Helga didn't even try.
****************
The airport was just as busy as the last time Helga had been there, which was fine with her. The more people, the better chance they had of blending in with the crowd. She didn't have long to worry about whether one of Phil's men would find them there though before a flight to the States was announced.
"That's yours," Syl told them, "You'd better run."
She gave Gerald a hug, telling him not to worry about her and then turned and gave Helga one too. She slipped an envelope into her hand.
"Don't tell me. You have a "friend" in the US you want me to get this too? You know, where I come from bigamy is illegal." Helga raised an eyebrow at Syl.
But Syl just laughed. "No, this one's for you. You can read it on the plane." Her jacket began to ring and Syl pulled out the satellite phone and answered it. She waited a moment then said "Ok, hang on." Syl looked and Gerald and Helga.
"It's Smith. He says he needs to tell me something and I can hardly hear him in here so I'm heading outside. Have a good trip!" She waved to both of them and disappeared into the crowd. Helga tucked the letter in her pocket.
Gerald and Helga made it onto the plane just after the final boarding call, hustled along by flight personal the entire way. They received several dirty looks from people who had been waiting on standby but were far too tired to care. They collapsed in their seats at the back of the coach class, buckled their seatbelts, and waited for takeoff.
And waited.
And waited.
Half an hour later the intercom crackled and the pilot explained in broken English and not much better Portuguese that they were waiting for the paper napkins to be loaded.
"Should not be much more time than five hour. Napkin available in—" The voice held a hurried conversation with someone else then came back to the microphone. "Sorry, wrong time. Napkin should not be much more time than five minute." Another consultation. "Five minutes. Thank you." The intercom clicked off.
"Of all the—" Helga stopped and frowned at the seat in front of her. "Gerald? Am I going crazy or is that phone ringing?"
Gerald followed her eyes. Sure enough, the phone provided for in-flight calls was flashing "*RING**RING*" on its tiny led screen. Gerald stared at it.
"Is that even possible?" he asked.
Helga shrugged. "It's never happened to me before. Think we should answer it?"
At that moment, the screen changed to "*PICK UP THE PHONE PATAKI YOU" followed by something rather unprintable. Helga smiled. She answered the phone.
"Hello Moria."
"'Hello Moria,'" the voice on the other end mimicked irritably, "You've been out of contact for God-knows how long, wreaking all sorts of havoc heaven-knows where, never caring that I've been to hell and back worrying about you--"
"I never knew you were so religious."
"hell and back worrying about you, when out of the blue I get a message to call this ridiculously long number on my PDA and type 'ring' at the tone! And all you have to say is 'Hello Moria?'" This was followed by a longer, considerably more colorful recitation of Helga's crimes.
"Gerald says 'hello' to Simon too." put in Helga during the pause between Moria's questioning Helga's parentage and her bemoaning the fate of, God-forbid, any offspring Helga might have.
Helga was still on the phone with Moria when the plane finally took off twenty minutes later. She had started hearing Simon in the background asking alternately what was going on and if she had summoned him to her office merely to benefit from her conversation. A few more of his proddings sufficed to convince her to take a moment and explain things to him, after which he took away the receiver and asked to speak to Gerald. Helga handed over the phone to him gratefully, and Gerald summarized their jungle activities to Simon, listened, nodded and gave the phone to Helga again.
"Ms. Pataki?"
"I'm here Simon."
"Moria is still a bit…indisposed, so I thought I should tell you what I've just told Gerald." A sound very much like something wooden slamming into a wall came out of the speaker.
"Shoot."
"Although your actions as of late have been completely out of line with code, the information you can now give about the people behind this will be I'm sure invaluable. This will be taken into account when we decide if any action needs to be taken against the two of you. You are both on official suspension and will be transported upon arrival in the States to a safehouse—" Helga sighed noisily. A boring small-town house with no work to distract them?
"You are not to return to Headquarters for at least two weeks, though you may take as much as a month if you feel you are unable to return to work that soon. Um, with the…trauma of your experience, and all." Simon had an odd tone in his voice and Helga wondered what he was talking about.
"We've made some progress with the situation here. Although we still don't know where the hot air was going to, we have managed to raid one temporary storehouse while you were gone and now have several containers of it in custody. However, we haven't begun research on them yet. The problem is that I'd really like to put this at an independent operation – somewhere we aren't known to be working just in case they come looking for this. The right amount of cash could generate a leak even here and they seem to have—"
Helga interrupted again. "Simon, I've got just the girl for you."
"I thought you might." There was a click, as if a recording device had been turned off. "Off the record? With your information, added to the help of Mr. Smith and this friend of yours, I think we'll be able to put this thing to a stop far before we had ever hoped before. Of course, since you broke about a million rules getting that information, the Agency can't reward you for it." He paused. "Incidentally, I understand you were shot?"
"That's right."
"Ah. You may find that your medical compensation is slightly higher than you might expect next paycheck. Also, I believe somewhere along the way Mr. Johansson lost a car. That will, of course, be replaced." There was another pause.
"Oh," Simon added as an afterthought, "In case I forgot to mention it, the location of your safehouse is in Hawaii. Very close to the beach, as I understand it. I hope that's not too inconvenient for you."
****************
Helga waited until Gerald was asleep beside her to read the letter Syl gave her.
Dear Helga,
I'm sure you still have a lot of questions to ask me, and I can't answer most of them. For example, you're probably wondering why I acted the way I did towards you when we first met. I can't explain it to you right now, but I can tell you that I'm sorry. Suffice to say that I thought I knew who you were, and I couldn't have been more wrong. In a way I can see part of me when I was your age in you. I don't think I would have used karate or whatever you did to "Syl" if she had treated me the way I treated you, but then again I probably would have punched her. Or at least wanted to very very badly.
I don't know if I'll ever see you again, but I want you to know that I'm so glad I got to meet both you and Gerald. Please tell him that for me. I wish we had longer to talk. There's a lot I would like to ask both of you. Well, I wish a lot of things. But I have my health, and thanks to you my husband, and just in that I have more than a lot of other people I have known.
Mr. Smith will always know how to contact me, and he'll give me updates on how you two are doing I'm sure. Tell Gerald not to fall in love with any more cars, lol.
Love to you both,
Stella (aka Syl, or El) (and yes, that's my real name this time)
"Good letter?" Gerald had woken up.
"Yeah." Helga smiled. "Very good, actually. She says she's glad she met us."
"Amazing. Even you?"
"I can be nice. See, watch me refrain from hitting you." Helga pointed out. "And she says you're not to fall for any more cars."
"What about sexy blondes? Ouch! I thought you were refraining!"
"I did. That was just a light punch. You'll heal."
"Ah, but what about the blow you've dealt my heart?" He put his hand to his chest and closed his eyes dramatically.
"Gerald…"
"Alright, I'll be serious. I have to ask you something important though."
"What's that?"
He opened his eyes and looked at her. "Can I help you pick out a bathing suit for our month in Hawaii?"
She rolled her eyes. "If I say yes will you shut up?"
"I doubt it." He grinned at her, and in a moment she smiled back.
"We'll see."
It went on like that for pretty much the entire flight. And if somewhere in the conversation Gerald took Helga's hand, or if by the end of the flight Helga was asleep on Gerald's shoulder, well then I'm sure the author simply forgot to mention it.
THE END
A/N: But wait, there's more! The epilogue will appear before the New Year, and it includes a surprise I've been cooking up as a special bonus for this story! Stay tuned! ~PJ
Jade Rose: lol, ask and ye shall receive…eventually…
Maxine: ::tosses a Good Guess award:: Yep, it was Syl. And btw, I loved TTT so much that I managed to see it again the next night, on "opening night". Just to make you hate me more, I know.
Hafae: I have to keep writing, otherwise I go nuts and start talking to myself. Actually, I do that anyway. But at least I write it down afterwards. Is that better? Well, I hold firm in my belief that all writers are insane, we just have discovered writing as a way to keep the insanity in check. Or perhaps encourage it.
Snow Lane: And a Good Guess award for you! ::hands SL one:: Being the author, I thought it was obvious…but then, I already knew the answer which helps…sometimes…
Luvya: Don't be sad, at least you get a Good Guess award for figuring out Syl and Les. ::presents it:: For anyone still confused at my choice of names, think stELla, miLES. Yes, that was perhaps overly tricky, but I really don't like those names so I changed them as much as possible while still giving ya'll a chance to guess. And I even called her Syl first so you'd have an 's' in your mind…
DropsofJupiter: Definitely cry over Les instead. Phil being dead isn't necessarily a good thing. Remember in those really old arcade games, where your only reward for killing a bad guy was to go up against an even badder boss, until you finally die and have to add more quarters? At least Phil was incompetent. I'm happy about it though, because my next villain is so much more fun to write… Oh, and Happy Christmas everyone! It's still Christmas for me, in my family it lasts for two weeks.
Jennavette: I'm very sorry about Les. I didn't want it to happen, but it did and I can't help that, it was as you said necessary. More on that later. And thanks for the review. :)
Poison Ivory: Well, you got one out of two. ::gives out yet another Good Guess award:: My goodness there were a lot of those this time! I must be losing my touch, lol! Hope you get to a computer soon, poor deprived person.
Rachael West: lol, thanks! But you've made the mistake of asking me about writing. I am sorry. I'm apologizing in advance because I know I am about to ramble. Please prepare yourself.
Ok, three really long answers to your one question: 1)first, generally speaking you have to write the way you feel is best to write. As long as you're not making glaringly wrong mistakes, don't let anyone tell you you must proofread 100 times and rewrite at least twice that before posting. (But if you get a lot of reviews that say you have grammar, spelling, plot, or cannon errors, that's another matter.)
2)second, yes I do and no I don't. When I writing a story, for me I do it a hundred times in my head before it ever sees the actual page. I tend to lie down and listen to my characters talking to each other for hours, and if eventually they say something I like (they don't always) I'll sit up and write it down. Then that may or may not get me writing so I can finish the story.
For Hot Air, as soon as I had the idea to write it the first thing I did was make an outline, and that took literally weeks of tweaking – but just in my head. I thought about it constantly while working or in class or eating or trying to sleep. It just about drove me insane. But then, when I wrote it down finally I only had to make a few minor changes on paper. And the voices stopped for a while. Of course, now that whole outline has been tossed almost totally because of further changes I made while writing chapters. But those are good changes because then I suddenly saw that this was a totally different book than what I started out thinking it was (a quick introduction to the next book). Some people have to do this process of writing and rewriting on paper, and some do it in their heads, but everyone does it to some extent. In this past chapter I sat down every day and tried to write the beginning of it. I would type a few words, delete them, hit my head against the wall and decide playing games on my cell phone was more important. It took me weeks to get through the first two pages. Then today, I sat down and wrote the rest of these eight pages, and I probably won't rewrite them at all. Why? Well other than the fact that my muse smacked my head against the wall for me this time, the whole reason I couldn't write the first part was that I was busy thinking about the second part, the part I actually wanted to write. The first part was boring me, so I had to do the rewriting on paper. The rest I rewrote in my head. I hope that explains it.
Oh, and everyone hates their work after they post it. That's when you realize it's all totally pointless and you really should give up entirely. But then someone says they like it and your work improves somewhat. And amazingly, someone whose work you admire says they enjoy your work, and the story becomes Pulitzer prize winning material, and you can't understand why you haven't been published yet (regardless of the fact that you've never actually tried to get published). At least, this is what happens to me sometimes. Other times no one says they like it and it stays crap. Then it's a case of Ugly Baby syndrome (when you've worked hard on something so you know it's beautiful when you've just finished it simply because of the work you did on it, not necessarily because the story is good). Best solution for that? When you finish writing something, put it away. Don't look at it for at least a week. Then, if you still like it great. If not, rewrite it.
3) If you don't mind erm, colorful language in a book and you haven't read it yet, read Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamot (that may not be spelled correctly, I need to look that up). Seriously best writing book, not to mention funniest I've ever read. Other books told me I wasn't crazy to write. This one told me I was crazy, but I should write anyway. Which, in the end, is exactly what I want to hear, because to me crazy is better than boring any day. And congratulations if you've read all this, lol.