Author's note: Hey, I wanted to put this in at the beginning so that it
won't interfere with the rest of the story since it'll be another week or
so until I can get chapter 18 up. That sounds like such a long time...but
not to worries! It'll be up ASAP! I promise! =).
Thank you everyone, for the reviews. Hehe. They were funny. I love your rantings...its so great, especially Jayme and her essay...lol. You should read it. I swear you'll laugh, so go to the "reviews". Clickie clicke.
Just for my benefit: when you get to the chickens (lol. You'll see), I promise there's a reason and I'm not just going crazy in the head.
Anyhoo (heh.) here it is:
Chap.17- Safe house
Sydney sat on the couch silently, looking down at her hands, not knowing how to react to Bridgette's story. After five minutes of complete silence, Bridgette sighed inwardly, and stood up from the couch.
"I'm not trying to impose anything on you, Sydney. I...I had to make sure that you knew..." She paused, and when Sydney didn't make a move to get up from the couch too, "Good-night."
"Good-night," Sydney managed to answer quietly.
An hour later, Sydney rose from the couch, slowly. She grimaced at the pain that shot through her foot and thigh. Turning off the lights, she quietly climbed the stairs and slipped into bed, the tears that she had been holding in throughout her conversation with Bridgette, slid down her face and onto the pillow, their saltiness somewhat reassuring Sydney that what Bridgette had said about Vaughn had not been a dream.
Telling Sydney about Vaughn's feelings about her had done exactly the opposite of what Bridgette had hoped. The tension between them had been uncomfortable before, but now, it was unbearable. Sydney wouldn't spend more than five minutes in a room with him alone, maybe ten if there was someone else there. Whenever he tried to talk to her, she would find an excuse, leaving Vaughn highly suspicious of his mother.
Mark, Ana, and James could sense the changed environment and even though they tried every technique to figure out what was going on, it was hopeless.
"You know...it was really good having Michael on team this mission." Ana remarked suddenly as she bent down to dip her paint brush in the can.
"You'll have to fight Sydney and Lauren for him..." Mark started to say jokingly, but then stopped mid-sentence, her glare silencing him.
"But seriously," James said, piping up. "The mission was smoother."
"And easier."
"And....uh..." Mark trailed off, not able to think of anything else.
Ana patted him, reassuringly on the shoulder.
"It's okay, Mark. Don't think too hard. Remember what happened last time..."
It was her turn to be silenced by his glare. She smiled at him sweetly.
"But no, really, I wonder where we would be if he hadn't been here." Ana remarked, looking around the grassy fields and rolling estate.
"Not painting miles and miles of fences?" Mark grumbled.
"Or we could be dead." James added gravely, silencing Mark's grumbling.
"You'll think he'll become a field agent again?" Ana asked.
"No." James and Mark answered together.
"How much you wanna bet?"
"Ten dollars." James answered immediately.
"What?! Ten dollars? No way." Mark answered, now unsure.
"Fine...how much then?"
"A penny."
"A penny!" James asked in disbelief.
"A penny. I like pennies. There's nothing wrong with pennies."
"Yea, except...it's a penny..."
"Fine, you cheapo. A penny." Ana agreed.
The three shook with each other and resumed painting.
"Very serious matter," Mark said quietly. "There are two cents at stake here..."
"Whoa. Two cents?" James asked seriously.
"I know, man. Two whole cents."
"Dude..."
"Will you two just shut up?" Ana snapped, adding another coat over her post.
Mark and James leaned back to look and each other and grin, knowing that Ana was enjoying every minute of it.
It was the last day that they would be able to enjoy the comforts of Bridgette's warm beds and generous hospitality. They would be leaving for the airport at twelve in the morning, having offered to pay the cabdriver extra for the hour and the long distance that he would have to drive to reach Bridgette's secluded home.
Mark, Ana, and James, being determined the finish what they started and claiming to only have half a mile to go, trooped out at six in the morning with their paintbrushes and cans of paint.
Bridgette, taking the opportunity of having help in the house, instructed Michael to the attic to lift all the boxes that she had labeled out to the garage, where her friend would pick them up to donate. Obediently, he left the kitchen table, leaving Sydney and Bridgette sitting alone, unspeaking.
"I know you're probably mad at me, Sydney..."
"No! No! I'm not mad." Sydney assured her. "I should thank you really."
"Oh?"
"You've answered the questions that I've been asking myself all these years and...I promise Bridgette, I'll try to believe."
"I'm glad, Sydney. Now, I want you to make another promise to me."
"What's that?"
"I want you to promise me that this won't be the last time I see you."
Sydney smiled.
"That one's easier than my first one. Bridgette, you won't be able to keep me away."
Bridgette smiled and patted Sydney's hand with her own. They rose together and carried the morning plates to the sink and as they washed the dishes together in a comfortable silence.
After the last plate was dried and placed carefully into the cupboard, Bridgette dried her hands and looked around the house. There was nothing to do indoors.
"What's next?" Sydney asked.
"Well...it is a little early for this, but how would you like to help me tag the chickens?"
"Tag the chickens?"
"I'll show you." Bridgette said, taking off her apron and hanging it on the back of the chair, opening the door and heading out the back door. After they had walked for a while, Sydney could finally see a couple of chickens. As they walked closer and closer, she saw more and more that were roaming freely, twenty or so feet from a small wooden shack where she assumed they had their nests.
Looking closer, she could see that some chickens had small tags on their legs while others didn't. Bridgette picked up a chicken and although it squawked and flapped its wings dangerously, she kept a firm grip upon it and quickly attached a small tag onto its leg.
Sydney then, picked up a chicken near her and swiftly tagged it. Bridgette smiled at Sydney's quick learning and then turned her attention to a chicken strutting near her feet. They worked for twenty minutes, occasionally laughing when a chicken would escape from their grasp and beat their faces with its strong, feathered, wing.
They were close to finishing, with a few stray chickens wandering around, their stomachs grumbling for lunch. As they were about to head in, a chicken seemed to swagger around Sydney's feet and nipped her suddenly.
"Ow!" Sydney exclaimed, as she lifted her pant leg to see the red area that was beginning to form where the blood vessels had been broken, but the skin had not.
"What's the matter?" Bridgette asked, turning around. She was far ahead of Sydney, trying to get to the kitchen before the others did so they would not have to wait for their lunches.
"The chicken bit me!" Sydney told her in disbelief.
Bridgette laughed.
"Don't worry; we'll get her after lunch."
"You go on ahead. I think I'm going to tag her now." Sydney said, following the chicken with her eyes.
Bridgette followed her gaze and saw that the chicken was heading toward the small shack.
"No, Sydney..." She started to say, but Sydney was already walking quickly. Bridgette started to walk after her. "Sydney..." she called, but Sydney was already too far away and too absorbed in her "revenge". Bridgette lifted her skirt quickened her pace.
Sydney had crept up silently on the chicken that was strutting around, unaware, in the small shack. She bent down low and grabbed the chicken from below, quickly tagging its legs and releasing it outside the shack. She smiled at her success and then looked at her nails that were now black from the dirt. Frowning, she looked around for the source and moved the hay around with her shoe, seeing a thick layer of dirt. Her mind flashed back the morning when Bridgette had given her the task of making the pancakes. When she had come back, she had a basket full of eggs and dirt under her fingernails an hour and a half later.
Turning around, she saw that it would be impossible for Bridgette to take an hour and a half to collect the eggs in this small shack. There would be no reason for Bridgette's hands to scrape the ground unless she had dropped an egg, but the egg would be broken and the remains would still be present. She spotted a rake in the corner of the shack and raked at the floor quickly.
She bent down and brushed some dirt away from something in the middle of the shack. Sydney traced her finger along the ridge and observed its size, concluding that it was a panel of some kind, perhaps for storage. She felt guilty for intruding in Bridgette's privacy, but her curiosity won the best of her and she dug her fingernails under the panel lifting it up.
Sydney gasped. Stairs led down into a dark hole where she couldn't see the bottom. She felt around underneath and floorboards and found a small flashlight. The beam of light, guided her down as she carefully took each step. The wooden stairs seemed rickety and she held out her hand to steady herself on the dirt wall beside her. When she reached the bottom, she swung her flashlight around and saw a small door on her right side.
Cautiously, she walked towards the door and pushed it open. The door, led to a long cemented hallway and after walking the length of it, she came upon another door. Sydney felt solid door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.
Mentally and physically preparing herself for what could be behind the door, she swung it open and walked into a lush and lavishly decorated room. The room didn't contain any electricity and a fire was burning steadily and brightly, casting an eerie glow around the red room. Before Sydney could explore any further, she could hear footsteps coming from the hallway and another set of soft, padded footsteps from behind a door in the room.
Panicking, she dove behind a chair and checked around her to be sure that she was safely concealed in all directions. A soft voice rang out cautiously,
"Hello? Is anybody there?"
Sydney peeked from around the chair and she could see Bridgette knock the open door quickly.
"It's me."
"I heard somebody come in and they didn't identify themselves." the voice whispered quickly until Bridgette cut him off quickly.
"Shh..."
Sydney closed her eyes, holding her breath in as she heart Bridgette's footsteps nearing her.
"Sydney..." Bridgette pleaded, when she saw the terror in her eyes.
"Who are you?" Sydney asked her muscles tensed, ready to attack.
"Bridgette Vaughn." She whispered so that only Sydney could hear.
"No. Bridgette Vaughn lives in France on a farm. She has a son named Michael. Bridgette Vaughn doesn't have a room underneath her chicken shack." Sydney hissed back.
"Sydney, please. Let me explain."
Sydney scrambled up from her position and was face to face with the person that the voice belonged to.
"Sydney, I need you to believe me. That was your promise to me."
"I..."
"Sydney...please..."
Sydney nodded quickly.
"Okay. Okay. Tell me. I believe you."
"This is a CIA safe house, Sydney."
"What?"
"It's true. It's been in operation two years after William's death. They pay me, monthly, and it keeps the farm running. But that wasn't the reason why I wanted this deal with the CIA. It wasn't about the money at all. Money was the last thing on my mind."
"Then, why?"
"Information, Sydney. Isn't that what all these agencies are about? Information. I wanted to know who killed my husband. So I went to Langley, and I begged and pleaded for months until they finally agreed on this situation. That's how I knew about you and your mother. That's why I know everything."
"Does Vaughn know about this?"
"No! I have kept it from him all these years. It kept him safe."
"You can't expect me to keep a secret like this from him."
"You have to, Sydney."
"I can't keep anymore secrets. You have to understand that."
"Sydney..."
"Either you tell him, or I do. I'm sorry, but...he deserves to know. He's not ten years old anymore!"
Sydney stepped back.
"We should go." Bridgette said to Sydney. Sydney nodded and let herself be led out of the room, shutting the door behind her, climbed the stairs, put the flashlight back in place, and shut the trapdoor, redistributing the hay and dirt around naturally.
"I need to tell him myself." Bridgette said to Sydney as neared the house.
Sydney nodded in agreement and turned to the woman reassuringly.
"I won't say anything."
Thank you everyone, for the reviews. Hehe. They were funny. I love your rantings...its so great, especially Jayme and her essay...lol. You should read it. I swear you'll laugh, so go to the "reviews". Clickie clicke.
Just for my benefit: when you get to the chickens (lol. You'll see), I promise there's a reason and I'm not just going crazy in the head.
Anyhoo (heh.) here it is:
Chap.17- Safe house
Sydney sat on the couch silently, looking down at her hands, not knowing how to react to Bridgette's story. After five minutes of complete silence, Bridgette sighed inwardly, and stood up from the couch.
"I'm not trying to impose anything on you, Sydney. I...I had to make sure that you knew..." She paused, and when Sydney didn't make a move to get up from the couch too, "Good-night."
"Good-night," Sydney managed to answer quietly.
An hour later, Sydney rose from the couch, slowly. She grimaced at the pain that shot through her foot and thigh. Turning off the lights, she quietly climbed the stairs and slipped into bed, the tears that she had been holding in throughout her conversation with Bridgette, slid down her face and onto the pillow, their saltiness somewhat reassuring Sydney that what Bridgette had said about Vaughn had not been a dream.
Telling Sydney about Vaughn's feelings about her had done exactly the opposite of what Bridgette had hoped. The tension between them had been uncomfortable before, but now, it was unbearable. Sydney wouldn't spend more than five minutes in a room with him alone, maybe ten if there was someone else there. Whenever he tried to talk to her, she would find an excuse, leaving Vaughn highly suspicious of his mother.
Mark, Ana, and James could sense the changed environment and even though they tried every technique to figure out what was going on, it was hopeless.
"You know...it was really good having Michael on team this mission." Ana remarked suddenly as she bent down to dip her paint brush in the can.
"You'll have to fight Sydney and Lauren for him..." Mark started to say jokingly, but then stopped mid-sentence, her glare silencing him.
"But seriously," James said, piping up. "The mission was smoother."
"And easier."
"And....uh..." Mark trailed off, not able to think of anything else.
Ana patted him, reassuringly on the shoulder.
"It's okay, Mark. Don't think too hard. Remember what happened last time..."
It was her turn to be silenced by his glare. She smiled at him sweetly.
"But no, really, I wonder where we would be if he hadn't been here." Ana remarked, looking around the grassy fields and rolling estate.
"Not painting miles and miles of fences?" Mark grumbled.
"Or we could be dead." James added gravely, silencing Mark's grumbling.
"You'll think he'll become a field agent again?" Ana asked.
"No." James and Mark answered together.
"How much you wanna bet?"
"Ten dollars." James answered immediately.
"What?! Ten dollars? No way." Mark answered, now unsure.
"Fine...how much then?"
"A penny."
"A penny!" James asked in disbelief.
"A penny. I like pennies. There's nothing wrong with pennies."
"Yea, except...it's a penny..."
"Fine, you cheapo. A penny." Ana agreed.
The three shook with each other and resumed painting.
"Very serious matter," Mark said quietly. "There are two cents at stake here..."
"Whoa. Two cents?" James asked seriously.
"I know, man. Two whole cents."
"Dude..."
"Will you two just shut up?" Ana snapped, adding another coat over her post.
Mark and James leaned back to look and each other and grin, knowing that Ana was enjoying every minute of it.
It was the last day that they would be able to enjoy the comforts of Bridgette's warm beds and generous hospitality. They would be leaving for the airport at twelve in the morning, having offered to pay the cabdriver extra for the hour and the long distance that he would have to drive to reach Bridgette's secluded home.
Mark, Ana, and James, being determined the finish what they started and claiming to only have half a mile to go, trooped out at six in the morning with their paintbrushes and cans of paint.
Bridgette, taking the opportunity of having help in the house, instructed Michael to the attic to lift all the boxes that she had labeled out to the garage, where her friend would pick them up to donate. Obediently, he left the kitchen table, leaving Sydney and Bridgette sitting alone, unspeaking.
"I know you're probably mad at me, Sydney..."
"No! No! I'm not mad." Sydney assured her. "I should thank you really."
"Oh?"
"You've answered the questions that I've been asking myself all these years and...I promise Bridgette, I'll try to believe."
"I'm glad, Sydney. Now, I want you to make another promise to me."
"What's that?"
"I want you to promise me that this won't be the last time I see you."
Sydney smiled.
"That one's easier than my first one. Bridgette, you won't be able to keep me away."
Bridgette smiled and patted Sydney's hand with her own. They rose together and carried the morning plates to the sink and as they washed the dishes together in a comfortable silence.
After the last plate was dried and placed carefully into the cupboard, Bridgette dried her hands and looked around the house. There was nothing to do indoors.
"What's next?" Sydney asked.
"Well...it is a little early for this, but how would you like to help me tag the chickens?"
"Tag the chickens?"
"I'll show you." Bridgette said, taking off her apron and hanging it on the back of the chair, opening the door and heading out the back door. After they had walked for a while, Sydney could finally see a couple of chickens. As they walked closer and closer, she saw more and more that were roaming freely, twenty or so feet from a small wooden shack where she assumed they had their nests.
Looking closer, she could see that some chickens had small tags on their legs while others didn't. Bridgette picked up a chicken and although it squawked and flapped its wings dangerously, she kept a firm grip upon it and quickly attached a small tag onto its leg.
Sydney then, picked up a chicken near her and swiftly tagged it. Bridgette smiled at Sydney's quick learning and then turned her attention to a chicken strutting near her feet. They worked for twenty minutes, occasionally laughing when a chicken would escape from their grasp and beat their faces with its strong, feathered, wing.
They were close to finishing, with a few stray chickens wandering around, their stomachs grumbling for lunch. As they were about to head in, a chicken seemed to swagger around Sydney's feet and nipped her suddenly.
"Ow!" Sydney exclaimed, as she lifted her pant leg to see the red area that was beginning to form where the blood vessels had been broken, but the skin had not.
"What's the matter?" Bridgette asked, turning around. She was far ahead of Sydney, trying to get to the kitchen before the others did so they would not have to wait for their lunches.
"The chicken bit me!" Sydney told her in disbelief.
Bridgette laughed.
"Don't worry; we'll get her after lunch."
"You go on ahead. I think I'm going to tag her now." Sydney said, following the chicken with her eyes.
Bridgette followed her gaze and saw that the chicken was heading toward the small shack.
"No, Sydney..." She started to say, but Sydney was already walking quickly. Bridgette started to walk after her. "Sydney..." she called, but Sydney was already too far away and too absorbed in her "revenge". Bridgette lifted her skirt quickened her pace.
Sydney had crept up silently on the chicken that was strutting around, unaware, in the small shack. She bent down low and grabbed the chicken from below, quickly tagging its legs and releasing it outside the shack. She smiled at her success and then looked at her nails that were now black from the dirt. Frowning, she looked around for the source and moved the hay around with her shoe, seeing a thick layer of dirt. Her mind flashed back the morning when Bridgette had given her the task of making the pancakes. When she had come back, she had a basket full of eggs and dirt under her fingernails an hour and a half later.
Turning around, she saw that it would be impossible for Bridgette to take an hour and a half to collect the eggs in this small shack. There would be no reason for Bridgette's hands to scrape the ground unless she had dropped an egg, but the egg would be broken and the remains would still be present. She spotted a rake in the corner of the shack and raked at the floor quickly.
She bent down and brushed some dirt away from something in the middle of the shack. Sydney traced her finger along the ridge and observed its size, concluding that it was a panel of some kind, perhaps for storage. She felt guilty for intruding in Bridgette's privacy, but her curiosity won the best of her and she dug her fingernails under the panel lifting it up.
Sydney gasped. Stairs led down into a dark hole where she couldn't see the bottom. She felt around underneath and floorboards and found a small flashlight. The beam of light, guided her down as she carefully took each step. The wooden stairs seemed rickety and she held out her hand to steady herself on the dirt wall beside her. When she reached the bottom, she swung her flashlight around and saw a small door on her right side.
Cautiously, she walked towards the door and pushed it open. The door, led to a long cemented hallway and after walking the length of it, she came upon another door. Sydney felt solid door and tried the knob. It was unlocked.
Mentally and physically preparing herself for what could be behind the door, she swung it open and walked into a lush and lavishly decorated room. The room didn't contain any electricity and a fire was burning steadily and brightly, casting an eerie glow around the red room. Before Sydney could explore any further, she could hear footsteps coming from the hallway and another set of soft, padded footsteps from behind a door in the room.
Panicking, she dove behind a chair and checked around her to be sure that she was safely concealed in all directions. A soft voice rang out cautiously,
"Hello? Is anybody there?"
Sydney peeked from around the chair and she could see Bridgette knock the open door quickly.
"It's me."
"I heard somebody come in and they didn't identify themselves." the voice whispered quickly until Bridgette cut him off quickly.
"Shh..."
Sydney closed her eyes, holding her breath in as she heart Bridgette's footsteps nearing her.
"Sydney..." Bridgette pleaded, when she saw the terror in her eyes.
"Who are you?" Sydney asked her muscles tensed, ready to attack.
"Bridgette Vaughn." She whispered so that only Sydney could hear.
"No. Bridgette Vaughn lives in France on a farm. She has a son named Michael. Bridgette Vaughn doesn't have a room underneath her chicken shack." Sydney hissed back.
"Sydney, please. Let me explain."
Sydney scrambled up from her position and was face to face with the person that the voice belonged to.
"Sydney, I need you to believe me. That was your promise to me."
"I..."
"Sydney...please..."
Sydney nodded quickly.
"Okay. Okay. Tell me. I believe you."
"This is a CIA safe house, Sydney."
"What?"
"It's true. It's been in operation two years after William's death. They pay me, monthly, and it keeps the farm running. But that wasn't the reason why I wanted this deal with the CIA. It wasn't about the money at all. Money was the last thing on my mind."
"Then, why?"
"Information, Sydney. Isn't that what all these agencies are about? Information. I wanted to know who killed my husband. So I went to Langley, and I begged and pleaded for months until they finally agreed on this situation. That's how I knew about you and your mother. That's why I know everything."
"Does Vaughn know about this?"
"No! I have kept it from him all these years. It kept him safe."
"You can't expect me to keep a secret like this from him."
"You have to, Sydney."
"I can't keep anymore secrets. You have to understand that."
"Sydney..."
"Either you tell him, or I do. I'm sorry, but...he deserves to know. He's not ten years old anymore!"
Sydney stepped back.
"We should go." Bridgette said to Sydney. Sydney nodded and let herself be led out of the room, shutting the door behind her, climbed the stairs, put the flashlight back in place, and shut the trapdoor, redistributing the hay and dirt around naturally.
"I need to tell him myself." Bridgette said to Sydney as neared the house.
Sydney nodded in agreement and turned to the woman reassuringly.
"I won't say anything."