Chapter 11
The two murderers unwearyingly waited inside their vehicle outside the Conciliate. It had been hours since she was spotted walking with a stranger and entered this odd building.
"What is this?"
"I don't know. It looks like it's some kind of Conciliate." His partner in crime stammered. "Yeah, it's the French Conciliate."
"You little bitch, Cassie..." He muttered to himself.
"What...what are you talking about?"
"Do you know why we have these around the US?"
"I guess to represent their country..." John guessed.
"Correct. She's on Canadian grounds and that means she's under their bylaws."
"So?"
"Don't you get it?! She's theirs now." The woman's lover explained, reaching for another cigarette. While smoking the toxins in the stick, he unfolded a plan.
The frail girl sat down in one of the rooms, watching a rather boring curling tournament. Yawning, she couldn't stand the solace that she was enduring. Standing up, she surveyed the perimeter...again. She circled the rooms like a hungry vulture scanning its horizons for prey. Her eyes sparkled delightfully when she noticed there was an upstairs in this medium sized edifice. Turnable coughed loudly when she was about to climb upstairs to explore.
"No one is allowed upstairs." He notified her.
"Why?" She asked, with nativity washing over her pale face.
"That's the Queen's private bedroom and only RCMP officials are allowed there."
"Has the Queen ever been upstairs?"
"No, she has not." The bashful Mountie then changed the subject. "How about watching hockey or perhaps curling? I do believe there's a curling championship on at ten. Let me see the schedule."
"No, thanks...really. If I see another form of Canadian sports on TV, I'm going to scream. What other channels do you get?"
"We have a few stations that are equivalent to what you are accustomed to regularly watch like CBS, NBC...." He scanned the television schedules that he found around his desk. "...Also a few music channels..."
"What channel, what channel?!""Forty-three, Ms. Cass...."
She vociferously repeated the numbers while bolting to the television set. Cassie screamed in joy as the TV flooded with familiar faces...the faces of the Backstreet Boys! Turnable investigated the commotion the girl was making and peculiarly ogled at the screen.
"Who are these gentlemen?"
"You've never heard of the Backstreet Boys?!" She asked, with a dreadful look overwhelming her complexion.
"Should I know them?" He innocently inquired.
"They're the most successful group in the world...and you never heard of 'em! You must have been living under a rock."
She turned up the volume while they were performing on MuchMusic, a show that was similar to the Total Request Live. Their soulful voices serenaded the teenage crowd, who intently heard every note that they were hitting. Some were in awe while others began to sob.
Fraser heard the music from his office and decided to investigate, along with Diefenbaker. The large animal grinned foolishly, hopped on the couch to let Cassie keep him company. Becoming aware of his powerful presence, the female turned the contraption down and her joy morphed into gloominess.
"Can I have a word with you in the office, Ms. Scott." It meant more of an order instead of a simple request. She knew he was serious since he began to call her by her last name.
Sitting up, she tottered to Fraser's office, which was in the far corner. When they entered the cramped office, she found nothing that brightened the room. It was dull, depressing and lonesome-just like her Fraser.
"What do you want?" She resentfully stipulated.
"I want to know if you can tell me who killed your friend, Lynne Barnett. Why haven't you told me?"
"I don't want to testify, I just want to live a simple life again."
"What about finding..." He ceased, knowing she wasn't listening to him. Fraser sighed, "Very well. Your father has called my partner on numerous occasions about your return. Your brother is at the precinct waiting for you."
"What? I don't have a brother...I'm the only child in my family...unless." Cassie wondered, and then shut her mouth.
"Unless?" Benton presumed.
She remained quiet for a second and closed her eyes.
"Ryan Miller and his friend John Keller killed my best friend." Tears welled in her large eyes. "They were drunk and it was supposed to be a stunt but it all went wrong. He was just going to use a fake knife; I don't know what possessed him to use a real one."
She began to cry in her soft, delicate hands. Fraser pitifully gazed at her and he shyly embraced her. In his strong arms, he felt her trembling and her heart racing. The kind Mountie stroked his hands along her back, calming her weeps. Cassandra buried her face in his clothing, particularly in the chest area. The student heard his heart beat, healthy and steady.
"Please...protect me." She begged.
"I promise."
