Chapter Three
Disclaimer: I have no idea if I need this or not, and I haven't put one in any chapters before. If anyone knows if these are necessary, please email me or something. Anyway, I don't own these characters or anything to do with the Mummy.
Author's Note: Here it is at last! I wish I had a plausible excuse for the huge gap between updates, but, sadly, I don't. School's finished for the year (Just three years to go!!! Then uni, then a job. In forty years or so I should finally be able to relax) so I have no homework. And I don't have a job, or a social life, or any other commitments handy.
Of course, if there is more response to this chapter than there was to the last one I might be able to arrange a shorter time span between now and chapter four.
If there isn't I'll take forever. Please don't put me through that! I'll also have to think of some new threats. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Shut your traps, would you? What does it take for a fellow to get a decent night's sleep around here?' Jonathan grumbled.
Or at least I think that's what he said. His incoherent mumbling is a bit tricky to decipher sometimes.
For a moment I was afraid this distraction would cause Mr O'Connell to cease his narrative, or even to pause to cuff Jonathan over the head for interrupting him, but he hardly seemed to notice, being completely rapt in his own tale.
For all his charms, that man had a most exaggerated sense of his own importance!
My gaze flickered to where Jonathan was rolling over, scratching himself under the arms in a most ape-like manner. (I half expected him to rip open his shirt and start pounding his chest while he was at it, maybe adding a roar or two for good measure!)
He was clutching a bottle of liquor- empty, knowing him- to his chest as if it were a comforting childhood toy.
Then again, it was, when one took into consideration the age at which my dear brother had first begun drinking compulsively.
Perhaps he would prefer it if Mr O'Connell and I lulled him to sleep with a soothing lullaby, instead of having a perfectly normal, restrained adult conversation!
'. . .so then I gutted the guy with his own knife and dragged his body back to our base. I left a trail of his blood behind me- a knife in the stomach sure does make a hell of a mess- but I got a medal anyway. For bravery, ya know.'
Mr O'Connell leaned back and smiled in a self-satisfied, expectant sort of way, as if to say, 'I know you must be dying to praise my heroic self, so I'll add magnanimous to my attributes by creating a designated interval in my practically incessant rambling for you to do so.'
He remained silent for some time, obviously patiently waiting for me to articulate cries of 'Oh! You're SO brave!' or 'You must have an awful lot of muscles to be able to drag a bloody carcass cross country with such agility and speed!'
He probably thought I would faint in horror from the blood reference.
As if I had never witnessed the flow of human blood! To be sure, it was usually one of Jonathan's many nose bleeds, but they weren't all roses and daisies!
More like Venus flytrap or cacti, really.
And I was always perfectly capable of staunching the red stream withought feeling in the least queasy.
Which is more than could be said of Jonathan.
He inevitably got quite distressed, and threw up all over the place, not to mention blubbering quite shamelessly.
'Oh, honestly, Mr O'Connell, save such stories for the next seedy bar you take it into your head to pass out in. I am certainly not going to encourage you when it is quite obvious that you are overly pleased with yourself as it is.' I said, mildly enough.
Well! He looked thoroughly disappointed, I was pleased to note.
It served him right, if he had expected to get such admiration as I had imagined him to want. The sort of women Mr O'Connell would usually have as company -probably hired out of a bar, knowing him- would, after hearing such an account, have widened their heavily blackened -from a combination of makeup and fistfights- eyes and praised his gallant -or so he believed- actions to the skies.
THEY would have leapt into his lap and covered his muscly, sweaty body with kisses and heaven knows what else, leaving him with many bright red lipstick marks to contrast sharply with his God-awful tattoos.
Bar girls tended to be like that- excessively admiring of any member of the male species.
Especially gods- sorry, I meant gits- like O'Connell.
I supposed they were angling for free alcoholic beverages.
But out here in the DESERT, far from such establishments and their ill- reputed inmates, Mr O'Connell had to be content with the inarticulate rambling of a librarian with more than half a brain, who was content to buy new items of clothing when her old things became too small, instead of gadding about in thigh-length dresses.
'Ouch!' Mr O'Connell grimaced in response to my rebuke, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat by the fire. He grabbed a few sticks from the ground beside him and fed them to the flames, sneaking wounded glances at me.
Really, but men weren't self-reliant in the least! They seemed to need regular assurances of their brilliance from the fairer sex!
Rather like coaxing flee-bitten mongrel circus dogs to repeat a particularly diverting trick, really.
I adopted a bland, innocent expression and mentally prepared to act bland and innocent.
'Why, Mr O'Connell! You didn't sit on a piece of Jonathan's broken bottle collection, did you? I did tell him, repeatedly in fact, that he ought to clean that mess up after he'd finished playing with it. Unfortunately, stopped listening, let alone responding, to that sort of rebuke from me a long time ago.'
If he had ever listened, of which I was seriously sceptical. He was usually too busy trying to hide his unscrupulous behaviour from me to pay attention to what he called my 'nagging.' (Though I most certainly had never nagged! I had merely strongly suggested in a slightly higher tone of voice than usual!)
It was interesting to observe O'Connell's reaction to my harmless comment. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he believed me to be completely oblivious and severely naive, which I most certainly was not!
I was merely using him as a guinea pig in a sort of scientific experiment.
With luck, I would not wind up forgetting to feed him, as I had poor little Fluffy.
Poor Jonathan had been inconsolable.
'Nah. Just verbal barbs.' Mr O'Connell said, adopting that winning grin of his which never failed to turn my knees from the solid mass of flesh and bone they usually were into water within seconds. Fortunately, this time I was sitting down and in no danger of falling to the ground.
Not to imply that I was prone to swooning anyway!
'Hmmm.' I replied, shifting a little in my seat by the fire.
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the almost eerily calm silence of the desert being broken regularly with massive, uncouth snores from Jonathan.
And then another noise met my ears, one that I could not put a name to. A noise that sent a series of shivers up my spine, or would have, had I not been excessively warm from sitting too close to the blazing fire.
'Did you hear that?' I whispered to O'Connell, my flesh creeping a little as I tried not to imagine what had disturbed the peace. Horrible images began flooding my mind before I could stop them- a most disagreeable experience, to be sure, when one cannot control one's own thoughts.
Downright annoying, too.
'Hear what?' he demanded, instantly concerned. He glanced around suspiciously, and I could suddenly imagine him in full uniform, scouring the countryside for the enemy or a decent tavern as the case may be. 'What was it?'
The sound obliged us with an encore performance, and this time Mr O'Connell heard it- his ears were apparently now free from the gritty sand that had clogged them momentarily.
'I.I don't know,' I answered weakly, faltering a little.
Marvellous! Bloody marvellous!
Now he probably thought I was frightened!
A weak, snivelling female who jumped at shadows and was afraid of the dark. I wasn't like that, but I knew that was who O'Connell expected me to be. I resolved there and then to prove him wrong somehow, before we got back to Cairo and he disappeared from everywhere except my memories.
He looked at me, at my shameful apprehension and -there was no denying it- fear, as if he was about to say something.and then changed his mind.
His eyes flashed and his jaw tightened and he stood, reaching for a weapon.
He didn't have to reach far- there were plenty lying strewn around the fire from when Jonathan and the Warden had indulged themselves in a messy cops and robbers game earlier.
It had been a pity they'd been too drunk to remember which was which.
'Wait here.'
My trepidation forgotten, I stood quickly, almost falling over a champagne bottle in the process. (If only Jonathan would clean up after himself once in a while! Whatever he thought, I was NOT his slave, or his housekeeper.)
'Where do you think are you going?' I demanded, even though I knew perfectly well that he was off to be a Big Hero by finding the source of the noise and destroying it with gusto, probably also with twice as many bullets as necessary, just to show off.
Hmph! What a waste. Didn't he know ammunition didn't grow on trees?
I could really only come to the conclusion that Mr O'Connell was suffering withdrawal symptoms, having not had the pleasure and privilege of killing anyone for almost four hours. The prospect of the violence that the mysterious noises promised was just too tempting for him to pass up. He clearly needed to spill some blood, and soon.
I supposed he thought that sort of behaviour would be applauded -not to mention rewarded- by me when he got back!
Well, he would soon learn that medals are in short supply in the middle of the desert.
As I thus inwardly seethed, Mr O'Connell avoided my lethal -or so I would have liked to think it was- gaze almost guiltily, and pretended to be interested in the label of a liquor bottle he'd just accidentally trodden on.
Unfortunately for him, from my vantage point I was able to see quite well that it had been smudged beyond comprehension. He couldn't possibly be reading it.
So why he kept murmuring 'Huh! I'll be damned! This stuff has grapes in it!' was a mystery the likes of which had not been seen since the Bermuda tryangle.
If the Bermuda tryangle ever HAD been seen, which was doubtful.
'Just going to check it out.' O'Connell finally mumbled, in answer to the question I had uttered an age ago. Honestly, That Man had some serious communication problems!
Come to think of it, he had some serious other problems as well.
And he was sorely mistaken if he thought he was going anywhere withought much discomfort and interrogation from me first!
'Just to get killed, you mean.' I quipped.
I had no doubt that Mr O'Connell would have more faith in himself than that, with his enormous ego and all. I waited for him to correct me, wondering tiredly if there was a man on earth who would refrain from doing so after such a would to their pride.
'Hey!' he exclaimed, looking offended. 'I can handle it!'
Just as I had suspected!
Insufferable man!
How dare he meet my expectations!
Although I supposed that if he hadn't met them, I STILL would have been angry at him. Never in my life had I met a person who could rile me up as much as this dirty, uncouth, ill-mannered scoundrel, with his many guns, insults, and muscles.
'I very much doubt it.' I said scornfully. 'That thing didn't sound very human to me.'
'Yeah? So it's an animal. Either way, like I said, I can handle it.'
He crossed two distractingly muscly arms across his distractingly muscly chest and smirked foolishly at me. Far from being distracted, I had an irresistible urge to slap that smugness right off his face.
Then I had a better idea.
'If you insist on going, than I'm coming with you,' I announced, and took a few decisive steps away from the fire and towards the unaccountable sounds.
I heard him swear quietly, and for once it amused me instead of prompting torrents of rebukes.
I hid my smile and turned to him indifferently, feigning impatience.
'Well? Are you coming, or shall I go by myself?'
I watched his face darken as a scowl replaced the smirk.
A definite improvement.
'You're not going anywhere!' he growled, raising his voice and stepping towards me menacingly.
I stepped neatly out of his reach. 'I suggest that you save your empty threats for whatever's out there, and hope it proves more compliant than I have.' I replied, raising my voice to match his.
Then I turned and strode purposefully into the unknown.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Be quiet!' O'Connell barked hoarsely as I crashed non-too-quietly through the undergrowth.
'I'm being as quiet as I can!' I hissed, rubbing my arm where I'd scratched it repeatedly on inconveniently placed tree limbs and prickly bushes.
If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn our surroundings were conspiring against me!
It seemed I had brushed up against every spiky plant and tripped over every rock larger than a pebble that we had passed.
It was quite disconcerting, not to mention thoroughly irritating. What was even more annoying was the fact that O'Connell was having no problems at all! No, he seemed to anticipate each leaf and stick as if he'd placed them there himself! He just dodged and weaved agilely as I blundered clumsily in his wake. He was as home in the wilderness I was, well, in a library or a museum.
If only walking without falling over ones own feet came as easily as categorising books and deciphering hieroglyphics.
I was rudely interrupted from my reverie by O'Connell whirling around and grabbing my arm.
'Did you hear that?' he breathed.
'No.' I said crossly, not bothering to be quiet, 'But you're squeezing my arm where I cut it earlier, which rather hurts. If you'd be so kind as to-'
'Shhh!' he whispered softly, letting go of my arm at last. 'Sorry. Lets keep going. If we don't find anything soon we'll turn back.'
'Oh we will, will we? Just who put YOU in charge?' I muttered.
'What?'
'Nothing.'
We kept walking, O'Connell glaring menacingly and suspiciously at anything that dared to move without permission. He seemed to be concentrating rather hard for someone who was usually so impatient.
I, however, was thoroughly bored of the whole expedition and quite ready to turn around and get some rest before it was time to leave again. I had heard Mr O'Connell tell Jonathan earlier -with remarkable foresight to choose a time when he was still sober- that we should leave at daybreak. This appointed time couldn't be more than a few hours away now, and it would be a good idea to get some rest beforehand, to prevent falling face down in the sand from exhaustion later on.
Assuming that O'Connell knew the way back -for I certainly didn't- if we turned around now we could be sleeping by the fire in ten minutes or so.
Sleep was suddenly very appealing.
It was on the tip of my tounge to mention this brilliant plan to Mr O'Connell when something quite unexpected happened.
A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and a low, uneven voice said,
'Stop.'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: There are a few sentences in this chapter that are strangely long, and have a lot crammed into them- sorry about that! I just couldn't bring myself to cut anything out.
Who is it that grabs Evie at the end, you ask? At this point I have no idea. Well, I do have a few ideas actually- the hard part is deciding which to use. It'd be great if people reading this could now give me a review, and include a suggestion in the review, so I can see what people want, because I don't really mind what I write about, within reason.
PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!!! I won't continue until I get a decent amount.
I mean, I assume if you're still reading this that you've read my story, and if you've got to chapter three you MUST have comments!!!
So comment already!!!
(Thanks HEAPS to those who have bothered to drop me a line, particularly those who review regularly- it is very much appreciated. Your feedback is what keeps me going!)
Violence Withdrawal Symptoms
Disclaimer: I have no idea if I need this or not, and I haven't put one in any chapters before. If anyone knows if these are necessary, please email me or something. Anyway, I don't own these characters or anything to do with the Mummy.
Author's Note: Here it is at last! I wish I had a plausible excuse for the huge gap between updates, but, sadly, I don't. School's finished for the year (Just three years to go!!! Then uni, then a job. In forty years or so I should finally be able to relax) so I have no homework. And I don't have a job, or a social life, or any other commitments handy.
Of course, if there is more response to this chapter than there was to the last one I might be able to arrange a shorter time span between now and chapter four.
If there isn't I'll take forever. Please don't put me through that! I'll also have to think of some new threats. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Shut your traps, would you? What does it take for a fellow to get a decent night's sleep around here?' Jonathan grumbled.
Or at least I think that's what he said. His incoherent mumbling is a bit tricky to decipher sometimes.
For a moment I was afraid this distraction would cause Mr O'Connell to cease his narrative, or even to pause to cuff Jonathan over the head for interrupting him, but he hardly seemed to notice, being completely rapt in his own tale.
For all his charms, that man had a most exaggerated sense of his own importance!
My gaze flickered to where Jonathan was rolling over, scratching himself under the arms in a most ape-like manner. (I half expected him to rip open his shirt and start pounding his chest while he was at it, maybe adding a roar or two for good measure!)
He was clutching a bottle of liquor- empty, knowing him- to his chest as if it were a comforting childhood toy.
Then again, it was, when one took into consideration the age at which my dear brother had first begun drinking compulsively.
Perhaps he would prefer it if Mr O'Connell and I lulled him to sleep with a soothing lullaby, instead of having a perfectly normal, restrained adult conversation!
'. . .so then I gutted the guy with his own knife and dragged his body back to our base. I left a trail of his blood behind me- a knife in the stomach sure does make a hell of a mess- but I got a medal anyway. For bravery, ya know.'
Mr O'Connell leaned back and smiled in a self-satisfied, expectant sort of way, as if to say, 'I know you must be dying to praise my heroic self, so I'll add magnanimous to my attributes by creating a designated interval in my practically incessant rambling for you to do so.'
He remained silent for some time, obviously patiently waiting for me to articulate cries of 'Oh! You're SO brave!' or 'You must have an awful lot of muscles to be able to drag a bloody carcass cross country with such agility and speed!'
He probably thought I would faint in horror from the blood reference.
As if I had never witnessed the flow of human blood! To be sure, it was usually one of Jonathan's many nose bleeds, but they weren't all roses and daisies!
More like Venus flytrap or cacti, really.
And I was always perfectly capable of staunching the red stream withought feeling in the least queasy.
Which is more than could be said of Jonathan.
He inevitably got quite distressed, and threw up all over the place, not to mention blubbering quite shamelessly.
'Oh, honestly, Mr O'Connell, save such stories for the next seedy bar you take it into your head to pass out in. I am certainly not going to encourage you when it is quite obvious that you are overly pleased with yourself as it is.' I said, mildly enough.
Well! He looked thoroughly disappointed, I was pleased to note.
It served him right, if he had expected to get such admiration as I had imagined him to want. The sort of women Mr O'Connell would usually have as company -probably hired out of a bar, knowing him- would, after hearing such an account, have widened their heavily blackened -from a combination of makeup and fistfights- eyes and praised his gallant -or so he believed- actions to the skies.
THEY would have leapt into his lap and covered his muscly, sweaty body with kisses and heaven knows what else, leaving him with many bright red lipstick marks to contrast sharply with his God-awful tattoos.
Bar girls tended to be like that- excessively admiring of any member of the male species.
Especially gods- sorry, I meant gits- like O'Connell.
I supposed they were angling for free alcoholic beverages.
But out here in the DESERT, far from such establishments and their ill- reputed inmates, Mr O'Connell had to be content with the inarticulate rambling of a librarian with more than half a brain, who was content to buy new items of clothing when her old things became too small, instead of gadding about in thigh-length dresses.
'Ouch!' Mr O'Connell grimaced in response to my rebuke, shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat by the fire. He grabbed a few sticks from the ground beside him and fed them to the flames, sneaking wounded glances at me.
Really, but men weren't self-reliant in the least! They seemed to need regular assurances of their brilliance from the fairer sex!
Rather like coaxing flee-bitten mongrel circus dogs to repeat a particularly diverting trick, really.
I adopted a bland, innocent expression and mentally prepared to act bland and innocent.
'Why, Mr O'Connell! You didn't sit on a piece of Jonathan's broken bottle collection, did you? I did tell him, repeatedly in fact, that he ought to clean that mess up after he'd finished playing with it. Unfortunately, stopped listening, let alone responding, to that sort of rebuke from me a long time ago.'
If he had ever listened, of which I was seriously sceptical. He was usually too busy trying to hide his unscrupulous behaviour from me to pay attention to what he called my 'nagging.' (Though I most certainly had never nagged! I had merely strongly suggested in a slightly higher tone of voice than usual!)
It was interesting to observe O'Connell's reaction to my harmless comment. It was becoming increasingly obvious that he believed me to be completely oblivious and severely naive, which I most certainly was not!
I was merely using him as a guinea pig in a sort of scientific experiment.
With luck, I would not wind up forgetting to feed him, as I had poor little Fluffy.
Poor Jonathan had been inconsolable.
'Nah. Just verbal barbs.' Mr O'Connell said, adopting that winning grin of his which never failed to turn my knees from the solid mass of flesh and bone they usually were into water within seconds. Fortunately, this time I was sitting down and in no danger of falling to the ground.
Not to imply that I was prone to swooning anyway!
'Hmmm.' I replied, shifting a little in my seat by the fire.
We sat in silence for a while, listening to the almost eerily calm silence of the desert being broken regularly with massive, uncouth snores from Jonathan.
And then another noise met my ears, one that I could not put a name to. A noise that sent a series of shivers up my spine, or would have, had I not been excessively warm from sitting too close to the blazing fire.
'Did you hear that?' I whispered to O'Connell, my flesh creeping a little as I tried not to imagine what had disturbed the peace. Horrible images began flooding my mind before I could stop them- a most disagreeable experience, to be sure, when one cannot control one's own thoughts.
Downright annoying, too.
'Hear what?' he demanded, instantly concerned. He glanced around suspiciously, and I could suddenly imagine him in full uniform, scouring the countryside for the enemy or a decent tavern as the case may be. 'What was it?'
The sound obliged us with an encore performance, and this time Mr O'Connell heard it- his ears were apparently now free from the gritty sand that had clogged them momentarily.
'I.I don't know,' I answered weakly, faltering a little.
Marvellous! Bloody marvellous!
Now he probably thought I was frightened!
A weak, snivelling female who jumped at shadows and was afraid of the dark. I wasn't like that, but I knew that was who O'Connell expected me to be. I resolved there and then to prove him wrong somehow, before we got back to Cairo and he disappeared from everywhere except my memories.
He looked at me, at my shameful apprehension and -there was no denying it- fear, as if he was about to say something.and then changed his mind.
His eyes flashed and his jaw tightened and he stood, reaching for a weapon.
He didn't have to reach far- there were plenty lying strewn around the fire from when Jonathan and the Warden had indulged themselves in a messy cops and robbers game earlier.
It had been a pity they'd been too drunk to remember which was which.
'Wait here.'
My trepidation forgotten, I stood quickly, almost falling over a champagne bottle in the process. (If only Jonathan would clean up after himself once in a while! Whatever he thought, I was NOT his slave, or his housekeeper.)
'Where do you think are you going?' I demanded, even though I knew perfectly well that he was off to be a Big Hero by finding the source of the noise and destroying it with gusto, probably also with twice as many bullets as necessary, just to show off.
Hmph! What a waste. Didn't he know ammunition didn't grow on trees?
I could really only come to the conclusion that Mr O'Connell was suffering withdrawal symptoms, having not had the pleasure and privilege of killing anyone for almost four hours. The prospect of the violence that the mysterious noises promised was just too tempting for him to pass up. He clearly needed to spill some blood, and soon.
I supposed he thought that sort of behaviour would be applauded -not to mention rewarded- by me when he got back!
Well, he would soon learn that medals are in short supply in the middle of the desert.
As I thus inwardly seethed, Mr O'Connell avoided my lethal -or so I would have liked to think it was- gaze almost guiltily, and pretended to be interested in the label of a liquor bottle he'd just accidentally trodden on.
Unfortunately for him, from my vantage point I was able to see quite well that it had been smudged beyond comprehension. He couldn't possibly be reading it.
So why he kept murmuring 'Huh! I'll be damned! This stuff has grapes in it!' was a mystery the likes of which had not been seen since the Bermuda tryangle.
If the Bermuda tryangle ever HAD been seen, which was doubtful.
'Just going to check it out.' O'Connell finally mumbled, in answer to the question I had uttered an age ago. Honestly, That Man had some serious communication problems!
Come to think of it, he had some serious other problems as well.
And he was sorely mistaken if he thought he was going anywhere withought much discomfort and interrogation from me first!
'Just to get killed, you mean.' I quipped.
I had no doubt that Mr O'Connell would have more faith in himself than that, with his enormous ego and all. I waited for him to correct me, wondering tiredly if there was a man on earth who would refrain from doing so after such a would to their pride.
'Hey!' he exclaimed, looking offended. 'I can handle it!'
Just as I had suspected!
Insufferable man!
How dare he meet my expectations!
Although I supposed that if he hadn't met them, I STILL would have been angry at him. Never in my life had I met a person who could rile me up as much as this dirty, uncouth, ill-mannered scoundrel, with his many guns, insults, and muscles.
'I very much doubt it.' I said scornfully. 'That thing didn't sound very human to me.'
'Yeah? So it's an animal. Either way, like I said, I can handle it.'
He crossed two distractingly muscly arms across his distractingly muscly chest and smirked foolishly at me. Far from being distracted, I had an irresistible urge to slap that smugness right off his face.
Then I had a better idea.
'If you insist on going, than I'm coming with you,' I announced, and took a few decisive steps away from the fire and towards the unaccountable sounds.
I heard him swear quietly, and for once it amused me instead of prompting torrents of rebukes.
I hid my smile and turned to him indifferently, feigning impatience.
'Well? Are you coming, or shall I go by myself?'
I watched his face darken as a scowl replaced the smirk.
A definite improvement.
'You're not going anywhere!' he growled, raising his voice and stepping towards me menacingly.
I stepped neatly out of his reach. 'I suggest that you save your empty threats for whatever's out there, and hope it proves more compliant than I have.' I replied, raising my voice to match his.
Then I turned and strode purposefully into the unknown.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
'Be quiet!' O'Connell barked hoarsely as I crashed non-too-quietly through the undergrowth.
'I'm being as quiet as I can!' I hissed, rubbing my arm where I'd scratched it repeatedly on inconveniently placed tree limbs and prickly bushes.
If I hadn't known better, I would have sworn our surroundings were conspiring against me!
It seemed I had brushed up against every spiky plant and tripped over every rock larger than a pebble that we had passed.
It was quite disconcerting, not to mention thoroughly irritating. What was even more annoying was the fact that O'Connell was having no problems at all! No, he seemed to anticipate each leaf and stick as if he'd placed them there himself! He just dodged and weaved agilely as I blundered clumsily in his wake. He was as home in the wilderness I was, well, in a library or a museum.
If only walking without falling over ones own feet came as easily as categorising books and deciphering hieroglyphics.
I was rudely interrupted from my reverie by O'Connell whirling around and grabbing my arm.
'Did you hear that?' he breathed.
'No.' I said crossly, not bothering to be quiet, 'But you're squeezing my arm where I cut it earlier, which rather hurts. If you'd be so kind as to-'
'Shhh!' he whispered softly, letting go of my arm at last. 'Sorry. Lets keep going. If we don't find anything soon we'll turn back.'
'Oh we will, will we? Just who put YOU in charge?' I muttered.
'What?'
'Nothing.'
We kept walking, O'Connell glaring menacingly and suspiciously at anything that dared to move without permission. He seemed to be concentrating rather hard for someone who was usually so impatient.
I, however, was thoroughly bored of the whole expedition and quite ready to turn around and get some rest before it was time to leave again. I had heard Mr O'Connell tell Jonathan earlier -with remarkable foresight to choose a time when he was still sober- that we should leave at daybreak. This appointed time couldn't be more than a few hours away now, and it would be a good idea to get some rest beforehand, to prevent falling face down in the sand from exhaustion later on.
Assuming that O'Connell knew the way back -for I certainly didn't- if we turned around now we could be sleeping by the fire in ten minutes or so.
Sleep was suddenly very appealing.
It was on the tip of my tounge to mention this brilliant plan to Mr O'Connell when something quite unexpected happened.
A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and a low, uneven voice said,
'Stop.'
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author's Note: There are a few sentences in this chapter that are strangely long, and have a lot crammed into them- sorry about that! I just couldn't bring myself to cut anything out.
Who is it that grabs Evie at the end, you ask? At this point I have no idea. Well, I do have a few ideas actually- the hard part is deciding which to use. It'd be great if people reading this could now give me a review, and include a suggestion in the review, so I can see what people want, because I don't really mind what I write about, within reason.
PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW!!! I won't continue until I get a decent amount.
I mean, I assume if you're still reading this that you've read my story, and if you've got to chapter three you MUST have comments!!!
So comment already!!!
(Thanks HEAPS to those who have bothered to drop me a line, particularly those who review regularly- it is very much appreciated. Your feedback is what keeps me going!)
Violence Withdrawal Symptoms