@technetium: Nice to hear from you again! Whew! You even took a look at my
Mary Sue story. I still don't know if I'll go on writing it. But as you
reviewed it, I might do so in the end- Cheerioh!
@all readers: Chapter 16, of course. And, as always, reviews are GREATLY appreciated!!!!
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Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!
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Chapter Sixteen
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Predictably, Sandy was delighted when Boromir told her what hobbits were like. Boromir could well see why they caught her fancy. Elves might be beautiful and wonderful creatures, dwarves might be very reliable and their gruffness a pleasant change from the polished manners of the Elves. Wizards might be fascinating and their power awesome, and men like Aragorn impressive and admirable, but the hobbits had, what a child would look for most in a fellow creature:
they were cheerful beings with simple needs, small enough that a child might talk to them without looking upwards, friendly and fun-loving. Most importantly, they liked fireworks. When Boromir had dug that small detail out of his memory, Sandy had jumped up from her cushion and grinned.
"I love fireworks, too! What sorts of fireworks did Gandalf show them then? Did they have the firework which looks like golden rain falling from the sky?"
Boromir suppressed a broad grin and answered: "I wasn't there to see, yet I do not doubt there was one which resembled fiery rain, such as you describe. What I do know, however, is that there was one that took on the shape of the dragon Smaug. So Merry and Pippin told me."
"Dragon Smaug!?" Sandy exclaimed. "What sort of a dragon is Smaug?"
Boromir knew, however, that the story of Smaug would definitely take too long to tell, and Mr. Foster appeared in the doorframe just then. "I'll tell you another time, Young Lady." He promised Sandy, and told her goodnight. Then he let father and daughter to themselves.
He heard the murmur of their voices in the small living room, where he occupied the couch. It was then, that a very strong bout of bad conscience struck him. What was he doing here? He was on the run from a ruthless band of men and what did he do? He sought shelter in the house of a family with a child no older than twelve.
'They are in great danger as long as I am here." He thought. 'Sooner or later, someone will find out where I am, and I do not doubt that they will seek me out here, kill me and everyone of whom they think they helped me, child or no. I will extract from Mr. Foster whatever information I can get of this place tonight and leave as soon as he and Sandy are well asleep.'
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Boromir stood in a flash and was about to draw his sword, when Mr. Foster rushed out of Sandy's room and, putting a finger on his lips, signalled him to be silent. A wave of his hand then told Boromir that he should follow, which he did. Mr. Foster led him into the guestroom.
"Stay here and don't make a sound!" Mr. Foster ordered and left again to open his front door.
.
"Do you really think that this is the right thing to do?" Wirrel asked his colleague uncomfortably. "He might or might not be here, and in any case, we might put this Mr. Foster in trouble."
"Aaw! Relax!" Grimes scoffed. He had been the one to come up with the (in Wirrell's mind hair brained ) idea, to look for Mr. Steward.
The two policemen had gone to the hospital as soon as they were free from duty and had asked Dr. Cooper where he thought Boromir might be. The doctor had been reluctant to help, as revealing a patient's private data was illegal, but finally he'd decided to tell them about Boromir's meeting with the Fosters. Strictly speaking, that meeting had nothing to do with Boromir's personalia, so he could give up those facts.
Grimes and Wirrell hadn't been in too great a hurry, so they'd first gone to some take-away for a meal, before driving into East Side with their hovercar. It had been easy to find Mr. Foster's address, and there they were now, waiting for the man to open.
He was taking his damned time! Wirrell grumbled to himself, drawing his jacket round him in an attempt to keep himself warm despite the cool breeze that had come up this evening. At the corner of his eye, he thought he could see a shadow moving, but the moment passed all too quickly for him to be sure. Yet it was enough for him to feel uncomfortable. Were they being followed?
There was no time to finish the thought, however, for now -finally- the door in front of them opened. a middle-aged man with dark hair stood in the doorway, looking at them curiously. The gaze he directed on them was slightly guarded, 'and no wonder,' Wirrell thought, 'anyone would be careful around strangers in this neighbourhood.'
"Good evening, Sirs." Mr. Foster said very civilly. "What can I do for you?"
"Allow me to introduce my friend and myself." Grimes, who always was the one to introduce the two of them in or outside duty, replied with just as much careful politeness. "This is George Wirrell and I'm Sean Grimes. We are friends of Boromir Steward."
The man was good. He didn't bat an eyelash, nor did he make any other movement which might indicate that he knew more about Boromir than was healthy for him. "Mr. Steward? Yes, I remember him. He was at the hospital and told Sandy some very unlikely tales. We had a nice little chat, but I haven't heard of him since. Did he talk of me to you?"
'Shoot,' Wirrell thought, 'the man's not good, he's damned good! His story has no holes, it doesn't deviate a iota from what Dr. Cooper told us. Nothing suspicious to dig into.' As always, Grimes opted for the direct and honest reply.
"No, he didn't, we talked with Dr. Cooper, however. He said that you gave Mr. Steward your card. Is that so?"
"It is."
"And he hasn't called on you yet?"
"No. Sandy is of course a little disappointed. She is so looking forward to hear more of his tales."
"Well, if he does call on you, would you please ask him to give us a phone call? This is my card. We don't know what has happened to him and we're a bit worried, so we hope to hear of him soon."
Mr. Foster took the card with a steady hand. "Should Mr. Steward turn up here, I will give him your card. Unfortunately, I can't guarantee you his coming."
"Of course. Thank you for your help anyway, Mr. Foster. Have a nice evening!"
Mr. Foster bade them goodnight, too, and then shut his door without hurry. As soon as he was out of the two policemen's sight, however, he sat down. In a rush all the adrenaline had left his system and now he was trembling frightfully. He hoped against hope, that his gamble had been successful. If not, his Sandy was in great danger.
He let Grimes' card fall onto the little living room table and stared at it without taking in a word of what it said. Distantly, he heard a hovercar being started up, then there was silence. Sighing, he went to the door and locked it. No sooner had he turned the key, that there was another knock at the door.
Mr. Foster's apprehension was even greater this time he unlocked the door. He had a feeling, that this visitor would be less harmless than the previous ones.
@all readers: Chapter 16, of course. And, as always, reviews are GREATLY appreciated!!!!
.
.
Afterlife? -No: Aftershock!
.
Chapter Sixteen
.
Predictably, Sandy was delighted when Boromir told her what hobbits were like. Boromir could well see why they caught her fancy. Elves might be beautiful and wonderful creatures, dwarves might be very reliable and their gruffness a pleasant change from the polished manners of the Elves. Wizards might be fascinating and their power awesome, and men like Aragorn impressive and admirable, but the hobbits had, what a child would look for most in a fellow creature:
they were cheerful beings with simple needs, small enough that a child might talk to them without looking upwards, friendly and fun-loving. Most importantly, they liked fireworks. When Boromir had dug that small detail out of his memory, Sandy had jumped up from her cushion and grinned.
"I love fireworks, too! What sorts of fireworks did Gandalf show them then? Did they have the firework which looks like golden rain falling from the sky?"
Boromir suppressed a broad grin and answered: "I wasn't there to see, yet I do not doubt there was one which resembled fiery rain, such as you describe. What I do know, however, is that there was one that took on the shape of the dragon Smaug. So Merry and Pippin told me."
"Dragon Smaug!?" Sandy exclaimed. "What sort of a dragon is Smaug?"
Boromir knew, however, that the story of Smaug would definitely take too long to tell, and Mr. Foster appeared in the doorframe just then. "I'll tell you another time, Young Lady." He promised Sandy, and told her goodnight. Then he let father and daughter to themselves.
He heard the murmur of their voices in the small living room, where he occupied the couch. It was then, that a very strong bout of bad conscience struck him. What was he doing here? He was on the run from a ruthless band of men and what did he do? He sought shelter in the house of a family with a child no older than twelve.
'They are in great danger as long as I am here." He thought. 'Sooner or later, someone will find out where I am, and I do not doubt that they will seek me out here, kill me and everyone of whom they think they helped me, child or no. I will extract from Mr. Foster whatever information I can get of this place tonight and leave as soon as he and Sandy are well asleep.'
Just then, there was a knock at the door. Boromir stood in a flash and was about to draw his sword, when Mr. Foster rushed out of Sandy's room and, putting a finger on his lips, signalled him to be silent. A wave of his hand then told Boromir that he should follow, which he did. Mr. Foster led him into the guestroom.
"Stay here and don't make a sound!" Mr. Foster ordered and left again to open his front door.
.
"Do you really think that this is the right thing to do?" Wirrel asked his colleague uncomfortably. "He might or might not be here, and in any case, we might put this Mr. Foster in trouble."
"Aaw! Relax!" Grimes scoffed. He had been the one to come up with the (in Wirrell's mind hair brained ) idea, to look for Mr. Steward.
The two policemen had gone to the hospital as soon as they were free from duty and had asked Dr. Cooper where he thought Boromir might be. The doctor had been reluctant to help, as revealing a patient's private data was illegal, but finally he'd decided to tell them about Boromir's meeting with the Fosters. Strictly speaking, that meeting had nothing to do with Boromir's personalia, so he could give up those facts.
Grimes and Wirrell hadn't been in too great a hurry, so they'd first gone to some take-away for a meal, before driving into East Side with their hovercar. It had been easy to find Mr. Foster's address, and there they were now, waiting for the man to open.
He was taking his damned time! Wirrell grumbled to himself, drawing his jacket round him in an attempt to keep himself warm despite the cool breeze that had come up this evening. At the corner of his eye, he thought he could see a shadow moving, but the moment passed all too quickly for him to be sure. Yet it was enough for him to feel uncomfortable. Were they being followed?
There was no time to finish the thought, however, for now -finally- the door in front of them opened. a middle-aged man with dark hair stood in the doorway, looking at them curiously. The gaze he directed on them was slightly guarded, 'and no wonder,' Wirrell thought, 'anyone would be careful around strangers in this neighbourhood.'
"Good evening, Sirs." Mr. Foster said very civilly. "What can I do for you?"
"Allow me to introduce my friend and myself." Grimes, who always was the one to introduce the two of them in or outside duty, replied with just as much careful politeness. "This is George Wirrell and I'm Sean Grimes. We are friends of Boromir Steward."
The man was good. He didn't bat an eyelash, nor did he make any other movement which might indicate that he knew more about Boromir than was healthy for him. "Mr. Steward? Yes, I remember him. He was at the hospital and told Sandy some very unlikely tales. We had a nice little chat, but I haven't heard of him since. Did he talk of me to you?"
'Shoot,' Wirrell thought, 'the man's not good, he's damned good! His story has no holes, it doesn't deviate a iota from what Dr. Cooper told us. Nothing suspicious to dig into.' As always, Grimes opted for the direct and honest reply.
"No, he didn't, we talked with Dr. Cooper, however. He said that you gave Mr. Steward your card. Is that so?"
"It is."
"And he hasn't called on you yet?"
"No. Sandy is of course a little disappointed. She is so looking forward to hear more of his tales."
"Well, if he does call on you, would you please ask him to give us a phone call? This is my card. We don't know what has happened to him and we're a bit worried, so we hope to hear of him soon."
Mr. Foster took the card with a steady hand. "Should Mr. Steward turn up here, I will give him your card. Unfortunately, I can't guarantee you his coming."
"Of course. Thank you for your help anyway, Mr. Foster. Have a nice evening!"
Mr. Foster bade them goodnight, too, and then shut his door without hurry. As soon as he was out of the two policemen's sight, however, he sat down. In a rush all the adrenaline had left his system and now he was trembling frightfully. He hoped against hope, that his gamble had been successful. If not, his Sandy was in great danger.
He let Grimes' card fall onto the little living room table and stared at it without taking in a word of what it said. Distantly, he heard a hovercar being started up, then there was silence. Sighing, he went to the door and locked it. No sooner had he turned the key, that there was another knock at the door.
Mr. Foster's apprehension was even greater this time he unlocked the door. He had a feeling, that this visitor would be less harmless than the previous ones.