Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.
10. The Attack
Creed woke up to the dawn break chirping of every bird in the area and rolled to the other side. He hated sleeping in sheets washed with scented stuff, so he had warned the girl – Irbis, as she had named herself – not to try that one. Simple unscented cleaning products were all he allowed near any of his clothes, especially bed linen. There was nothing worse in his book than having to spend the night with his nose stuck in a nauseating mesh of chemicals.
He breathed in deeply the soft pine scent that had perfumed his uncommonly peaceful dreams that night. What on earth had the girl done to his linen to make them so wonderfully scented? If he hadn't known better, he'd sworn she had dropped a load of pine leaves in his bed. The birds hadn't stopped their morning racket yet when he got up.
Whistling his way down the stairs, Creed took a peek at the girl, wrapped in some sheets on the living room floor, and went out. He had been pretty pissed that the kid had taken three whole days to get his room in shape, but he had had to admit that she had done a good job. Both bedroom and bathroom had been scrubbed from floor to ceiling; every wooden furniture, door and casement had been oiled; every piece of cloth – clothing, curtain or towel – had been washed and ironed; and the air itself had a pleasant scent to cleanness. And to pine tree.
Creed was positively gleaming at his insight when he had decided to keep the girl to do the house-work: this was well worth any and every initial trouble. Going outside, he started roaming through the woods in his backyard – his usual daybreak exercise. It was a 120 feet long and 90 feet wide property; not to mention it was rather easy to cross its limits into the wooded mount which stretched north for some 500 feet, while being some good 3800 feet wide.
When Creed returned to the house, carrying some burgers for breakfast – a necessity, since the kitchen was still far from usable – he could hear Irbis rummaging through the first floor. He banged the door, knowing she would be down directly, and went outside. After all, why ruin his appetite eating in a dusty kitchen, when the early morning was warming up so nicely.
"Good morning, Mister Creed."
She picked up her own burger with ease, being already used to this routine for every meal in the past three days, and sat down on a short stool she had discovered in a small gardening shed some feet shy of the backyard ex-flower beds.
"Mister Creed…" He grunted in response and she continued. "I… uh, I go clean a room to me, today."
"Sure. I don't want ya sleepin' in the livin'-room fer the rest o' yer life."
"Uh… Can I… hmm can I stay wid a room?"
"Yeah, sure. I ain't plannin' on usin' any other, anyways."
Irbis sighed, and added with a gleeful smile: "I go clean de kitchen, too, after."
"Good. I'm gettin' tired o' buyin' three meals a day. The moment ya finish it, ya can start doin' the cookin' yerself."
She frowned and took a bite, thoughtfully. She didn't remain silent for long, though.
"Mister Creed?"
"What!" Irbis wasn't affected by his irritation, but softened her voice nonetheless.
"I'm sorry. I need to go to shopping more."
He took a deep breath. She'd gone shopping four days ago and she needed more stuff already!
"Fine. Then get the shoppin' list an' I'll drive ya ta the store later on. Right now, I'm goin' fer a spin."
"Mister Creed?"
"WHAT!" She cowered slightly, although he couldn't detect any scent of fear.
"Uh… You… you go drive me to de shops every times?"
"Whaddya mean?"
"You don't live here always. When you go away, I don't… uh, not go be capable to go to de shops; I go have to walk."
He grumbled. She had a point. He swore lightly under his breath before making his decision.
"Well, then, I suppose I'll just have ta teach ya ta drive, won't I?"
"Não, não, Mister Creed. I can drive! I learn to drive when I have fifty years."
He cocked an eyebrow.
"Ya mean when ya was fifteen years old." She frowned, apparently not understanding his remark. "Anyways, if ya can drive then ya can go shoppin' all by yerself, startin' today. Come here."
She followed him through the kitchen and into the garage. It was a wide space with plenty of shelves and a long working bench, not to mention it harboured an impressive Harley-Davidson, a snow-mobile, a grand-looking land-rover and an ordinary mini-van. Creed patted the mini-van's white hood.
"Ya can use this one. It belonged to the former house's owner, so ya can consider it yours. All the rest is mine an' ya don't touch 'em. Got it?"
She frowned and came closer to it, stopping to read the letters which identified the car as a Chevrolet Venture LS. She peeked inside and checked the grey interior. It was roomy and seemed comfortable. Creed cocked an eyebrow as she almost opened the driver's door but stopped herself, flashing him a nervous, expectant smile. Creed went to a little box near the kitchen door and took out a key.
"Here's the car key. I'm gonna leave ya some money so ya can go shoppin'."
"Espere, Mister Creed!"
He ground his teeth together. Now what?
"I don't have a… a… a document to drive cars. De policeman stop me, I don't have documents."
He gave a deep sigh. Patience, patience, patience. Easier said than done! He took another deep breath.
"Fine. Just do a darned shoppin' list with everythin' ya gonna need in the next days. In the next weeks, if possible! Think ya can handle that?"
She nodded in silence.
"Good." He took another deep breath while sorting what to do. "I'll be leavin' today. I'll go fix ya some documents so ya can go round with no problems an' I should be back in one or two weeks. So make sure ya won't be needin' ta go shoppin' in the mean time."
She was frowning terribly, by the time he finished speaking, but she nodded nonetheless and took a deep breath. Creed's shoulders slumped, wondering if a clean house really was worth this trouble.
"What else d'ya need?"
She held her breath for a second then shook her head with energy.
"Não é nada. Is not nosing. I go do de shopping list."
He watched her hurry past him and wondered what other problem she was revolving in that head of hers. He quickly went over the recently shaped plan: he'd get a plane at the Wausau Airport to California where he'd get in touch with a low profile contact he had in the area. The documents – she'd need an id, a driver's license… maybe a passport since she was too obviously a foreigner… Anyway, the whole set of documents wouldn't take more than 4 to 5 days and he'd be back in Wausau in six days, top. He frowned. Would it be wise, keeping the girl? Secret projects' folks have the nasty habit of finding and trying to recover their guinea pigs.
She and her kind had been taken to find a way to engineer humans that couldn't have mutant kids. He really ought to get rid of her as soon as possible, to make sure that she couldn't be used for such a research. He thought about Sinister and his gruesome experiments; about Weapon X.
But they think they're all dead, he reminded himself. And she was going to be out of the way of everything and everyone. How would anyone find her? There was no sense in wasting such a handy housemaid. She even showed an inclination to pamper him, at least where it came to cleanliness. How good a cook might she be? He licked his lips in hopeful anticipation.
He smiled, happy with his plan, while he dialled to Wausau's airport.
"Mornin'. I'd like a ticket fer San Francisco, California."
Sitting in a cab, Creed glanced at his watch: fifteen minutes past eleven am.
"Stop there, right after that lane."
The driver stopped where told and Creed got out. He waited for the car to disappear in the distance while checking the two sets of documents he had brought with him from San Francisco. He pocketed both sets, each composed of id, driver's license and security number, only one of them inclosing a passport. Okay, so two sets was a bit overkill; but he hadn't been able to keep himself from acquiring the second one. After all, how often do you reach your source and find a stolen identity that fits who you want like a glove? His instinct had said take both, and sweet lil' Joey had been terribly wise in offering a discount.
The blond walked into the woods to his left. His house was right on the other side and he placed himself in a hidden snug. He had left in the evening of the 28th of May, four days ago. He had almost considered spending the last night in town for some fun, but ended up getting a plane at midnight instead. He idly wondered what the girl had been up to in those four days he'd been gone.
As soon as he started studying the house's front, though, he knew something was wrong: there was an unknown car parked in front of his garage. He growled and ran down the lane, away from the house's range before he crossed the road to the other side. He immediately made it to the back of the houses, where there was always a tree cover, and swiftly made his way up to his house. He checked his watch as he did so: 11.19.
Once he reached the last trees near his house, he stopped and studied the windows. There was no one visible through the west side windows so he quickly approached the laundry room's window and entered the building. The voices of two men were immediately clear to his heightened hearing. He carefully set the door ajar. Now he could also smell four men in addition to Irbis' scent… and somebody's blood. The two men he could hear were talking near the kitchen's entrance, while drinking a couple of his beers. The blood came from one of them. He snuffled the need to growl, and ascertained the other men's location: in the living-room, with Irbis.
"What does she think she is? Some kind o' dog?! Shit, man."
"Yeah, well, she ain't gonna be bitin' nobody no more… Anyways, I'm more worried 'bout what she said. It's a weird story."
Creed almost growled this time; the girl had spilled her guts out to these geeks and he had just lost his 'holiday-house'. Dammit all to hell!
"Yeah. And it's got too many holes! Not to mention I think she speaks more English than she lets out."
Creed left the laundry room and hid next to the counter, getting ready to jump the trespassers when he suddenly froze.
"And who's this Jekyll guy? I ain't ever heard o' the name before. The boss has never heard it either."
Jekyll? The girl had used his fake name… Creed paused, satisfied, and eased a bit, wanting to listen to the rest of the dialogue.
"Yeah, well, it makes no difference. If Carter can't find no information on the guy, it's 'cause it's a false name an' the girl's lying. An' if he gets anythin' on him, then we'll just hunt him down."
The ringing of a phone echoed from the living room and one of the men left. The one pressing a towel to his neck stayed behind. He let go of the beer bottle and looked at the towel, which had several blood stains.
"Darned bitch…"
His voice died away under the low cracking sound of his neck. Creed eased the body to the floor and reached the passage to the living-room.
"Yeah? OK… Sure, no problem. What's the guy's name again? Robbie Stocker, got it."
Two men were standing facing the windows; the other one, probably the leader, was now turning the mobile phone off and was facing the other two.
"Carter ain't found no Jekyll fittin' this girl's guy. We're takin' her up to Fernandez; he wants ta see her. Hey, Truman, we're leavin'!"
"C'mon, girl…"
A short red-head guy moved over to the arm-chair whose back was turned to the kitchen's entrance, but before he got close enough Creed jumped him and slashed his throat. The leader yelled to the other standing man to shoot, but it was already too late as his chest had been cut open. Scared and swearing, the leader started shooting his own gun, but couldn't get out more than three bullets. Growling, Creed grabbed his wrist and twisted the man's arm in an unnatural way. He fell to the ground, yelling in pain, and Creed calmly went over to the armchair where Irbis was.
She was out cold. Looking at her face, Creed swore under his growling: her left eye was blackened and swollen, her lips cut in several places and her whole face was bruised. There was dried blood over her mouth and chin, which he quickly related to the bitten neck of the first guy he'd killed, but which only added to her beaten appearance.
Creed got up and caught the men's leader by the collar.
"Let's start by the beginnin': yer name, who ya're workin' fer and what ya're doin' here."
"Ya freakin'…"
"Wrong answer." And he lifted the man off the floor, levelling him with his face. "Ya wanna find out just how much pain ya can handle 'fore ya black out?"
Creed was having a beer in the kitchen, looking at the three bodies nicely stashed in an out of the way corner. A knocked out man with his hands and feet tied was resting on the human pillow the bodies provided. Creed was working out his next actions, but there was some information he still needed before making any final decisions. Then he heard a low moan. He looked at his watch: it was 12:37.
Irbis was lying down on the sofa. When she managed to slit her eyes open, the first thing she saw was a big blonde man peering down at her with a bored expression.
"How're ya feelin'?"
She rolled to her side very slowly, in an awkward attempt to sit herself, and moaned through the whole two minute procedure. Creed sighed, acknowledging her answer; then he placed his big hands on her slender shoulders and had her in a sitting position in two seconds.
"There. Feelin' better now?"
She didn't answer, but she didn't moan either, so he took it as a yes.
"Ya gonna tell me what happened in my house while I left ya in charge of it?"
She looked at him, hissing slightly as she probed her face with a hand. He noticed how she couldn't fully open her left eye and felt like killing those guys all over again, only in a slower, more painful way so they'd learn not to mess with his properties. She sighed.
"I was… I was cleaning de living-room. I listten a car and I sink is you. I go see, in de window; and den I watch de men. I run away. I go by de big window, ali." She motioned a hand in the direction of the large French windows. "I run in de trees. I listten de men go after me, and I run and run and when I stop to ear dem, den I stop run too and I walk… I don't know where I was; I don't know where de house and de street was. I walk many time and den I was tired. Den I stop and sit down and… and... I don't… I didn't know what to do, Mister Creed."
She closed her eyes and her chin trembled a bit. She took a couple of deep breaths before opening her eyes again and continuing her story.
"I was stopped in de same place many time. I try to listten people and cars, but I listten birds… and I don't… I didn't know what to do!" A new sigh. "I wanted phone you, tell you about de man… but I didn't know, and I didn't have money or documents or… And den dey discover me… I try run again but dey catch me and dey… dey catch my arm and dey do dis…"
She slowly placed an arm behind her back, feebly simulating someone twisting it. Creed nodded his understanding and she continued.
"I try to fight, but I don't know to fight!" She shook her head, her chin trembling a bit more. "I kick dem and… and… Sei lá! I move a lot, to try to run. One time, one man let go off me, because I kick 'im; he let go, but de oders catch me again and… and beat me? Like dis…"
She closed her fist and gave a weak punch in the air.
"They punched ya." Creed offered, and showed his own closed fist. "When ya hit somebody with a closed fist like that, it's called a punch."
"Punch… Yes, dey punch me and I… I don't know the word: I go to sleep? Sings go black?"
"They knocked ya out." Creed again explained with some patience. "They hit ya hard an' ya fainted."
"Knock out?" She frowned and hissed when the movement hurt her bruised face.
"Yeah. What happened when ya woke up?"
"I was ere. Dey ask about who as de house, and I say I work to a man and your name is Mister Jekyll, like you tell me to do."
"Ya did good." He noticed her relief at his comment. "What else did ya tell 'em?"
She shrugged.
"I don't know. I tell I don't speak very English, and I say I don't understand many times… but dey don't, didn't believe and dey hitted me and always ask de same sing: To who I work? Who is Mister Jekyll? How you have de house? What you do? Who I am? What do I do to you..."
"And ya told 'em…"
"Dat my name is Irbis, dat I am from Brazil, dat I clean de house and dat I work to Mister Jekyll. And den I always say I don't know or I don't understand."
"Good girl!" He smiled at her and she continued, this time with a sense of urgency.
"But den dey phone to your boss. Mister Alvarez. And one off de men, I sink it was de… de boss off de four men; pronto, de boss off de men, he call Mister Alvarez and he said his name is Morrison and he tell 'im all I said. And Mister Alvarez said dat e's going to ave a man… qual era o nome… uh… Card qualquer coisa, I don't know. And de Card-men, he will discover who you are, who is Mister Jekyll."
She looked at Creed with some uncertainty, waiting for a reaction. In face of her bruises and insecurity, he rewarded her with a pleased wide grin.
"Ya did good, girl. Better than I expected, really." He let those words sink down on her for a moment. "Now, go wash yer face an' put some clean clothes on. And hurry!"
She nodded and slowly rose to her feet. When she started walking, though, Creed noticed her taking a hand to her side and hiss.
"Hold on!"
He moved to her side, took her hand away and placed his own hand over the bruised spot. She hissed and tried to pull away, but another hand on her shoulder kept her in place.
"They hit ya here, too?" She nodded. "And on the other side?" She nodded again.
He picked the hem of her T-shirt up to her chest. He could feel both her surprise and confusion, but he was more concerned with other matters. He gently probed her ribs with his hands, ignoring the obvious pain it caused the girl. When he was over, he pulled it down.
"Ya can breathe, now." He suppressed a grin at her wide puzzled eyes. "Ya ain't got nothin' displaced in there… but that don't mean there ain't nothin' fractured. I suppose I should take ya to a hospital or somethin'."
He took a deep breath before revealing his thoughts.
"Thing is, ya can't just waltz into some hospital… if ya do have a different DNA or somethin' else that's different from the rest of us, normal folks..." The project would be on to her. "Oh, well. I'll see 'bout that later."
A sudden thought crossed his mind as she was starting to reach the stairs and he grinned. He quickly came up to her side as she mounted the first steps.
"Hey, girl, I've been thinkin'… what would ya say to a nice lil' holiday in yer cleanin' schedule, huh?"
Thank you for reading and reviewing.
Excerpt from chapter 11:
He wasn't sure if the girl would kill the two men or not. She had the potential, that was for sure; but, for some reason, he half-expected her to come up to him and return the blade. Or maybe she would kill herself so he couldn't force her to kill in cold-blood. He thought it less likely, though. She had such potential!