Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.
12. Sinking into Place
I remain wrapped in my sheets, looking through the French windows and seeing nothing but complete darkness. I like darkness. There never was complete darkness, back in the labs. There never was complete quiet or privacy, either. No chance to ever be alone. I wish Mister Creed would leave. He doesn't help, hanging around all day. It's like being with the scientists back at the lab; always spying everything about us. But then again, I suppose he doesn't trust me enough to leave me alone in his house. Suppose he's afraid I might rob him and run away. Or kill myself.
I move slightly and my side hurts. I wonder for how much longer I'm going to be sore. It's been three days, already, and I still can't move around well enough to hurry up cleaning my room. Although I shouldn't be complaining. The doctor Mister Creed took me to in Canada said I had been very lucky that I hadn't had any broken ribs; and I suppose I was. Still…
Ah! The birds are starting to tune their voices. The dawn can't be very far away, then. Hmm… Mister Creed always gets up so early… Will he be annoyed if I get up before him? Well, he will certainly be if I wake him up… Ah, who cares! I'm tired of being here, anyway. I need to get up and get moving; get these idle thoughts out of my head. I don't need to go around remembering those days at the lab.
I start folding the sheets, as quietly as I can, and immediately feel like singing something, if only to shatter this horrible death-like silence. Fortunately the man goes out after getting up and I'll be able to turn on the radio or the TV. At least then I can have some more voices filling the void. Making believe I'm not so utterly alone. Still, what I really wish is that there was someone I could talk to. My grandmother always… Oh, stop it already! Get over it.
"Ya're gettin' up earlier and earlier each day."
I jump so hard I hit the coffee table and fall over it with a muffled scream. Damn, it hurts! The lights are switched on while I bite away some choice words.
"Ya quit sleepin', huh?"
"Hun?"
"Ya could try and get rid o' those moronic 'hun' answers o' yers."
I feel like yelling at him I have no idea what he's babbling about and couldn't care less, but I end up getting up in silence. Although… he's not really that bad. I mean, O.K., he's a killer and everything, and he did seem to enjoy himself a bit too much when he was preparing things to kill that Canadian thug, but he did take me to a doctor. And he was kind of cute when he broke all the lamp posts' lamp bulbs… So boyish. Why not…
"Want a beer?"
"Hun?"
"Beer! Ya want one?" There. If he really were that bad, he'd be telling me to get back to work, not offering me beers. "It's a bit too early ta go off and get something from a diner. Ya really gotta start fixin' this kitchen."
I accept his beer with a smooth 'tank you'. Kitchen, kitchen, kitchen… not the best topic to strike a conversation, but it'll do.
"De bedroom is almost ready, Mister Creed. After, I clean de kitchen. Do you want dat I cook, too?"
He looks at me suspiciously and spits a distrustful "naturally". God, it's great when he sticks to short sentences; so much easier to understand.
"I like de cook very much. My grandma Maria show me ow to cook. She's a very good cook, melhor: she's one excellent cook!" He nods and leans on the wall, sipping his beer from the bottle. "I know everysing she show me."
"Uh-hu. Ya can cook sirloins properly, then?"
Ah-ha, he speaks! I guess talking about food really is a good topic.
"Então, não! I can cook everysing, Mister Creed." And then it hits me. "Uh… I'm sorry… What is saloin prop… hun… propuh…"
He groans and walks away. Damn. I really need to learn English, and fast.
"Espere, Mister Creed!" My ribs start hurting again, but I go after him all the way to the garage. "Mister Creed, please. I don't know very much English. Please, help. What is saloin propuh?"
"Sirloin! Not saloin. Sirloin!" I bite my lip and hesitate. But his voice lowers somewhat, even if he's still angry. "It's beef."
"Ah, bife! Oh, yes; I can cook beef." I let my relief spread a big smile on my face. "Very, very well."
"Good fer you. Ain't ya got nothin' ta do?"
I suppose that's my cue to go back to work, but I haven't finished yet.
"I'm very sorry. I have to study English, Mister Creed. I don't understand what you say when you say many tings. Fings. Can you please, please… buy a dictionary to me? Please!"
He looks at me with a neutral expression. What's he thinking, I wonder? If he's planning to kill me soon, he won't bother with the fact I need to learn English… but then again, he paid me two subsidies because of winter clothes. At least I'm pretty sure it was because of winter clothes. That must surely mean he isn't planning to kill me that soon.
"A dictionary? Ya gonna learn English from a dictionary?"
"Claro! I decorate de words off de dictionary."
He snorts, showing the tip of a fang. "It seems t'me ya should worry a bit more 'bout the grammar."
"Não, I sink grammar doesn't import," I insist, remembering how memorising grammar rules for English tests had never paid off because I didn't know the vocabulary. I had never bothered to memorise the said vocabulary, though, since it amounted to awfully long lists of words. Unfortunately, the present wasn't giving me much choice in the matter. "If I know de words, I can understand what you say."
"Yeah, ya're sinki' all right. Now stop buggin' me and getta work."
I don't know what he has just said, but I know it's useless to insist. Damn the man! I go back to the living room and finish folding the sheets. Oh, well. I've got my room waiting for me. If all goes as scheduled, I'll finish it today.
My stomach grumbles as I go up the stairs. Even if I'm hungry, I can't help grimacing at the thought of yet another breakfast of burgers. I won't be able to stand not even the faintest smell of burgers for the longest time, after this. I just have got to clean that kitchen. And cook Mister Rambo his steaks!
"You have got forty-two new messages in your voice-mail. Would you like to hear them now?"
Grumbling, Creed closed his cell phone. He couldn't take a couple weeks off, he immediately had tons of jobs piling in a heap. And the worst was that he was getting tired of his vacations. Even if he had only been idle since returning from Canada. He took a sip from his drink and glanced at two young women shaking the hem of their short skirts like some Brazilian samba dancers. Unfortunately, he had work to do.
When he reached his house, black clouds were piling in the sky, threatening a thunderstorm. He walked in and immediately yelled for Irbis, whom he could hear upstairs. He dropped a heavy paper bag on the sofa and went to the kitchen, for a beer.
"Yes, Mister Creed?"
"I got me some jobs ta check, which means I'm leavin'. Tonight." He took a long sip from the bottle and then waved it in the sofa's general direction. "I got ya some dictionaries and grammars. Try ta sink inta them a bit, will ya? I got no use fer someone who can't understand what's bein' told her. Got it? Oh, wait. I'm sayin' too many tings! 'Course ya ain't got it."
Ignoring Irbis's confused expression, he bumped her out of her way and headed for the staircase.
"I'm gonna fix my stuff. You, Irbis, and I'm gonna say this real slowly so ya can get every lil' word, YOU, do NOT, leave this house fer NOTHING, that ain't absolutely essential. Did ya understand that much?"
Frowning and blushed, Irbis strove to keep the offended pout from showing too much.
"I don't leave de house if isn't important."
"Good girl."
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Excerpt from chapter 13:
His claws unsheathed, and Irbis took a deep breath.
"Please. I take your breakfast to… to where? Mister Creed. Sir."
He moved silently and slowly, as if he were stalking a prey, until he reached a hand that grabbed her face. His claws scraped her skin, but her breathing was calm, just as her heartbeat.
"Get. Out. O' my. Sight."