Chapter 4
"Alfred what are you saying?" said Matthew into his rectangular phone as he stood at the counter in his kitchen.
"Did you say 'Arthur'?" Francis whined. He sat on a luxurious couch in his living room and held his house phone to his ear.
"Listen guys, when I was talking to Arthur, someone cut us off," Alfred said seriously as he took a look at his clock on the wall and wrote down the time on a notepad.
"That's not too out of the ordinary for him" said Francis in a boring tone.
"Guys. Someone spoke to me before I got cut off." America said as he started scribbling notes on another sheet of paper. "It sounded like an older man, possibly a cockney accent. All I know for sure is the phone sounded like it had been dropped, and once it was picked up I heard a voice saying: "you won't begetting calls from him anymore.." And then the phone hung up. And when I redialed, the phone had been disconnected."
Alfred waited for a response and got dead silence before Francis finally spoke.
"Are you sure he wasn't drunk?" Francis said in an unconcerning tone.
"Yeah, Alfred" said Matthew, "I'm not saying you're overreacting, but this is England we're talking about. He's the guy who sees magical creatures, performs rituals in your basement, and gets wasted with France from time-to-time-"
"Hey-" said Francis, sounding slightly offended.
"What I'm saying is, he's probably going to be okay." Matthew adjusted his phone as he finished flipping a pancake on the stove.
Matthew and Francis waited for a response.
"I'm on my way to the airport"
Matthew slapped his forehead.
"Alfred-" Francis cut in. He shifted his position on the couch so he was stooped forward with his chin pointed toward the floor. "You are overthinking this whole thing. I'm not going to let you fly across the entire ocean just because Arthur's cell phone broke."
"Well, I can't imagine how anything you'd do could stop me-
Francis interrupted. "-If you don't stop before reaching the airport, I will call my boss and tell him to hold off on our next shipment of electronics"
Alfred paused. "You wouldn't."
"I would consider it."
Alfred groaned. "You know, you are neighbors for crying out loud. I wouldn't have to do this at all if that neighbor could show a little hospitality."
"Yeah, like I would ever do that."
Alfred rounded a corner. "Well, you better decide quickly. I'm almost to the airport."
"UGH!"
Francis stood up from the couch and hit the end call button. He walked over and slammed the phone on the receiver and grabbed his coat and keys.
As he headed out the door, he found his cell in his coat pocket. He dialed Arthur's number and waited.
We're sorry. The number you have dialed is no longer in service. Please dial again.
Francis climbed the stairs of the garage to the rooftop where a white helicopter stood in the evening air as the sun set in the distance.
He hopped in and placed headphones over his ears. Several buttons later, he could feel the vibration as the propeller spun faster and faster. Then the vehicle lifted off the ground and across the terrain and eventually across the blue ocean that spread for miles.
An hour and a half went by and soon Francis could see the tips of the island coming into view. He felt a weight being lifted off his chest until it hit him that he would have to have a conversation with the brit.
He came upon several willow and oak trees that made up Arthur's front yard, proving to Francis that find a lead space to land might be a little difficult.
After circling a few times, he eventually landed next to the garden, hitting a few sunflowers on accident.
"I'll send him new ones" he thought to himself as he rushed up to the front door.
He rang the doorbell.
The windows on the sides of Arthur's house were dark. A little unusual, but nothing to worry about.
He rang the bell again. No answer.
"Maybe's he's not home," Francis thought. He walked back to his helicopter and sat inside. Then he whipped out his phone and pulled up the location of Arthur's cell phone.
One of the perks of having power was having the ability to locate anyone, though he tried not to use this power too much.
The signal appeared to be coming from inside the house.
Francis became puzzled. Was Arthur ignoring him on purpose?
Of course, Francis was originally doing the same, but Arthur always welcomed a guest, no matter who it was. It was apart of his gentlemen code.
Francis sighed and walked over to the front steps of the house. He looked through the windows and around to the back door. He walked back to the front.
He looked down and lifted the rug that his shoes stood on.
No key.
Dammit.
About to give up, he noticed a lion statue that stood near him. It bore his giant fangs, looking straight ahead at the dim atmosphere.
He got a strange idea and reached his arm down into the lions mouth, feeling around until-
Inside Arthur's house, the front door burst open, letting Francis into the dark.
He started down the long hallway.
"Arthur?!" He yelled walking a little slower.
No response.
Francis walked steadily past a bathroom and laundry room. Both rooms pitch black.
"Arthur! Are you home?"
Francis stepped towards the living room which lay directly at the end of the hallway. It was huge, with giant curtains placed in front of every large window. Several tall bookshelves covered the walls. An old suit of armor stood next to one of them with a large desk set in the middle of the room.
He walked towards the desk lamp and pulled down the metal string to turn the light on, but nothing happened. He pulled the string again before he felt something hard beneath his shoes.
Lifting his leg up, he turned on his phones flashlight. Glass?
He shined the light on the desk, revealing more shards of glass and remains of a broken bulb still screwed into the lamp.
As the light traveled to the floor, Francis spotted several pages of paper laying on the ground along with the spins of several old books. He carefully treaded along, avoiding more glass as he walked across the room.
He shined his light and could see-
"Arthur?" said Francis.
Sitting in a wooden chair, a young man hung his head forward, his bangs drooping over his eyes. He appeared to be tied up.
Francis found his voice and ran across the room. "Oh my God-Arthur!" He quickly examined him, taking notice of dried up blood that covered part of his forehead that had dripped onto his white dress shirt.
Francis scrambled to untie the rope that tightly bound the country's hands together around the back of the chair. He would need something sharp, something he didn't have at the moment.
He looped back around, kneeling down and tried to wake him.
"Arthur. Hey, can you hear me?" Francis said gently as he lifted his face.
Suddenly he felt strong arms grab him from behind.
Arthur's head fell to his chest as Francis was yanked away.
"Hey!" Francis yelled. He dropped his phone, shining the flashlight up to the ceiling.
What felt like strong, muscular arms around him, tried their hardest to force Francis to the floor. However, Francis was also pretty strong, and had several years of hand-to-hand combat up both of his sleeves.
The country twisted an arm while simultaneously kneeing a stomach. The phone remained the only source of light, so seeing was difficult.
Francis suddenly recalled the suit of armor that was nearby. Could he possibly grab the sword from it? He tried to trace back his steps while still remaining out of arms reach. He cautiously reached his hand out to feel for a touch of cool metal.
As his elbow brushed against something cool, he felt a stump in front of it. He couldn't believe it- it was the sword!
He swung it around his head, feeling the weapon nick a bit of flesh. Two male voices cried out in frustration around him.
He swung the sword and stabbed a person to his side, and then another on his left. Both bodies fell to the ground, crying out in pain.
It wasn't long until several more men dropped to the carpet where the shards of glass lay. Francis could hear one last person shifting around in front of him. He waited for the right moment before raising his sword above his head.
He felt a tight pinch on the side of his neck. Something small had stabbed him, and then exited his body.
A pair of strong, arms wrapped around him.
Francis could feel the breath of a man whisper into his ear:
"That's enough fun from you."
Something had entered his bloodstream so that Francis couldn't feel his arms. His heart rate slowed, allowing his grip his loosen. The sword fell to the floor as his arms to his sides.
The person who held him sounded young, perhaps slightly older than Francis appeared to look. They stood several inches from the flashlight that lit up a part of the ceiling, but not enough so Francis could see who had drugged him. Their arms had tightened slight around his chest as his body felt heavier every passing second. His eyes zoned out as his neck leaned to the side, dripping his long, shoulder-length, blonde hair onto the man's shoulder holding him upright.
Loosing all feeling in his body, Francis eyes slowly closed, no longer able to fight, and went limp in the stranger's arms.
As soon as the man felt Francis' weight in full, he swiftly repositioned the country, leaning him to one side, then placing one arm under his legs and the other to hold his back, he carried him in his arms.
The adult man examined Francis' face.
"You're a pretty sight. It's too bad... maybe we could have gone out sometime if the circumstances were different."
The phone's light illuminated Francis' capturer. He was slightly shorter than the French country, dressed in cargo pants and a tight, black tang top that revealed his slightly darker skin and muscular, hairy arms. He had a strong jaw-line and dark side-burns that complimented his black, slicked-up hair. The only light feature was his eyes, that seemed to glow as the light hit them, revealing their blue color tone.
A hand reached down to grab the phone and shined it's light around the living room. Several men lay on the floor not moving.
Two men dressed in black, one skinny and the other overweight stood a few feet to the side of the one hold Francis.
"He killed seven of us. He would hav' killed me too if the boss hadn't intervened," said the fat man as he looked at the floor.
The skinny one turned one man with his foot before realizing he was dead, then left him alone. "Too bad we won't have any extra hands for this."
"Yeah. I'm sick of carryin' people. Just carrying the blonde earlier to my car was a hassle."
After several seconds, both men looked over at the leader who continued to carry Francis in silence.
"Boss? You fallon' in love over there?" said the fat one.
No response.
"Leave it to him to fall for men that want to kill him," the skinny one said quietly with a slight chuckle.
The boss, who had kept his eyes as close to Francis face as he could, brought his head up and turned towards the two.
He pulled out a small hand gun from his breast pocket and shot it towards them.
Both froze in terror.
The man readjusted his grip on Francis, hoisting his body up more towards his chest. Francis' arms bounced up and down.
"Remember. No jokes while we're working," said the boss in a completely new tone, much darker than how he had spoken earlier.
The two men nodded.
"Now, go attend to that one. Arthur Kirkland..."