For any who didn't see, this was the author's note I had on my last update (different story)
Hey guys. I am so so sorry about not posting anything new for the longest time. To those of you who just want to read the story and not hear my excuses, feel free to scroll ahead. Fair warning there may be some trigger words/descriptions here, so please don't read if you are sensitive to that stuff. You guys don't really know anything other than my nickname on here, but I've been really struggling lately. And not just in the "not feeling like writing" way. I mean in the not wanting to get out of bed way. I have really severe depression and anxiety. I was gone for such a long time because it was talking all my energy and focus to just get out of bed in the morning and go to school. I went through a really dark time these past two years, and these last couple months have been incredibly frustrating and stressful. I didn't update for the longest time, and whenever I got the urge to, I would chicken out because of my fear that anyone who had read my stories would now hate me. I know it doesn't make sense, but this is what my illness makes me feel. I'm doing a bit better now, but I just hope that you guys aren't too mad at me and haven't completely forgotten about me (though I wouldn't be shocked if you did). I want to thank everyone who left comments (specifics below) encouraging me and asking for more chapters. I got to such a bad point that I couldn't open them out of fear that someone would be mad at me. Now I regret that as you all have been so accommodating and supportive, and only a tad annoyed. Thank you again so much and I apologize.
Comments: (From all Stories)
Guest666: Thank you for your support and compliments. Hopefully now you won't need that strongly worded letter. I'm taking your suggestions into account, as you can see, but mostly I wanted to thank you for your well meaning and thoughtful comment. It really meant the world to me.
merendinoemiliano: Thank you! See this one came up much quicker.
imasurvivor21 : Heyo! Thank you for your supportive comments. I never really feel like I know what I'm doing, so I'm glad that I'm at least ok at faking it.
Nimbus Gray: NOT THE GIANT PINK KITTENS! AAHHHHHIWENFOFVPNWPVNIWONC! And also I hope that you will see this and I can get you to like my other story as well.
Amora23: Thank you! And I will be making them like each other eventually, however I like to make them annoy each other first. To be honest (as I have siblings myself) its a little therapeutic. But I will be keeping it as canological as possible, only changing what I need to in order to fit the characters change in gender.
Blah Blah Blah Disclaimer: I don't own the Kane Chronicles or any of the character or ideas. All credit for aforementioned items goes to Rick Riordan. I used the book as a basis so yes its very similar. No I'm not trying to sell this. Yes it's legal. Enjoy!
Chapter 4. Kidnapped by a Not-So-Stranger
I JUST LOVE FAMILY MEETINGS. Very cozy, with Christmas garlands round the fireplace, a pot of tea boiling on the stove, and a detective from Scotland Yard ready to arrest you and your entire family. Cheerful, yeah?
Carla slumped on the sofa, a sharp contrast to how she usually sat; prim and proper. In her arms she clutched Mum's workbag. I wondered why the police had let her keep it. It should have been confiscated and put into evidence as soon as we were shoved in the squad car, but the inspector didn't seem to notice it at all.
Carla looked awful—I mean even worse than usual. Honestly, since the girl had never been in a proper school (or even a public one she dressed like a cross between a nun and the least sexy librarian ever. She wore a below knee length khaki skirt,a button-down blouse, and black flats. She's not terribly bad looking, I suppose. She's reasonably tall with a slight athletic build (though how that happened after years spend in libraries, I'll never know). She's got Mum's eyes and hair, and my mates Liam and Erik have even told me from her picture that she's "hot". I take that with a grain of salt though because (a) she's my sister, and (b) my mates are a bit crazed. Puberty could be a right foul git when it wanted too, and quite frankly, I wouldn't put it past them to flirt with a stop sign. When it came to clothes, Carla wouldn't have known hot if it bit her on the bum.
[Oh, don't look at me like that, Carla. You know it's true.]
At any rate, I shouldn't have been too hard on her. She was taking Mum's disappearance even worse than I was. Which was fair. She had grown up with Mum. I had already learned to live without her.
Gran and Gramps sat on either side of her, looking quite nervous. The pot of tea and a plate of biscuits sat on the table, but no one was having any. Chief Inspector Williams ordered me into the only free chair. Then she paced in front of the fireplace, neck stretched up like a giraffe with a arrogance complex. Two more police stood by the front door—the man from earlier and a woman who kept eyeing the biscuits.
"Mr. and Mrs. Faust," Inspector Williams said, "I'm afraid we have two uncooperative children."
Gran fidgeted with the trim of her dress. It's hard to believe she's related to Dad. Gran is frail and colorless, like a stick person really, while Dad in the photos always looked so happy and full of life. "They're just children," she managed. "Surely you can't blame them."
"Pah!" Gramps said. "This is ridiculous, Inspector. They aren't responsible!"
Gramps is a former rugby player. He has beefy arms, a belly much too big for his shirt, and eyes sunk deep in his face, as if someone had punched them (well, actually Mum had punched them years ago, but that's another story). Gramps is quite scary looking. Usually people got out of his way, but Inspector Williams didn't seem impressed.
"Mr. Faust," she said, "what do you imagine the morning headlines will read? 'British Museum attacked. Rosetta Stone destroyed.' Your daughter-in-law—"
"Former daughter-in-law," Gramps corrected.
"—was most likely vaporized in the explosion, or she ran off; neither of which bode well for your image—"
"She didn't run off!" I shouted.
"We need to know where she is," the inspector continued. "And the only witnesses, your grandchildren, refuse to tell me the truth."
"We did tell you the truth," Carla muttered. She looked near tears and utterly hopeless, but she managed to keep her voice steady. "Mom isn't dead. She sank through the floor."
Inspector Williams glanced at Gramps, as if to say, 'There, you see? Crazy, uncooperative children'. Which I was, but it seemed unfair to put that label of my sister too. Then he turned to Carla. "Young lady, your mother has committed a serious criminal act. She's left you behind to deal with the consequences—"
"That's not true!" I snapped, my voice trembling with rage. I couldn't believe Mum would intentionally leave us at the mercy of police. Most visits we were lucky if she let us handle getting sweets from the vending machine by ourselves. But if I was being honest, the idea of her abandoning me—well, as I might have mentioned, that's a bit of a sore point.
"Darling, please," Gran told me, "the inspector is only doing her job."
"Poorly!" I exclaimed, thrusting my hands in the air. What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic. It at least got the inspector to stop her pacing.
"Let's all have some tea," Gran begged.
"No!" Carla and I yelled at once, which made me feel bad for Gran, as she practically wilted into the sofa.
"We can charge you," the inspector warned, turning on me. "We can and we will. Obstruction of justice. As accomplices. Kidnapping. You may be minor but don't think that will -
Suddenly, she froze, mouth agape. Then she blinked several times, as if she'd forgotten what she was doing.
Gramps frowned. "Er, Inspector?"
"Yes..." Chief Inspector Williams murmured dreamily. She reached in her waistcoat pocket and took out a little blue booklet before throwing it onto Carla's lap. I glanced at her questioningly as her face, if possible, looked even more shocked. She held it up, showing me the emboldened eagle on the front - it was an American passport.
"You're being deported," the inspector announced. "You're to leave the country within twenty-four hours. If we need to question you further, you'll be contacted through the FBI."
Carla's mouth fell open. She looked at me, and I knew I wasn't imagining how odd this was. The inspector had completely changed direction. He'd been about to arrest us. I was sure of it. And then out of the blue, he was deporting Carla? Even the other police officers looked confused.
"Sir?" the policewoman asked. "Are you sure—"
"Quiet, Linley. The two of you may go."
The cops hesitated until Williams made a shooing motion with his hand. Then they left, closing the door behind them.
"Hold on," Carla said. "My mother's disappeared, and you want me to leave the country? With whom?! I'm underage, I can't be deported without any reason or supervision! And why are you giving me a passport? I already have one."
"Your mother is either dead or a fugitive, girl," the inspector said. "Deportation is the kindest option. It's already been arranged."
"With whom?" Gramps demanded. It surprised me to think that Gramps cared enough about Carla to question the inspector. The Faust's tended to treat anything or anyone who involved themselves with my mother, besides myself, as unfit to talk to. But maybe they did have a soft side. "Who authorized this?"
"The..." The inspector got that funny blank look again. "With the proper authorities. Believe me, it's better than juvie."
Carla looked too devastated to speak, but before I could feel too sorry for her, Inspector Williams spoke up. "As for the passport, that would be for Mr. Kane here. I thought it better to give it to Carla, as I'm not sure Samuel would hold onto it. You're both to be deported this night."
She might as well have hit me with a sledgehammer.
"You're deporting me?" I asked. "I live here!"
"You're an American citizen who up until this point has been permitted to live here. But you are no longer to be living with your grandparents. And under the circumstances, it's best for you to return home."
I just stared at her. I couldn't remember any home except this flat. My mates at school, my room, everything I knew was here. I may have been born in America, but it would never be my home. "Where am I supposed to go?"
"Inspector," Gran said, her voice trembling. "This isn't fair. I can't believe—"
"I'll give you some time to say good-bye," the inspector interrupted. Then she frowned as if baffled by her own actions. Her hand briefly hesitated over the handcuffs before relaxing again. "I—I must be going."
This made no sense, and the inspector seemed to realize it, but she walked to the front door anyway. When she opened it, I almost fell out of my chair, because the woman in black, Amos, was standing there. She'd ditched the trench coat and hat somewhere, but was still wearing the same pinstripe suit and round glasses. Her braided hair glittered with gold beads. She could have been a model if she wasn't so intimidating.
I thought the inspector would say something, or express surprise, but she didn't even acknowledge Amos. She walked right past her and into the night without so much of a glance in her direction.
Amos came inside and closed the door. Gran and Gramps stood up.
"You," Gramps growled. "I should've known. If I was younger, I'd kick you out of here myself. Don't make me call the inspector back."
"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Faust. Lovely to meet you again. " Amos said. He looked at Carter and me as if we were problems to be solved. "It's time we had a talk. We have plenty of time. I assure you the inspector will not be returning anytime soon. No, I've sent her out for nice dinner. She might even get through dessert before she realizes where she's supposed to be. And speaking of dessert..."
Amos sat down onto the sofa, patting the seat next to her, but Gramps remained standing. She sighed and poured herself tea with a liberal portion of sugar. She munched on a biscuit, which was quite dangerous, because Gran's biscuits are horrid. Chunky and burnt, plus with her old age Gran was likely to accidently put a button in the batter by mistake.
I thought Gramps's head would explode. His face went bright red. He came up behind Amos and raised his hand as if he were about to smack her, but Amos kept munching her biscuit. She was either entirely oblivious to the situation or had an excellent poker face.
"Mr. Faust," she said faced forward, "I must ask that you refrain from doing that. I can't say its ill deserved but I am here for the sake of your grandchildren. You know I would never hurt them. Or would you rather Samuel here be deported and sent to a boy's home?"
Gramps froze where he was, looking at me with softening eyes before dropping his hands. As if on cue, though she had never turned around, Amos said, "Fantastic, a civil conversation at last. Now then, why don't we all have a seat?"
And we all sat. It was the strangest thing—as if we'd been waiting for her order. Even Gramps moved round the sofa and sat next to Amos with a disgusted sigh. Gramps never took to anyone threatening him and he certainly didn't follow the orders of someone who did. But something about her voice made me want to sit. I could tell whoever she was, she was not normal, and this day was about to get a whole lot stranger.
Alright. I know it wasn't ground breaking or anything like that. I have a laptop now so hopefully I will be motivated and chapter/posts will be coming more regularly now. Sorry again about that very long hiatus. Constructive criticism and reviews are always appreciated and never cease to make my day.
Until next time,
Cat
