A Way Home

Chapter 12 – Determination

"We're close to the edge/ Times' running faster and faster/ Pray for your life and search for the truth/ A world full of chaos/ Will we ever learn/ Angel of Mercy/ please take my hand"

– Walking the Wire, Narnia

-

"What about my word?" Asked a voice. Henri came forward, with a young man by his side. The man was tall – although, not as tall as Erik – and he had black hair. I glanced over at Charity. The man was cute enough. He had blue eyes that, as I would have said in my time, "a girl could just melt in". Charity glared at the man, and I almost smiled to myself.

"Who is this pretty boy?" One of the policemen asked.

"This is Philippe," Henri said. "I have employed him to watch behind the scenes, and make sure that Erik isn't doing anything wrong." He smiled at me, and I became wary of him. Henri was never one to disbelieve us. "Just for governmental reassurance, of course," he added, and I audibly let out a sigh of relief. "Philippe, tell them what you saw."

"All I saw was the man and his family walking around the warehouse district, looking inside some of them," he said. "They did that all day, and then came home. I have no idea why they were looking in them, but they were."

"There, you see?" I demanded. "Erik hasn't done anything wrong.

"You say you followed them the whole time they were gone? You didn't even see them stop to get something to eat?" One of the policemen asked.

"We brought some food with us, duh," Dominique said snottily.

The policeman glared at her, and looked as though he might strike her, but after a warning look from me, and a challenging one from Charity, he stepped back and composed himself.

"We have our orders," the second policeman said, and he made to grab Erik's arm.

"You want my husband, you have to go through me," I said in a dangerously low voice, stepping in front of Erik, who seemed to be lost in thought about something.

The policemen hesitated, seeing the determination and anger in my eyes. Then they took another step forward.

I thank God every day for the fact that my parents put me through Karate lessons when I was in grade school. Lucky for me I still remembered most of it.

I grabbed the one policeman's arm, and flipped him onto his stomach, chaining his right arm behind his back. "Like I said, if you want my husband, you have to go through me."

Charity came up to me, and I showed her how to hold him down so I could deal with the second policeman, who was standing stock-still, stunned and in shock at what I, a woman, had done. Obviously they had assumed I was an ordinary woman. Or perhaps they thought Erik had married me for my looks (which I think weren't all that special. I wasn't exceptionally attractive, although I certainly wouldn't say I was ugly), and my voice (which sucked then, and still does, by the way), the way he had wanted to marry Christine.

If that had been what they had thought, they were sadly mistaken.

"Now then," I said. "I believe that it's time you made your way back to the police department, and tell your comrades that there was no physical evidence that allowed you to condemn Erik. I think that would save your pride, if you get my drift."

He stared at me in surprise.

"That means that they won't make fun of you for getting beaten up by a woman," I said slowly, pronouncing each word individually, as one might do for someone who is hard of hearing.

After another moment, the policeman nodded, still in shock, but at least hearing what I was saying. I nodded to Charity, and she released the second policeman, who, upon realising that he was no longer held captive, jumped up and glared angrily at both myself and my daughter.

"That's what you get for not listening," Dominique said, hands on hips, acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world for a girl of her age to say to a policeman who, a month ago, would have thrown her in jail if given the chance.

Grumbling and glaring, the two policemen left Erik with a warning, "If we get even the slightest inkling that you are on a rampage again, then we'll hang you in a most brutal fashion."

The second one smiled at Charity's frown of unease, and he lovingly stroked his black metal baton that was resting inside his belt. Charity glanced at the baton, and the policeman smiled again. His partner gave him a warning look. Strangely enough, the policeman who was trying to end the silent argument wasn't the one who had been attacked.

After another moment, the policemen left, causing the whole party to let out a sigh of relief.

Erik sighed along with us, relieved that the horror we had feared would come to pass had left us alone for the moment.

"That was some fighting, mom," Charity said, using the word uncomfortably.

I didn't reply, and instead took Erik's hand and went inside, with Charity, Dominique, Henri, and Philippe following after us.

I knew for a fact that we were all relieved – even Philippe, who barely knew us – that Erik hadn't ended up in handcuffs again. The only question that was left was: since it wasn't Erik who was committing the murders, who was?

-

A man in a black cloak smiled as he gazed at his shadowed reflection in an empty shop window. The shop had been closed for years, so there was no reason for him to be startled that there was no one inside it.

Smiling again at the shadows that covered his face, the man casually strolled in behind the building, melting out of the crowd as easily as he had melted into it. He opened the back door with the only key, and locked it behind him. Being careful not to make a sound, the man weaved in and around the randomly scattered pieces of furniture, to where there was a winding stairwell leading up to a second floor.

Old pieces of furniture leaned up against the four walls of the small room, which was obviously a bedroom. Or, at least, it was at one point. It was now obvious by the cobwebs and spider webs that the room hadn't been used in at least fifty to one hundred years. But, despite the antiqueness of the furniture, it was still sturdy, and in perfect working order.

The man with the black cloak sat down at the dusty table, which looked to have been casually swept free of dust only a day or so ago. He slid two fingers under the table and pressed an invisible piece of wood, causing a small hidden drawer to open. Inside the drawer was nothing more than a few pieces of yellowed, unused paper, and a pen and inkwell.

Reaching a finger from his left hand into the drawer, he hooked his fingernail into a small crevice. Raising his fingernail slightly, he lifted a thin sliver of wood to reveal a second hidden compartment. In this one, at the very back, was what the man was really searching for.

For a moment, he hesitated, waiting; listening for the slightest sound that would reveal a hidden intruder. But nothing happened; all was quiet and in the silence, not even the outside street noises could be heard.

After another moment of hesitation, the man pulled out a small dagger and a shiny, sleek silver belt. He slipped the dagger, with a golden hilt in the shape of a serpent with emerald eyes, into his cloak, securing it on his utility belt before clasping the silver belt onto his waist. Then the man made sure that there was still no one around before he pressed several raised pieces on the front of his shiny new belt.

The wind whistled through the empty room, causing goose bumps to form on the man's arms. He didn't pay attention. He just fixated his mind on the time of year he wanted to arrive.

After what seemed like an eternity, the wind died down, as though it had never been, and everything in the room was changed. The furniture was no longer faded with age, and the room was lit by several lamps.

The man removed the belt and tucked it back into the drawer, making sure that it was hidden safely before casually strolling down the staircase and into a brightly lit store.

"Bon matin, monsieur Eric," said the store clerk, addressing the man by his false name.

The man nodded, but said nothing in reply. Quickly, he exited the shop via the front door, and strolled down the street, his secrets tucked safely inside his cloak, where no one could see them.

He smiled to himself again. He would get what he wanted by force, and he would enjoy every minute of it.

A/N: There's the 12th chapter. Review, please!

1. "Good Morning, Mr. Eric"