A/N So, I thought it would be fair for me to inform everybody that I have no idea when I will be updating up until summer. I am hoping I will have some days off where I can write, but quite frankly I get so much homework and I get so tired that it is incredibly hard for me to update. I will update whenever I can. Hopefully you will all keep reading and reviewing. – LostInInk
Disclaimer: I do not own Ikea, Lowe's Home Depot, The Iron Knight by Julie Kagawa, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs, or The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.
The following weekend my dad and I are leaving for Seattle. I am nervous about this being my first trip to a really big city, but at the same time I am excited about finally getting to personalize my room. I am also happy to have some quality time with my dad.
We arrive at the company hotel room at about six o'clock Friday evening. It is gigantic, and I tell my father he needs to start calling it a suite instead of a hotel room. It has a Jacuzzi, a walk-in shower, and there's even a bar stocked with little snacks and several bottles of alcoholic beverages. I ask my dad if he has had any parties lately, and he looks at me like I've gone mad. I tell him I'm referencing the bar, and he chuckles lightly, denying any party that may have occurred. Of course, I know my dad well enough to understand that he's telling the truth, but I tease him about it from time to time.
An hour after our arrival my dad tells me to take a shower and pick out a dress from one of the moving boxes. I grumble and ask him why, because I have never seen dresses as the most practical outfit option, and only wear them on special occasions when necessary. He responds that we have dinner reservations at a high-end steakhouse. Although it puts me on edge, I oblige and ask him where the boxes are located. Evidently they have all been stuffed in a closet. I locate the closet and pull out the boxes that say Lizzie's Stuff. After sifting through them for several minutes, I find a little black dress that I wore to my friend Laura's sixteenth birthday party at a country club. It's very simple and it can be worn with almost anything. I temporarily think about wearing it with heels for the sake of elegance, but then decide that heels and crutches don't make a good pair. Instead, I settle on a pair of simple black ballet flats. Then I quickly whisk the dress and shoes away to the bathroom.
When I enter the shower all my troubles melt away as the warm water engulfs my body. I simply stand in it for several minutes before I begin lathering my hair with my favorite shampoo, which smells like oranges. I emerge from my respite approximately thirty minutes later, and begin to speed up the process, because I do not want to be late for the reservations. I throw my hair up in a towel and then pat my face dry before applying the minimal amount of make-up I need to look presentable at a formal restaurant. Then I put on my dress and my shoes, as well as a pair of clip-on earrings. Then I exit the bathroom, crutches and all, to go on the dinner date with my father.
My dad looks very handsome when he exits the bedroom. He sports the simple white button down shirt and black tie look. I smile and tell him that he looks very dapper, and laughs at my use of language. Then he tells me I look beautiful and I contest his opinion, saying that no one can look beautiful in crutches and a knee brace. He laughs again and tells me I pull it off. I shake my head in dissent before we slowly advance to the elevator, and then eventually to the taxi that is waiting in front of the hotel.
The taxi driver is a Spanish-speaking man who is probably in his early forties. He is saying something under his breath in Spanish about how slow we are and that we are running late. My dad apologizes for our lateness in English. The cabby responds a huff, and I get the feeling that his English is as underdeveloped as my dad's Spanish.
We talk a little more on the cab ride, but I spend most of my time gazing out the window at the city. It is highly different than anything I have ever experienced before. There so much hustle and bustle as people weave in and out on the sidewalk. I note that it's probably a good thing that we aren't walking to the steak house, because my crutches and I would have been pushed over. Sometimes there are neon signs, and there are definitely a variety of stores. I decide that from what have seen so far, I like the big city, but I still prefer smaller towns, unless they are dwarf-sized like Forks.
The building we arrive at looks like every other stone building in Seattle except for the sign that names the place. Through the panoramic windows, however, I can see that the inside looks very classy, with white table clothes, napkin rings, and beautiful chandeliers. I sigh, this is not my cup of tea, but I know my dad is trying to have fun with me, so I start sidling my way out of the taxi as my dad pays the cabby.
We walk in to the steakhouse and I begin to sit down in a beautiful chair with red and gold upholstery, but my dad shakes his head no and motions for me to come with him as he approaches the blonde waiter who is in charge of seating. Upon seeing my dad the waiter smiles.
"Ah, Mr. Monarch I'm glad to see you here while you are not working," he continues smiling for an unnaturally long period of time and glances at me. "And this must be your lovely daughter. She has inherited a lot of good traits from you I see," he winks at me creepily with his blue-green eyes and I make a note that a lot of people in this city behave very weirdly. "Table for two then?"
My father nods. "Affirmative."
"Excellent, just follow me please," and the waiter, whose name tag says Mark, saunters off towards the throng of tables to our left.
I eye my dad with a look that simply says, "What the hell?"
We end up in a cozy little corner in the back of the restaurant. It's very private, and so once Mark leaves we order our drinks, I probe my dad with a few questions.
"So do you come here often?" I ask innocently. "Because the staff seems to know you very well."
Dad sighs.
"We come here for business meetings and such. That's why Mark was so quick to lead us to a table. He doesn't want any bad opinions coming back to the company." My dad shakes his head. "Though I will admit that Mark is strange, he's not going to leave us waiting here the whole night."
"Did you actually get a reservation?" I query. "Because it would be unfair if—"
"Yes," my dad interrupts, "We actually have a reservation, though I don't think that would have mattered to Mark. Besides, he's just added another person to his personal VIP list. He's probably ecstatic to have a high-ranking businessman's daughter as one of his customers."
I groan and put my face in my palm just as Mark reappears.
"Is something wrong Miss Monarch?" he inquires anxiously.
"No, I'm fine," I mutter as I remove my hand.
"In that case," he says as he places my Sprite on my table, "What would you like to order?"
My dad and I both make our requests and Mark leaves in a flourish.
"Why," I question once I am positive Mark is out of hearing range, "Couldn't we have just gone to Burger King or something?"
I lower my gaze after I say this, because I'm afraid Dad will be upset, but instead I hear him chortling to himself. I raise my eyes and he is indeed laughing.
"What's so funny?" I demand, raising an eyebrow
He smiles and shakes his head. "I knew you were going to say that."
I cock my head curiously.
"Then why'd you bring me here?"
"Firstly, so Mark would stop suggesting that I should come on free time, and secondly because I thought it might help give you inspiration for your writing," he admits.
I look around and purse my lips. It is beautiful. My dad begins to say something as I'm observing but I put my finger up to his mouth.
"Shh."
I start taking mental notes about all the details of the restaurant, from what the staff is wearing to the grainy texture of the ceiling. I will not remember all of it, but the information may be useful in future stories.
"Okay, you were saying?" I ask as I finish my observations. I rarely have the time to really just sit and admire everything around me. It's always school, writing, soccer, or family. My dad shakes his head but has a knowing look on his face.
"Nothing."
The rest of dinner goes by well. Mark is probably the most annoying waiter I've ever had to deal with, and I tell my dad that I didn't think it was possible that someone who shared his name could ever behave that way. I quickly retract the thought as I remember my little brother.
"Maybe you're the only one with the name Mark who isn't annoying," I suggest, and my father laughs some more.
We head outside to our taxi, and as we leave Mark yells, "Come back soon!"
The hotel suite is waiting for us in its pristine condition. I move groggily towards the bathroom, and when I get there I viciously scrub all the make-up off my face. I'm so exhausted I don't even think about taking my dress off before I plop down in bed and fall soundly asleep.
The next day Dad lets me sleep in until ten-thirty, and when he tries to wake me, I swat him away. He resorts to tickling my sides until I fall out of bed with a loud thud that probably rouses anyone left dozing on the floor below us. All I can say is that he's lucky I fell on my good leg.
I don't spend much time preparing for the day ahead. I throw on a pair of sweats after showering and call it good.
My dad tells me we'll be walking to a little brunch place that's a block away. I tell him that a girl with crutches will be bowled over by the crowd, but he laughs at me and tells me I'll be fine as long as the newspapers don't see him. I resolve that he was lying about this as we ride down the elevator.
The city looks different in the day walking than it does during the night riding a taxi. It seems drearier and it feels like a landscape of grays and browns. The people offer little dashes of color, but over all I think I favor how it looks at night.
The little diner we go to is cute and less dressed up than the steakhouse we went to the night before. My dad and I both order omelets, and the waitress doesn't make a grandiose affair of it.
Afterwards we head to Ikea, against my father's protests. He believes that we should pick the paint and then accessorize the room. I theorize the opposite, because I already know exactly how I want my room to look. It is going to be magenta and navy blue, and all I need are decorations to go with the theme. Then we can go to Lowe's or Home Depot to get all the hardware and paint.
The traffic is terrible and the city is larger than I estimated. It takes us almost two hours to get to Ikea. Once there, I go crazy looking for everything for my room. I start off with the bedding, choosing a blue polka dot bed spread. From there, I pick several magenta-toned accessories to balance the room out. After that is sorted it out, I pick out a metal bed frame and several shelves that are silver-colored, and I have Dad write down the model numbers so I can order them online and have them shipped to the house. Then we roll up our cart to the check out, and within the next fifteen minutes we're riding the bus back to the hotel.
We drop all the goods off in the suite, and after a mild debate, my dad convinces me that we might as well go to Lowe's and get the paint. This errand takes about three hours, and then my dad and I order pizza for dinner. After dinner, we call it a successful day and we both retire early.
I dream again, and unsurprisingly, Jasper stars in my dream.
I am standing in a place that is very similar to the steak house my dad and I visited. Every detail is perfect. The golden chandeliers, the grainy pattern of the ceiling, it is all there.
I pace back and forth, peering at the grains of the oaken floor and adjusting the hem of my skirt suit. Then I snap my head up and stare down the man in the suit that is sitting in the upholstered chair. His golden eyes are unwavering, and they bore into my head. I snarl, an almost unearthly sound I didn't know I could make.
"Tell me Hale," I growl, "What are you hiding? What is the secret?"
He smiles at me, and leans closer. I flinch backward, even though he's in handcuffs.
"You don't want to know," he drawls.
I smile tightly.
"Oh really?" I pull out a gun and slam it on the table. "Are you sure about that?"
"Positive."
I stare at his confident smirk, waiting for it to waver, waiting for my chance to pounce. My patience wears thin after about a minute, and I snatch a chair and throw it cross the room. Then I take the gun in my hand.
"You will tell me Mr. Hale."
Jazz eyes the gun in my hand, and then his whole self-confident façade collapses. He looks weary.
"Lizzie," he begs me, using the full effect of his eyes. "Please don't do this."
"Why not?" I scowl. "You've hurt me Mr. Hale, tell me why I shouldn't."
"Lizzie, it's not you, it's me. Let it go before you get hurt," he pleads.
"No," I say. I bring my face within inches of his. "Tell me."
I perceive a slight dinging sound, and all of a sudden Jasper's hands are around my throat, constricting me. I fire my gun but nothing happens. All my previous confidence melts into horror.
"You asked," he says, black eyes glinting.
I wake up in a cold sweat at eight a.m. Sunday morning. I sit up. I stare at the wall in front of me and ask myself what happened.
He killed me. That's what happened.
I take a deep breath and go to the shower. I sigh and shake my head. After that dream, I probably shouldn't be interested in Jazz anymore, but I know that I won't stop pursuing until I know his secret. I sigh again for good measure.
My dad is lounging on the couch talking on his cell phone when I enter the living area of the suite. I sit down across from him and wait for the conversation to finish.
Eventually he snaps his phone shut, and looks at me. I raise an eyebrow
"Well," he finally says, "It's a good thing we got all the shopping done yesterday. I have to go in to work for a few hours."
"Okay," I reply. "It's no big deal; I'll chill here until you get back."
"Are you sure?" he questions. "You could explore the city a bit. I highly doubt that you won't be able to handle the crowds."
"It's okay Dad," I counter, "I've had enough of the city life for the weekend."
He studies me for a minute, and then seeing my resolve, agrees with me.
"Alright, but here's the key card if you change your opinion and want to go adventuring," he places the rectangular piece of plastic on a glass end table. "Make sure if you do go out that you're back by four."
"Will do," I nod. With that assurance, my dad leaves for work.
Two hours later I'm bored of staring at a TV screen in the hotel suite. I contemplate what else there is to do, and after coming up with the answer of nothing, I decide that I should probably retract my resolve to stay cooped here for another couple of hours. I snatch a map of the city and a bus schedule as I make my way out of the hotel.
Twenty minutes later I'm riding a bus to a plaza that supposedly has a Barnes & Noble. Fortunately for me, my map reading isn't faulty, and there is a humongous book store waiting for me.
I spend at least an hour and a half perusing the shelves of Barnes & Noble, and am delighted to find several new books to read. Among them is The Iron Knight, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children, and The Book Thief. The first one is a continuation of The Iron Queen, and the other two are books that look strange but promising.
As I move through the checkout line I overhear an odd young couple talking about a store that sells unique books. I figure that since I have time to burn out might as well check the place out, so I flag them down. They are more than delighted to give me directions to the store, and in fact, they offer me a ride over there, telling me that it's a bit of a shifty neighborhood and that I probably shouldn't go by myself. I attempt to decline their offer and ride the bus, but they insist, so I reluctantly agree.
We talk during the whole car ride, mainly about books. The couple is even more obsessed with reading than I am, and when they find out I am an aspiring author, they ask for my autograph, because they believe it will be worth something in ten years. As we talk I notice the deteriorating condition of the neighborhoods we pass through, until I finally decide that we have to be deep in the slums. I start to become nervous, but don't say anything.
I am pleasantly surprised when we pull up to the bookshop. It looks like well-kept compared to the rest of the buildings, though it is rather petite. Inside it smells like musty books, and the couple recommends a section in the shop where I might find something to my taste. Of course, I find several books to my liking in multiple sections. I stroll up to the gray-haired shop keeper and pay for my treasure. Then I search the store for my ride. I'm a bit dumbfounded and upset when I can't find them, so I go talk to the shopkeeper.
"Oh yes," he recalls, "They left about fifteen minutes before you checked out. They figured that you could call a ride."
I scowl and whip out my cell phone. I feel that it's probably safer to deal with Dad's wrath than to walk alone through this neighborhood. I ferociously press the power button until I get a screen that says "Connect to power".
I groan. Could this get any worse?
"Do you have a phone?" I ask the shop keeper hopefully.
"No, sorry dear," he replies, "It's hard enough keeping this place open. We can't afford to pay for land lines."
Evidently he doesn't have a car either, so I do the only thing I can.
"How do you get to the nearest bus stop?" I question.
He gaze flickers up and down over me once.
"I don't think you should be walking through this neighborhood alone, especially if you're hurt," he motions to my crutches.
"Well," I retort calmly, though I'm on the verge of crying inside, "I don't really have any other options do I?"
The man looks at me worriedly, sighs, and pulls out a scrap of paper. He scribbles the directions and then tells them to me once verbally. He wishes me good luck as I leave the store.
A feeling of fear settles around me as I begin my perilous twenty-five minute journey to the bus stop. I am very anxious, and a newspaper blowing down the street nearly causes me to drop my crutches. The scenery seems to be drained of all its color, leaving even more morose gray and browns than in the inner city. It's as if the life has been sucked out of this place.
About half-way through the route the directions say to turn into an alley. I see the alley, but I really don't want to go into it. The shadows seem to engulf the whole thing and their edges seem to ripple with violent delight. I tell myself that I am psyching myself out, but it doesn't help my situation, and eventually I plunge into the backstreet, quaking with fear and asking myself how I could be this stupid
I am about halfway down the alley when I hear a soft thump. I turn my head to see two dark figures straightening up, as though they just jumped from a decent height. They are looking at me. I pick up the pace, and eventually, without even glancing back I drop my crutches and break out into what could be considered a sprint to a person with my disability. It didn't matter though, they caught up with me. Within ten seconds I am brutally slammed up against a wall, a pair of coal black eyes staring into mine. These eyes are paired with short, pale blond hair.
"It's okay darlin'," the boy who greatly reminds me of Jasper says in an undisguised southern accent. "I'll make this quick."
The boy smiles grimly, a then all emotions except lust disappear from his features. I close my eyes.
"Peter!" a voice booms throughout the alleyway. I open my eyes and try to turn my head.
"Jazz?" I ask. I would recognize the voice anywhere, but I can't turn my head to see him.
"Let her go Peter!" Jazz commands. The boy holding me against the wall emits a grisly, inhuman snarl.
"Peter," a young woman's voice echoes Jazz. "Let her go. She means something to Jasper."
Peter sits there for a minute, but the words don't seem to reach him in this state. His lips curl back over his pristine teeth as he starts for my neck.
All of a sudden his weight is gone, and I hear snarls echoing on my right while the girl begs, "Peter! Peter!"
I turn my just in time to see Peter fly into the brick building twenty feet above the ground. He dents the wall, but as soon as he hits the ground, he's back on his feet, wheeling towards Jasper faster than I could possibly imagine.
"Jazz—" the warning barely escapes my mouth before Peter impacts the air where Jazz stood a mere two seconds ago.
Jazz's back is facing me now, and he's clearly in a defensive stance as Peter prepares to launch himself again.
All of a sudden a petite girl with blond hair similar to Peter's comes up and snatches him by the chin. She begins moving her lips frantically, and after a couple of seconds, the lust has been removed from Peter's face, replaced by a look of shame. Peter nods once at Jazz, and then both Peter and the girl run away.
Jazz turns to me. His jaw is set as his golden eyes flicker over me. He looks very disheveled, but no man could compare to how gorgeous he looked at that moment.
"Are you okay?" he asks, though he doesn't seem entirely sure of himself.
I nod, but I can't be entirely sure of myself either.