Rule # 3: Conceal Your Intentions
After two weeks of utter insanity, Selene was finally allowed some disclosure. It hadn't been easy. She had pestered Anthea – begging and moaning as she saw fit. At first, the secretary was eager to disregard her. However, after a considerable time frame, the older woman submitted in order to gain solace from the young girl's pandering. Her sisters – her poor, young sisters – had been sent back to South Yorkshire to reside with some colleagues of Mr. Holmes. And her brother, Charles, was with another foster family in East London.
Selene attempted to keep to herself during her stay. Unfortunately, the young boys struck up such conundrums during their personal encounters that she was often left restless. Coming from a rather large family, Selene was use to dealing with such eccentricities. However, this family left her feeling a bit out of her comfort zone.
Almart, the virtuoso, was constantly engrossed in Sun Tzu's novel, The Art of War. At first, Selene had been somewhat confounded by his unorthodox interests. She had barely indulged in reading such a complex novel herself. While Almart praised the commander as a genius, Selene regarded him with a rather cruel humor.
"There is nothing ingenious about a man who practices his military tactics on women." Almart smirk from across the table. "You have little tastes in literature." Selene shook her head: "I don't support misogynists." Almart then raised his head from his book: "Neither do I." Anthea's swift entrance cut off the rest of their discussion: "Almart."
"Yes, Mother," The young man replied. "Do you have your homework done ?" She asked him. Almart nodded his head. "Yes, finished my works on taxation and accounting fraud earlier." Almart spoke as he crossed his legs. "Good, because you will need to watch Quillian tonight. I will be out late." Anthea then turned to Selene. "Mr. Holmes has requested your presence at the office tonight." Selene raised an eyebrow: What ever so for ? She thought to herself.
Selene nodded her head. "I see." That was all she could bring herself to say. "You will need to wear a formal attire. I am sure Sara can find you some appropriate clothing." Anthea stated as she turned around to look at her phone. A strange feeling dwelled at the bottom of Selene's stomach. The thought of being alone with him … no she musn't think like that.
Almart observed her from across the living room. Selene immediately turned her head, hoping he had not witnessed the blush. She then smoothed her dress. "I best be off." Selene attempted to move. Almart nodded his head. "Yes." The young woman moved half way across the room: "Mrs. Huelsing." Selene turned around. "Yes, Almart?"
The young man now took a deep breath: "Would you like to join me for stroll through London tommorrow ?" Selene was quiet for a moment. Almart looked incredibly serious, maybe even a tad plaicid."Yes, of course." Selene shrugged her shoulders. He then looked incredibly relieved.
Almart shook his head. "I have some classes tomorrow, but I shall be done by mid day. Perhaps we could meet at university?" Selene nodded at him: "Where should I find you ?"
"The London School of Economics and Political Science."
Selene smiled: "It will be a pleasure."
...
Selene was less than surprised when Mycroft Holmes's incredibly expensive limosine met her and Anthea at the front door. The two women did not engage in any conversation during the journey. However, the driver, Sinad, was more than happy to make up for the lack of silence. He asked question after question. How was she taking to her new home ? What did she think of Anthea's boys ? What stage of grief was she in?
Selene did her best to answer all of the man's questions. Anthea would occasionly looked up from her phone in utter amusement. Selene began to wonder if Anthea and Mr. Holmes often ignored him. Nevertheless, she took pity on the man and indulged his inquiries.
The vehicle pulled up and came to halt. " Where here, Ma'um." The Irish lad spoke aloud. "Thank you." Anthea replied properly as she exited the vehicle. Selene made her way to follow but was stopped. "If ye ever need some help Ma'um, I alwayz here."Sinad gave her a soft rub on the shoulder. Selene smiled at him. "I will." She then exited the vehicle and followed Anthea.
As Selene got out, she noticed the building before her was no other than the Diogenes. She had been here a few weeks prior. The young girl followed the woman through a maze of security, escorts, and back rooms. They proceeded downwards into the infamous office of Mr. Holmes. Finally, Anthea knocked on the door. "Oh, due come in Anthea."
The secretary then pushed through the door and walked forward into the room. This left Selene to trample after her. "Sir," Anthea murmured as she heartily greeted her boss. Mycroft Holmes retreated to his desk while nodding to his secretary, crossing his fingers and his legs. "Mrs. Huelsing," He graciously nodded his head to Selene. A chill zapped down Selene's spine. He looked so sophisticated, that for a moment, she was left shell shocked. Mycroft in response neglected his ice man demeanor and raised an eyebrow. "Mr. Holmes," She choked out, not knowing what had just concurred.
Selene turned her head in utter shame. Anthea, oblivious to the sudden change in character, proceeded to speak to her superior in French: " L'ambassadeur allemand était sur la ligne téléphonique hier. Il veut prendre rendez-vous." Mycroft Holmes rolled his eyes at her response. Selene looked between the man and woman. Both were clearly purposely trying to cut her out of the conversation. The young girl listened carefully. She had studied nearly three years of french in school. However, her auditory skills had never been that particularly good.
Selene briefly closed her eyes, replaying the words as if they were lyrics in the back of her mind. And the lyrics revolved around like they were on a loop. For a moment, and a moment only, she found herself being sucked into a group of spiraling memories. The first random jolt was like a bullet striking a target and appeared spontaneously to her in full color. Flashes lit up her internal world. The first random memory: She watching the German Ambassador address the United Nations. Allemand. She was Allemand. Her people were Allemand. This ambassadeur Mycroft and Anthea spoke of - most likely the same one - was Allemand.
A second memory flashed, almost forcing the first one to the side. Years of rigorous education. Etymology. Yes, her sitting with her brother studying the roots and suffixes of all common words. Telephonique. Tele, meaning Far or Far off. Telephone. She smiled to herself, so this German Ambassador was placing a phone call ? Her vanity vanished the moment it began to lay dormant in her system. Another memory, this time more revolting, appeared from the most degrading shadows. The picture of her family's bodies lingered in the most turbulent way. Selene felt her heart skip a beat.
She had sub-consciously attempted to suppress this memory, and -now- it appeared in vibrant, haunting imagery. Selene felt nauseous. Her brothers on the floor, blooding pouring from their flesh ridden skulls. Her mother, lower clothes removed, spread out like some expendable pleasure device. Her step-father, so beaten and bloody she could no longer tell his face. She restrained tears, desperately attempting to maintain herself in the face of utter terror.
Selene desired for the world to stop spinning, for it all to the end. The insanity, it wasn't too much to bear, but she wished it would just take a moment to cease. Her mind, oh at distinct times she wished it would just shut up. That it would stop spinning, trying to generate new ideas, and would act like a normal mind.
Selene looked up. Anthea was still ranting in her ethnic tongue. Mycroft, while skillfully listening, was gazing upon the young girl with a distinct curiosity. This caused Selene to look away, for his stare was making her feel even more sick than prior. English. She thought to herself. What do they call that word in English? A medical turn floated into her mind. PTSD. In addition to this random little fact, a full blast memory of a television show entered her mind: one regarding the psychology of trauma victims after accidents such rape, murder, or war. Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
A knocking sound roused her from her self-consuming thoughts. Selene looked downward. Mycroft's skinny knuckles were pounding on his custom made, Indian desk. Anthea, the loyal, yet utterly perplexing secretary, was simple gazing in her direction. Mr. Holmes, on the other hand, was intensly staring at her, almost if he was analyzing her for some greater purpose. At last, he turned away from her and said something unintelligible in an additional language. Was it Arabic ? Selene just stood there. Were these people hyperpolyglots ? And why did they change languages? Did Mycroft already suspect she comprehended enough Francais to be dangerous ?
To Selene's surprise, Anthea proceeded to leave the room. The young girl's mind traced her movements out the door. A new sudden fear replaced her old disruptive nightmare. The door closed with a thud. By the time Selene looked back, Mr. Holmes was standing straight tall with his arms crossed over his frame. An awkward silence filled the room. Selene just stood there. This time, however, she was faster to greet him, even if it slightly compromised her pride. "Herr," She spoke as politely as possible. This caused Mr. Holmes to raise his left eyebrow with a sign of disgust. " You are in England. The greatest country in the European Union. You are no longer a citizen of Germany, but a subject of the crown." The older man then sat down. " You will address me in English or not address me at all."
Selene stood there in total confoundment. There were so many things wrong with this situation. For starters, she had just witnessed a trilingual dialogue in the past five minutes of being in this room. Secondly, what did he mean she was no longer a citizen of Germany ? She had a German passport and a British residency. "I don't understand," Selene blurted out unintelligibly. Mycroft further cocked an eyebrow. "Which part ?" His sarcasm dripped from his voice like venom.
"I am citizen of Germany, and therefore, I am not a subject of the crown." Mycroft gave a smirk in response to her statement. "Yes, and that has clearly changed since you have last looked at your paper work." Selene continued to give him a perplexed look. Mycroft then rolled his eyes, opened his bottom dress drawer, and handed her a file. Selene raised an eyebrow not knowing what to do. "Open it," He ordered, as he dramatically pointed his umbrella. A moment's reluctance filled Selene, but she quickly overcame it.
She picked up the file, her hands slightly shaking and then flipped to the first page. Selene briefly observed the paper work. Things that took most people minutes to read took her seconds. She flipped through the paper work and then placed the whole stack on the desk. Mycroft gave her a funny look. " Are you sure your done ?" A further mocking tone filled his voice. He sat back lazily, almost informally. Selene hindered her grimace.
No. She was not done. While images were drifting through her mind at full acceleration, she was still processing the presented information. Selene was in a British Protection Program. Her English residency had been upgraded to the status of citizen. All of her information pertaining to her German history was gone, almost as if it never existed. Her siblings, at least the ones who were still alive, were no longer legally her siblings. And her name, her very last name, formally known as Huelsing was now officially a British bastardification called Morstan. Selene hated his arrogant smirk. He may had well as called her Mrs. Holmes. It sounded just as ridiculous. She was not Mrs. Morstan. No, she was Mrs. Huelsing.
But instead of making a verbal attack, Selene copied his body language. She was not interested in compromising another weakness. This man had power. That much was for certain. The only real question was how was Selene going to use this to her own advantage ? She temporarily shifted her head, simply gazing at him. The young girl then leaned forward. Conceal Your Intentions.
Selene gave him a coy smile. "The legal obligations stipulated in these residential contracts are incredibly thorough. It must have taken some time." Mycroft Holmes simply raised an eyebrow at her politeness. She could tell automatically he suspected something was up. "It was hardly a profound feat. I expect only the best from my subordinates. Besides," He turned his head around, looking out for someone - possibly Anthea. "For the right price, anyone can be bribed." There was a certain naughtiness to his voice.
Selene gave him a perculiar look. "Can you be bribed, Sir?" It was a legitimate question. One that caused Mr. Holmes to raise an eyebrow. He neither gave her a direct denial nor admitted to the statement. Instead, he replied: " The real question you should be asking is, 'What do I need to do to get Mr. Holmes to tell me why I am here.'" Selene rolled her eyes: " I can't ask for I will not recieve."
"Yes," He stated haughtily. "But last time I checked, "Your God helps those who help themselves." Selene narrowed her eyes: "Do you think your God ?" Mycroft simply smirked again: "No, but I am greater. For I exist." Selene just starred at him. He really was very sad, yet incredibly handsome man.
"Why Am I here ?" Selene pressed. Mycroft sighed, "Please, I would like to refrain from having a spiritual discussion at the moment." Irritation filled Selene's system. "No," She hissed, " Why am I here, in this room ?" Mycroft cocked an eyebrow: "To play my devil's advocate of course." She rolled her eyes. "Please be serious." Mycroft leaned forward: "I am serious."
Selene shook her head. "You can have anyone. Why me?" Mycroft leaned back again. "Oh, don't think yourself as special. You were pre-ordained for this job, not chosen." Selene just looked confused. Mycroft then grabbed the file, opened it, and pulled out a card. He then slid it across the desk. Selene gazed downward. "AGRA." She blurted out.
"I don't understand." She spoke. Mycroft gave her a cold, hard stare. "You will … in time."
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