A/N: I come with an update! Thanks so much for the reviews! This chapter is a bit of connecting between Christine and Eve. In the next chapter we shall see them take a step closer to finding Nikki. Again, I do intend to finish this fic. I hope to return with an update soon!
~Mini Peacelet~
Born To Fly - Part 26
Eve trudged down the carpeted stairs wearily, enveloped in a fuzzy robe that acted as some unrecognisable form of comfort. She had barely slept, tossing and turning agitatedly for the plurality of the night with worry and stress. Her chestnut-coloured mane was a tangled mess; unruly and tousled. Daylight was just rousing following a lifetime of dusky shadows. That was when she had finally given up attempting to sleep.
The girl descended the last step and paused by the front door. A piece of crinkled paper had been shoved through the letterbox, yet to be collected by one of the home's residents. There was no address, it seemed blank. She collected the sheet of paper, trembling fingers peeling the many folds apart to reveal some black ink scrawled scruffily.
It was a note from Nikki's kidnappers. A comment and a proposed deal.
"I thought we agreed no police? Just as well we are further ahead than them, isn't it? Do not get anyone else involved again; this is our little secret. That way you will ensure that nothing else happens to your Nikki. In exchange for Nikki's freedom and safety, we demand fifty thousand pounds. You have until Friday. More details to follow. Tick tock."
Paper clenched in her clustered fists, the brunette proceeded into the kitchen, pace significantly prompter than prior movements. "Christine?" Her voice fluttered apprehensively as she searched for the older woman, desperate to present the latest disclosure in the kidnap case.
She finally located the headmistress in the lounge. Curled in the foetal position with her arms hugging her knees to her chest, she was jittery beneath the thin blanket. The dark rings that circled her desolate orbs indicated that she hadn't slept much either; the unwelcome enhancement prominent against her ghostly pale complexion.
"Somebody put this through the letterbox..." Eve's tone was edgy as she pressed the note into her hand, then anxiously twiddled her fingers as she waited for a reaction.
Christine scanned the paper intently, processing the information rapidly. Her heart sunk further, crumbling into more broken shards, "No..." It was barely audible as she shook her head and concealed her face with her shaky hands. Thoughts whirled in her mind, instantly thinking the worst. The clever wording stimulated a repulsive fear that something bad had already happened.
The blonde was succumbed by a sudden burst of motivating energy, she leapt to her feet and abandoned the blanket before racing into the kitchen. Her movement allowed the adolescent to presume that she had simply perched there for the entire night; she remained in her tailored trousers and white blouse which was now crumpled and creased. Staring vacantly and left to battle her own thoughts and consciences.
She was visibly restless as Eve followed vigilantly. Stressed, flustered and twitchy. And had plummeted to her knees whilst cupboard doors were forcefully propelled open and the contents raked out in a chaotic motion. Christine was steered harshly. Actions reflecting a pure craving and intense desire and covet.
The behaviour the girl witnessed was stiffly familiar. The movements of an alcoholic. She had lost compassion and mercy for that moment, dryly speaking without emotion, "You're an alcoholic aren't you." It wasn't a question; a blunt statement.
Christine halted abruptly, capsizing further to the tiled floor. That comment was cuttingly smarting and initiated a temporary stunned affect. Bile accumulated in her throat. It almost felt as though somebody had twisted and brutally ripped her heart out. Actually, she wished they had. Then she would be numb from all this painful aching; physically and emotionally. The equal influence vodka generated.
That was something she never would have anticipated hearing from a seventeen year old. Excluding her own son - and even that churned her stomach and made her feel violently sick, the hell she had put that poor, innocent boy through. But Eve? No, never. She now felt guilty for craving drink, for once again turning to alcohol to help cope with her problems. Cowardly.
"Recovering alcoholic, actually." She murmured ashamedly as she propped herself against a kitchen unit, unable to support her own weight in her lethargic state. "I haven't drunk in, I don't know, around eight months. I have your mother to thank for that."
They basked the muted ambience for a while, Eve busying herself by replacing the items that cluttered the floor into the cupboards thar had toppled out of until the blonde spoke. "How did you know?"
The teenager's shoulders jerked into a shrug, "I know the signs. You were fidgety and twitchy, then you went through the kitchen. Dad's an alcoholic. I've seen it all before."
"I'm sorry," Her apology was genuine and empathetic although a mere whisper, "You really shouldn't have had to watch that. Or be the one to stop me. I'm really sorry. The craving was just so so strong, I could illusion the taste of the vodka burning my throat, all the way to my stomach, and numbing this wretched pain."
"I get that it's hard. But alcohol isn't the answer; drink is never the answer." Eve stated solemnly as she sat next to her step mother, "Wouldn't you rather be well and sober to help Mum and the baby whenever we find her. We will find her. Dad says she's a fighter. Or would you rather be unconscious in some ditch somewhere, choking on your own vomit. Because that's the reality." Her manner was perhaps a little sharp, but it was very truthful.
"You are right." Christine pulled the teen in for a hug, "Thank you, thank you so much for not letting me relapse. And I'm sorry that you've had to experience all that with your father."
The brunette rested her head on the older woman's shoulder and nodded.
"We will find her, I'm certain." She was trying to remain optimistic even with the threat looming densely, "Your Dad's correct. She is a fighter."
A few minutes subsequent, the headmistress hauled herself to her feet and went in search of her shoes and jacket, along with her handbag, phone and car keys.
"Where are you going?"
"Work. I'm no use to anybody sitting around here all day just moping around. I might as well do something constructive. And, to be honest, the distraction will do me good." She responded simply. But there was also the detail that she wanted to speak to Lorraine, in person.
Eve nodded again, "You might want to get changed first, though. And maybe have a coffee?"
Christine's features adopted a small smile as she peered at her attire and nodded, "I think you're right." She agreed before going to head upstairs. But she paused as her phone rang. The caller ID appeared as her wife's name, "Nik?" She attempted to sound cool and calm but the nerves wavered her voice.
The line was crackly but she was positive she heard a muffled 'help'. A piercing clatter followed and the line went dead. Now, she had convinced herself she had a proper reason to be worried about her lover and unborn infant. Yet she couldn't quite think straight enough to decipher what was the best thing to do.