Chapter VIII

Tintin Fugitive, part I

Meanwhile, in Bonilla's house, everything seemed to be awkwardly quiet. Allan was once again entering to the house, and was starting to get sick of the white construction. He preferred to be in an abandoned ship, which occurred to be "his style" rather than going to a fancy, white house. It was his Boss' choice, leaving him resigning himself.

He finally managed, somehow, to open the door, and he saw the surroundings. Thompson then started to wonder why Gérémi didn't want him to go to that part of the house. Since he felt there were no signs of the old man, he gave his chance to explore.

All the walls were covered with photos, possibly with people who were dead, like if it was the album of some serial killer. He saw those one by one, and Allan appeared not to know each one.

He was getting tired of watching those, until the last ones took his attention.

Finally something interesting!

Allan took one of them and examined it. It was taken about twenty-four years ago. It was a picture of the then "Sons of Agora". Bonilla and all of the then members appeared in it: Marcel Victor, Jean-Pierre Beltrami, Rene de Fronsac, Martin Talbot, Joshua Vlamynck, Yoav Pileggi, Yang Wu, and Dorian Fiennes.

He then left that photo and took the next to it. It was, indeed, a recompilation of notices of newspapers from different, recent dates, except for the first two ones, which occurred to be from more than 23 years ago.

What the-?

Allan took it and read the headlines of each one:

"Joshua 'The Tiger' Vlamynck finally captured"

"The Sons of Agora still at large"

"Joshua Vlamynck escaped"

"The Tiger has been captured"

"The Tiger dies in brutal prison fight"

"British lawyer and assistant murdered"

"Belgian Reporter identified to be the murderer"

"United Kingdom offers a huge amount of pounds for Tintin's head"

Allan then smirked at the notices.

Suddenly, he heard someone approaching, and his instinct guided him to a safer place. He stood there and tried to hear when the Boss happened to leave the house again, or at least the room, so he could escape.

-It's a shame you cannot be in public for a while, my dear friend.- Gérémi's voice was heard.

-It's okay.- A familiar voice said.- I don't even need to be out.-

That voice. Allan thought. Where did I hear it before?

-Well, then?- Gérémi asked.- And your visit has a reason? Or what?-

-I just happened to ask you if there's any secret tunnel you know.- the familiar voice said

-My friend, you know I don't have those tunnels anymore.- Gérémi replied.- Not since that Fronsac idiot revealed all of them to Tintin.-

-Talking about that little pest, is he finally captured?-

-Not really, I think. The rumours say he escaped, probably last night.-

-What a shame.-

-He cannot go anywhere.-

-You sure?-

-My dear Allan has happened to take care of all. He knows what would happen if he returns with his unfinished homework.-

Aw, come on! Allan thought. Leave the place!

The man of familiar voice and Gérémi kept a long conversation, much to Allan's dismay.

Hours passed, and the men finally left the house.

Thompson saw finally his opportunity and left.

Meanwhile, in a ship that abandoned the port this morning, a great part of the people was seen very enthusiastic about the idea of making their lives again once they arrived to America. The rest just wanted to visit the place.

Dmitri Sakharine was among them. He felt he couldn't "fit" with the people, not because he was in a wheelchair. The reason was, he believed, they won't simply understand him. He was then "taking a ride" around the ship, as the last thing he wanted was going back to his cabin when the day had a beautiful sighting.

In his way, a young, blond man, who was looking the waves and the dolphins passing by, took his attention and went towards him.

-Having a hard day?- the Russian asked

Suddenly, the blond turned his sight to the man in the wheelchair.

It was Tintin.

After seeing his face, the Russian-born realized what the problem might be. Dmitri showed a satisfied-like smile as the blond-haired lad tried not to show insecurity, fear, and the guilt feeling.

-I think I know what's bugging you.- Dmitri said.- Your face, right?-

Tintin then sighed with relieve, as he thought Mr. Sakharine's son was going to recognize him.

-I'm sorry, but I don't understand.- he said

-You have a baby-face, and that bugs you, right?-

-Actually, no.- Tintin replied.- I got used to.-

-I wish I could get used to.- He sighed

-Excuse me?-

-Oh, nothing, just a thought.- Dmitri said as he approached Tintin.- Are you going to visit America?-

-I was planning on leaving there the rest of my life.-

-Ah, you're running away?-

-Kind of. Nobody understands me.-

-I know that feeling. Mind if I stay behind you?-

-Go ahead.-

-Thanks. And, why are you running away?-

-Does it really matter?-

-I guess not. If it hurts you a lot, then I cannot make you talk about it.-

-Thanks. And, how about you?-

-A friend of mine is going to have an exposition of his work, and he invited me to it.-

-That sounds interesting.-

-Oh, it is.- Dmitri then gave a friendly laugh.- My name's Dmitri Sakharine. What's yours?-

Tintin then thought quickly in a name, and said the first one that sounded acceptable.

-Jean-Pierre Talbot.-

-Talbot?- Dmitri asked.- You're from those rural areas, right? The ones with Mennonites?-

-I guess you're right.-

-Well, you know? You're different from the rest of the passengers. There's something in you I cannot describe. It's like... something pure.-

-Everybody says that.-

Dmitri then chuckled.

Both kept talking like friends.

Tintin then was feeling comfortable while taking with Sakharine's son. They were similar, except for the wheelchair and arthritis part.

The night finally arrived, and both decided to leave to their own cabins, to get some sleep and reflection.

Tintin went to his place, and closed the door.

It was not the best cabin, but at least it was something.

He didn't want to spend a lot, since he was planning on changing his money to American currency, and wanted to have a fresh start, even if that meant to abandon his friends, his pet, his beloved ones.

The lad's heart was getting his rhythm a little faster.

I know what I did. And I prefer to start over again.

He tried to ignore that guilt, by walking from one side to another.

Once he puts a foot in the offices of immigration, what it rests of Tintin will vanish in the air. He'd be a new person, somebody with the opportunity of a fresh start, while, in Europe, the reporter would be in an eternal search. The police will never find him.

After thinking for a while, he felt he was feeling fresh, and went to his bed.

Tintin then, turned off the light with a switch near where he was, closed his eyes and tried to get a sleep.

-That's not the son I remember.- a calmed, male voice said.

The lad then opened his eyes as he gasped, and saw Remy with Germaine, with a saddened and disappointed expression.

-xxx-

A/N: I hope you liked this.

I have to continue my final projects of my semester. Those are so heavy my thumbs hurt a lot. Oh well...

If there's something OOC, please tell me so I can fix it!

Got Hooked? PLEASE REVIEW! That motivates me to continue writing!