-
Mark returned to the warehouse three times a week. Gradually, I began to loathe seeing him walk through the doors smugly, as if he felt he were a noble citizen, that he was doing a great service to his community. He probably thought he deserved a medal, or the key to the city. Once, he even smiled at me when I brushed past him to get John a pencil. I came close to stabbing the pretentious prick with it.
One night, after he'd left, I expressed my intense feelings to John.
"I mean, who does he think he is?!" I began to pace, John studied me warily.
"He doesn't run the show, John." I stopped pacing, and stood in front of him, on the other side of the desk where he sat.
He stared at me, with an expression similar to a parent of a tantrum-throwing child, and they're waiting for them to realize what's below the surface.
"And who does?" He questioned, the corners of his lips almost turning up into a smile.
I almost laughed, "Don't you?"
He was serious now, "We all do our part. No man is an island."
I huffed, "Tell that to him."
"Rivielle." John was cautioning me. Intent on respecting his opinion, I sat across from him, willing to grasp whatever he would teach. He stared at me for an endless time; hands folded. I wanted to reach out and hold one, but I restrained myself.
"I hoped you would understand what I was trying to teach you about emotion. You remember your second test…"
I nodded, not daring to take my eyes away from him.
"In order to fully have a grip on the stressful world you've always lived in, Rivielle; you must become detached. You must be the epitome of indifference towards your opponents. In order to teach lessons, this is who you must become. You don't want Detective Hoffman to have control over you, correct?"
I frowned, glowering fiercely at the mention. "Of course not."
"Then take control of yourself, and know that he cannot intimidate you unless you allow him to." John then read my mind, and reached across the table to place a hand on mine.
A small sound escaped me; it was one of surprise and joy. I smiled warmly at him.
"However, emotion is natural. There is nothing wrong with expressing it, but know that it is to be reserved, for the right moments. People don't cry, or laugh every single time they feel the urge to do so. Reserved people go farther. What it boils down to, is…I want you to utilize self control. You've already proved that you have it, now use it."
He stood, giving me one more glance before walking through the double doors.
-
Later that night, John and Mark went out, John didn't tell me exactly where he was going, and I didn't mind. If John felt I didn't need to know, then where was the sense in prying? I watched them leave, holding my arms and trying desperately not to leer as Mark gave me one last look before following John out.
"Sickening." I hissed after him, low enough for him not to hear, but so I would feel better.
Bored, I walked around the room about three times, thinking to myself, pondering John's next move. Honestly, just pondering John in general. I picked through a few of his magazines and books, The Pit and The Pendulum, Engineering Monthly, The Masque of The Red Death. The stories of a man tormented by long intervals of horrible sanity…and yet, so beloved, even to this day. Remembered, for more than a century after his death.
I hoped they would remember John.
-
I awakened sometime in the middle of the night to John returning. I heard the rustle of him shrugging out of his jacket, and the chair being pushed out and in from the desk. Briefly, I thought about getting up and talking with him, but I decided against it. Instead, I listened intently for five minutes, and then eased back into a dreamless slumber.
Mark woke me up again in the morning. Ugh, anyone but him. I'd rather wake up to another trap.
"Are you hungry?" He asked, sitting in a chair next to my bed, waiting for me to rub the sleep from my eyes. I stared at him intently, and suspiciously. "Not particularly…"
He shrugged and fell back into his chair, exasperated.
"Where's John?" I demanded of him.
Mark let out a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was annoyed, I was…deeply satisfied with myself. "Just, come with me for one. hour. Nothing's going to happen to you. Scouts honor."
Standing, I folded my arms, and raised an eyebrow at him. I glared at him for a long while, considering the situation. There was obviously a reason for this, except the reason itself wasn't very clear.
I threw my hands up in defeat, "Fine. But, I get to choose where we go."
He nodded.
When I was ready, we walked down the chilly halls of the warehouse, I hugged my jacket close. He glanced at me.
"You know Detective; you never struck me as a boy scout." The sound of our footsteps was followed by the low chuckle that escaped from him.
