Silhouettes
Chapter 4
Wow, what a response! Thank you so much!
I've been touching on chapter 10 a little, but trying to build up my Star Trek piece enough to start posting sometime soon, so the amount of work on Silhouettes has declined. I suspect I'll reach about 15 chapters with this story, but I always make these predictions and they end up much longer!
Enjoy!
-XXX-
Before I duck out for Ben's that following day, Dad stops me. "He's got another set of letters. You can deliver them." Making a point to catch my gaze and hold it, he asks, "If you're going out that way."
He knows that I'm visiting – just as the whole village knows. They've seen me walk to that house, leaving, and I'm sure word of our visit to Potter's has been heard about town. But Dad's not spoken to me of it. There has been no confrontation. I'm forced to wonder what he suspects is going on - if I'm pestering a tenant or if there is something more going on. I don't bother to ask or even speculate on the matter any longer. I simply accept the letters with a nod, and leave.
-XXX-
Ben doesn't bother in locking the door when he's in, and he's refused to answer when he knows it's me anymore, so I simply walk in. He's lying across the loveseat against the wall, staring straight ahead in an eerie manner. Without a word, I toss the letters upon his chest, then remove my shoes before sinking into an armchair. A book I'd started last week sits, untouched, tucked between the cushions, and I leaf through until I find where I left off. Ben picks up the envelopes, glancing at the address.
"Letter opener."
Slowly, I pull myself from the text to peer at him from over the top of the book.
"Excuse me?"
"I need the letter opener." He shakes one of the envelopes.
"I can see, yes."
"So get it for me."
Incredulous, I glance at the mantle. "Ben, you're close. And, last I knew, you had functioning legs. Get it yourself."
He falls silent.
Turning back to my reading, I settle into the chair. From across the room, Ben emits a loud, dramatic sigh, crossing his legs. The sigh repeats every few minutes until I fling myself from the chair, cross to the fireplace, grab the letter opener, and toss it at him. He manages to catch it before any limbs are stabbed. The envelopes are opened and read swiftly. From behind the book I occasionally glance at him. They're written in the same script as before, feminine and neat.
I wonder who they're from. It's the only mail Ben ever receives, these letters. They're never more than a page or two in length. Handwritten. And always tucked away on a bookshelf by the desk, between a worn copy of Gray's Anatomy and an elephant bookend. The stationary is unremarkable, and I've never seen a return address.
While I am curious, I dare not ask. Ben's secrets are his own, and he'd tell me if it were any business of mine. So, I let my eyes slide away from the papers in his hands and turn back to my reading.
-XXX-
"You have a significantly low rate of murder in this county," Ben announces, as though this is a fact purely criminal, a travesty, and revolting to him.
"Which is an appealing characteristic to most people," I say flippantly. "Though, obviously not you."
"It's boring."
The remark ought to make me uneasy, but if anything, it amuses me. That very revelation, however, does serve to make me feel a little unsettled with myself. But I move on.
"I find it peaceful."
"Boring," he repeats shortly.
"We did have one, almost two years ago," I say thoughtfully after a moment. "Susan McLarney. She was a tourist. Found on the beach. Slashed open. It was terrible."
"Oh?" Ben is pointedly disinterested. "Did they ever find the murderer?"
"No," I reply sadly. "They haven't, yet. There's still some hope…." I drift off. Snapping to, I ask, "Is that enough murder for you, Ben?"
"Perhaps," he murmurs, and I get the distinct feeling he's already known all that I have told him.
-XXX-
Sometimes, in the right light, Ben's eyes look unnaturally light. So blue they're nearly white. The very color of crystal. It's when he lays on his back, looking up at the ceiling in a state of supreme boredom (or deeply concentrated thought, it's hard to tell which), then looks up into gray midday light when they look most mystical.
He's looking at me like that now, narrowed. And I cannot stop myself from gazing back. Loosing myself, briefly.
"I'm hungry," he announces unremarkably.
I blink. "I'm not cooking for you."
His lips quirk. "I was actually thinking about eating out. I've missed restaurant food."
"Oh?" I catch this tidbit of information and latch onto it. "You used to eat out a lot where you used to live? Was there a lot of variety?"
By now he's off the couch, moving to the desk to retrieve his jacket from the chair. Apparently he's deciding we're going. Casting me a "Oh-don't-think-I-don't-know-what-you're-doing" look, he slides the charcoal suit jacket on, straightening the lapels with a tug. "Yes."
"And where might that place be? Where you lived, I mean?"
"Away," he says shortly. "Put your shoes on, we'll walk to town. And don't forget the umbrella, it's due to rain."
I open my mouth to protest, but the slip of a figure that is Ben Holly has already flown upstairs, probably to use the bathroom. Slumping in the chair, I sigh. Then, I pull my shoes up and being tying up the laces.
-XXX-
It's very short, I know! But this next chapter is quite lengthy, I promise you. Unfortunately, you might not see it until Monday - I'm away for the weekend. On that note, I've just started a very fast-paced online class I'm going to have to be working doubly hard at so as to be done before my camp job starts in July, and next week kicks off two weeks of volunteer work at a gifted camp. So while chapters are written, time for editing and posting will be random.
Hoping I can keep posting every three days or so. Enjoy the weekend! Have a great father's day!
Questions? Comments, concerns, critiques, I take and *try* to answer them all!