The Package:

It was late, where the sky was at its darkest and the city was nearly empty of cars and traffic. In the dead silence, Elizaveta didn't hesitate to knock repeatedly on the red-painted door situated in the middle of a row of town houses. The weather was practically unforgiving this night, with wind at almost 40 miles per hour, yet she didn't have time to dress. Only to throw on a long-sleeved shirt over her flannel pajama pants, a scarf, hat and a jacket. There was no snow; just the harsh bite of winter air makes her bounce on her toes, clutching an envelope in one hand as she releases another round to knocks.

She rolls up her jacket sleeve to check the time: it's almost three in the morning. A huff of water vapor floats in the air and she exhales and looks around her. There is a car in the driveway so she knows he's home. Elizaveta is the only one outside in the mostly quiet neighborhood save the whistling sound of wind getting caught between objects. She turns again to the door and starts another round of knocks before the telltale click of a lock makes her stop. The door opens slightly and from the small crack she can make out dreary blue eyes that were almost veiled by blond hair. For a moment, Elizaveta regrets having woken him up given the very unfriendly glare she receives. But this is a matter of importance and the contents of the envelope that was delivered to her house just thirty minutes before needs to be discussed with someone. So, she quickly squares her shoulders and holds the tanned envelope so he can see.

"Did I wake you?" She asks though the answer to question is obvious and Francis doesn't try to hide his irritation at it either.

"It's 3 in the morning."

Elizaveta nods but doesn't waiver. "Yes, I know. I need to talk to you about this." She points to the envelope. "And it can't wait."

He frowns in disbelief. "It can't wait another 6 'ours?"

She shakes her head in the negative and the wind carries her hair with the movement. "Not really, no. You're the only person I could go to, Francis."

He doesn't answer right away and they hold each other's gaze for a moment before the door closes unexpectedly. Elizaveta stands there for a moment, still holding up the envelope. The door doesn't open. She purses her lips and waits for what feels like an eternity but Francis didn't open the door and the only sound outside now is the howling wind. Her arms drop in defeat and she just stands and stares for a few moments before turning on her heels, and sitting down on the top step. Six hours, he says, fine she would wait there the entire six hours.

She clenches the envelope and it's contents in her hands and pulls it close to her chest. Her knees draw up as far as they can go to keep the cold from getting into her jacket and maybe in a bit of comfort to her thoughts. Weather has a way of weighing on emotions and the gloomy of winter didn't help the emptiness Elizaveta has felt all week. Gilbert is nowhere to be found. No calls. No texts. No more letters since the first night he disappeared. Everything she's done, it's been alone and though she is strong, he makes her stronger.

She consoles herself with the thought that he left for a good reason. To protect her, Elizaveta reasons. Not because he's guilt or that he's hiding something from her but because he doesn't want her involved. It frustrates her enough to frown at the neighboring houses. Why would he do that? Didn't he trust her enough to be able to handle whatever was? When she finds him, and she is sure she will, he's going to get a good verbal lashing for not having more confidence in her.

Over the roar of the wind, Elizaveta hardly hears the click of a door opening. She glares at a neighboring house still, lost in thought when a hand comes down on her shoulder. The hand is small but it frightens her to the point she jumps up. It was a woman or a girl, the ponytails don't help the differentiation much and her small stature further smothered by an oversized coat didn't help either.

"Come inside, it's too cold to seat out here." She says.

Her accent wasn't particularly French but it was foreign. The woman doesn't wait but starts toward the opened door. Elizaveta follows without question into the house, which was dimly lit by a lamp next to the door. She shivers once the warm air hits through her jacket. The woman moves around her to close the door and lock it. Elizaveta waits patiently as she removes her coat and hangs it.

"Francis doesn't like being woken up," the woman starts and Elizaveta remembers the soft voice from when she called days ago. "I'm Madeline, you can call me Mattie if you like." Mattie looks around her for a second and Elizaveta turns to see Francis coming down the stairs, dressed in a long robe.

He looks between both of them and his gaze settles on the woman, the unfriendly look replaced with something like disappointment. "Mattie…"

"He would have done the same for you." The woman cuts in with a bit more liveliness to her voice and Francis' frown deepens. "Besides, she's been sitting outside for ten minutes…it must be important."

Elizaveta doesn't say anything but the grin on her face makes Francis's brow twitch but he doesn't offer any other complaint. Just a sigh and pushes his hair away from his face as he descends the stairs. "Make us something warm to drink, please Mattie and meet us in the living room." He gestures for Elizaveta to follow and she does diligently.

The place isn't huge but the living area is well decorated so that the space appears bigger. Placing her things aside, she wastes no more time with removing the contents of the envelope and dropping the stack of papers of the table. At the very top is a picture. The picture itself is black and white, with a profile of a man with short wavy hair, dressed in what she thinks is a suit or at least a blazer. It's hard to tell because he's about to get in a car but if someone knew this man, identifying him would be easy. Judging the change in the Frenchman's demeanor, Elizaveta knows she's made the right decision.

"Why didn't you tell me about this?" She asks, perhaps accusatorily.

Francis takes the half step to the coffee table and picks up the stack of papers. At the same time, Mattie returns, handing her a cup of tea and placing one for Francis on the table before taking her leave. The Frenchman doesn't so much as look up but flips through the papers rapidly, his expression darkening with every glance. It is similar to the expression that she had at first glance.

When he's done sifting, he glances at her and she gives him a hard look. "Maybe you are a better liar than I thought." Francis straightens himself and hands her back the stack.

Elizaveta scoffs at his remark. "This man is Antonio, your friend Antonio."

"I know," Francis answers with a bored sort of arrogance. "All the same, I can't help you. He and I are not such good friends anymore, I'm afraid."

She wrinkles her nose at his comment. "Yeah about the same time you and Gil stopped being friends. Why?"

"Am I on trial?" Francis shoots back but she ignores it, choosing to flip through the papers until she finds the one she wants.

"Look," she points to several collages of pictures. "The investigator was only able to get a few shots of him because this guy is like a ghost. Not only that, records of him sort of hit a stalemate. No address, no phone number, no job, it's like he fell off the map and emerges every so often. " She looks at him determinedly then, "But a clear record of him stops about the same time you, him and Gil stopped being friends."

Francis stays silent, glancing at the papers but his expression is less defiant. At length, he quietly confesses. "I wish I could 'elp you, mon Cherie, but truly I can't. "

"Why not?" The question is more desperate than accusing and Francis sighs and picks up his tea. He moves to stand by the window. Elizaveta stays put.

"I don't know anything," the Frenchman sips, glances at her to see if she's listening, than turns back to the window. "They never told me what or why. I was just like you. I asked questions but I always received the same answer."

She tries not to fidget with her scarf. "And what was that?"

"That I didn't want to know. It is a sad thing when friends keep secrets, Liz."

"Do you think that…that it was something illegal?"

Francis gives her a look over the rim of his teacup that she can't quite read. Elizaveta can't hold his gaze and glances at the Spaniard's photograph. He doesn't look the type to be involved in anything. Judging by the picture, she would guess he has a friendly disposition but…

"If you want answers, Liz" Francis' voice pulls her eyes back in his direction. "I suggest you find Antonio. He would know more than I."

"Yes, I know…" she trails off, a bit disappointed.

"Elizaveta," he calls and his voice holds a not too often heard anxiety.

"Hm?"

"Be careful."


A/N: 'Who stole the cookie out of the cookie jar? Who me? Yes, you. Couldn't be. Than, who?' That's what this store makes me feel like! So, who did steal the cookies out of the cookie jar, hm?

-CeCe ^_^