Chapter 13

John had buttoned his shirt once more but instead of fixing his tie properly he discarded the whole thing, placing it on some forgotten surface in the house as the two made their way out the door. He would be having a prolonged moment with Billie completely alone. They both felt as if they were misbehaving, this time allotted certainly not something that was allowed to happen freely. What a treat. A gift. Excitement resonated dangerously around the couple.

They didn't speak to one another as they twisted through the house, Billie gathering her things. It was like they both knew a secret no one else did. When they were out the front door, off the front porch and walking along the dirt and stone covered path to the car a new feeling filled the atmosphere. There was energy. It was a rush.

John opened the passenger door for her, watching as she entered the car, delicately tucking her skirt underneath her to sit comfortably. She uttered a soft thank you, a smile in her voice, and he almost couldn't remember his own name. Climbing in behind the wheel he stalled, appearing to fix and adjust things, wasting time only to elongate their moments together. They were surrounded by darkness, Billie smiling in her seat and actually glad he couldn't see her giddiness. The lack of light, the closeness, it felt suffocatingly intimate.

"Would you have normally walked home on your own?" he asked, his voice different now that the two were alone and in the new surroundings. He stopped fiddling with the mirrors and gripped the wheel, aware that his palms were sweating.

"Most likely," she replied quietly. She didn't know why it mattered. Maybe he was just asking to have something to say.

John was thinking of her alone, walking out into the darkness and on a long path. The thought made him shudder. He started to realize just how consumed he was with the girl, fearing for her safety in a legitimate sensation. More than anybody else, John had an acute awareness of danger; he lived with it, every single minute, hour and every day. Nothing was essentially safe for him and thus his senses were on a different plane. He could not have allowed that of Billie. He preferred her in his company, in his range, in order to know she was safe. He was a little frightened to think he needed it that way.

There had been quiet. He'd started the car and it was beginning to to back up, then head down the drive. Billie did not want it to be quiet. She needed to take advantage of this time; engage him.

"Do you remember where to go?"

"Yeah, doll."

His endearments came naturally. He wasn't thinking before he said them, they just came and seemed to fit. Aware of himself, his words, he glanced over at her quickly. She was looking down into her lap, picking at the spine of a schoolbook, an honest and satisfied smile on her face. He knew then she liked it; it didn't make her uncomfortable. This pleased him and he returned to look at the road with his own smile.

He needed to speak. He tried to recall everything he knew about her; anything to draw on. She was Mary's friend, she went to High School, she was French, she was Native American, she... His thoughts stalled there. He'd told a joke that night about Indians. It was innocent enough compared to others he knew and could have told. He knew there was not a problem but still, he spoke.

"That joke I told tonight...it didn't bother you, did it?"

His voice was soft. She couldn't remember him ever speaking in this specific tone. It was...heavenly. She recalled his joke and wondered if she had appeared offended in any way. Hopefully she hadn't for nothing of the sort had crossed her mind.

"No," she answered, a gentle laugh almost escaping. "No. Why would it?"

When he glanced back toward her she was looking back. Her voice started to match his easy, low tone and the exchange felt like it had turned into an existence all its own. There was foolishness in his question, he suddenly trapped with it but feeling no sense of stress. "I don't know," he replied with his own suggestion of laughter, his shoulders shrugging. He started to drive slower. Naturally they would reach her home quicker by vehicle than they had walking.

"You're French as well." It was a statement but he relied on her elaborating.

"Yes."

There had to be more. "Do you speak it?"

"Just a little."

"Say something."

She let out a small but real laugh. "Say something? Like what?"

"Anything."

He glanced at her with a such a smile she felt as though she could deny him nothing. He was enjoying himself and it was clear. She would feel silly saying something in another language, and what could she say? Words and phrases and meanings came to her. He would undoubtedly ask what whatever she said meant. Should it be something simple, or something...implied? She cleared her throat lightly and then uttered, "Merci d'avoir pris me home."

The smile on his face widened, he still watching the road. He remained silent.

"Don't you want to know what it means?"

"What does it mean?"

"Thank you for taking me home."

He wished he could say something back to her in a language as pretty, or that he could reply in any way appealing. A brief silence continued until he said, "Say something else."

A kind of huff left her lips, she starring at him more directly. Her reactions amused him, he simply waiting for her to comply. "What? Why?" she asked guardedly, wondering if he were trying to tease or antagonize her in some way.

"I like when you say things."

His voice was still gentle and soft. Not even for a second did she disbelieve him. For the first time she turned to her window and mumbled, "Vous attaquer bille en tête," softly. It was a phrase meaning to attack something head on, similar to the way he had just spoken. He did not joke with her or play games. His words were simply and beautifully honest. This time he did indeed ask her what it meant and a smirk grew on her lips. "I won't tell you."

They both laughed. Restless, when the next silence came over them John moved without any real aim. To occupy his jittery hand he touched the radio dial, sound emanating into the car. There were voices, that of a news feed, explaining the latest happenings locally and around the country. They listened briefly to a summary of the World Cup, won by Italy against Czechoslovakia by merely one point, and some surgeon having taken a photograph of the "Loch Ness Monster." Both of them chuckled quietly, still listening as the voice began another snippet on the inmates in that Alcatraz prison that the bureau had acquired only a year before.

John's body went tense. Anything even remotely involving crime or law, in the girls presence, caused a nasty itch to spread under his skin. What if, God forbid, they mentioned his name? He realized Billie didn't know his true identity and she wouldn't be aware of a criminal sitting next to her driving her home, but still. What if his name caused her mind to wander, and somehow she made a connection, one she couldn't deny, and she realized who he was? It would be disastrous. She would run from the car, away from him forever, and worse, she could turn him in.

Before any actual information wafted out around them his hand darted out and switched off the radio. Billie looked over at him, noting his urgency, and he quickly gave her a nervous smile. "I, uh, don't care for that show..." he covered himself weakly. She gave him a smile and leaned back in her seat, oblivious to the mans private distress.

She wished to speak again but could think of nothing but retreating back to their previous conversation. French, language, words... Casually she asked him if he spoke another language, when he denied, saying the he was a rather lazy student and could have never learned, nor did he have reason or patience as an adult to do so. He thought her knowledge was extraordinary and found her all the more interesting when he learned that, after living on a reservation in Wisconsin, she could also speak several Indian words. Fascinated, he asked to hear.

"Maybe some other time," she replied with a smirk, wishing there to be a suggestion for further communication.

He answered without a flinch. "Promise?"