Fic: Something In Common Part 16 PG-13
Author: jsherlock
Rating: PG-13
Title: Something In Common
Part: 15/?
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Summary: Jonathan Escapes.
Finally, finally, the second hour passed. The fast second hand passed the number twelve. When it passed the ten and finally, the thirty Jonathan slowly rose from the kitchen table. The chair scraped across the floor, catching on the cracked linoleum. It toppled over. He looked around furtively as the noise echoed loudly through the empty apartment. Nothing. He righted the chair and let out the breath he’d been holding.
Run, Johnny!
The door wasn’t locked, and Ivy wasn’t waiting for him, trap laid. He closed the front door behind him silently, and looked around. The main causeway was empty. Without a last look back he bolted, running for all he was worth. Nobody seemed to be around. Not even the late-night street food vendors were out hawking their food to the club people. The cashier at the twenty-four hour general store was absorbed in a magazine as he ran by. The sounds of his staccato footfalls echoed down the large cavern, echoing back faintly.
He reached the elevator that would bring him topside, skidding to a stop, breathing heavily as he hunched over. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and adjusted his glasses. His gaze darted around. He searched the shadows desperately. Nobody. Wait. He straightened and by pure force of will, controlled his breathing. Jonathan laughed out loud. It was a cat. He jabbed the call button and sat on the concrete step, shaking.
He crouched in the bottom of the elevator when it came, desperately stabbing the close doors button, as footsteps sounded on the far side of the platform. Whoever it had been was left behind with a shouted curse up at him, as the car rose.
It had taken three months to get to this point. He’d been sick, but he’d recovered. Mostly. His health was an ongoing touch-and-go game of tag. But for now he was strong. Ivy hadn’t left his side for the first two months. He covered his eyes, shaking the feeling of being trapped. He’d almost gone insane with the smothering. Playing dumb he’d exaggerated his weakness and frailty to take her off the scent of the extent of his recovery. But even Ivy got bored playing the caring nurse, and had finally been persuaded to go on the drug runs to oversee. Tonight had been the night she’d not come back after an hour. He’d waited for two before taking the chance. Now, all he needed to do was to not meet her up at the top.
He stared at the crude, rusted grating of the open elevator above him, the crisp air of autumn making him shiver. He realized he wasn’t really dressed for an escape. His jeans were worn thin, and his light cotton shirt was good for summer, but it obviously wasn’t anymore, outside of the carefully controlled air system of the Underground.
Almost free! Look, the lights of the city!
Jonathan took in a deep breath, peeking over the edge of the door as he half-opened it. The above-ground platform was empty. And it didn’t look like there was anybody arriving. He got out of the elevator and looked around, standing tall, cracking a crick in his back. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was free!
Almost, Johnny-boy. Better get moving.
Yes.
He patted his jeans pocket for the envelope of money he’d been given by Bane. Bane was gone, now. But somehow he didn’t think it was because the man was rotting in a ditch somewhere. The other man had smiled, whispering something about seeing his family as he’d surreptitiously put the envelope in Jonathan's pocket. Ivy had filled the position of driver with another hulk of a man, but one with less brains and a penchant for grenades.
Warily, he slipped from shadow to shadow. The air up here was cold, and the wind brought the faint smell of petrol and garbage. He turned up his shirt’s collar and kept going. He reached a main street, and waited in the shadows of an alley, gathering up courage. People passed, heads down, warm coats on, getting the last bits of their to-do lists done before night fell. Not paying attention to him. He launched himself into the fray, and found himself carried along, until he saw the Goodwill. He went in, and grabbed the first jacket and hat he saw. The former was a thick black wool winter coat two sizes too big, and the hat had loose threads and a small stain. It was knitted wool that was scratchy as he pulled it over his forehead. The scarf was an obscene orange with red tassels. The boots were harder to find. He finally tried on a pair that fit. They were brown, battered to the point of the leather flaking off and smelled. He didn’t care. A kindly woman who reminded him strongly of Mrs. Evans added in a pair of mittens that matched the hat for half price.
She didn’t blink twice at his hundred dollar bill, either. She said kindly, “you look half dead, dearie. I know a good shelter, if you need one.” She patted his hand when she gave him his change back.
“No, just the clothes, please.”
“Good luck, and feel free to come in again - we’ve got a work outreach program, too.”
“Thank you.” He turned and fled to the safety of another anonymous alley and switched out his light house shoes for the boots. He pulled the hat low, and the scarf up. He picked up his shoes and started walking again.
It’s so close, you can taste it!
So close, yet so far. I’m still in the Narrows. I have to get out of here before I call a cab. It’s a long walk.
We can do it, though. We have to.
Agreed.
Johnny nodded to himself and gritted his teeth. The chill set in fiercer than before as the last fading rays of the sun disappeared behind the taller buildings, throwing the low streets of Gotham into deep purple shadows. He dumped the shoes into an abandoned trashcan fire. He basked in it’s warmth, closing his eyes against the blinding light. He turned finally and continued on, taking occasional breaks to catch his breath.
He reached the bridge after a while. He stopped at the dividing line between the Narrows and the rest of Gotham. He looked back. The crowds had thinned considerably. He was all alone, save for the passing cars, their windows fogged. He allowed himself a small laugh. With deliberate calm, he stepped over the thin line in the cement and then another.
Almost there, you can do it!
He walked on. When he reached the other side, he looked down at the boots standing on the free side of Gotham. However thinking of a better plan than walking all the way to who knew where, he made himself walk three more blocks before hailing a cab. He slid into the warm car gratefully shivering silently until the driver turned and asked, “where to?”
Jonathan paused. Oh. He didn’t know. Where should he go? “Um - Hang on.” The police or even Arkham (which was too close the Narrows anyway for his comfort) would cause too much of a stir - and Ivy would think to look for him in those places first. Where wouldn’t she look first?
“Look, You can’t be in here to stay warm. Either give me an address or get out,”
“Sorry!” Jonathan reeled off his mother’s old address. A sharp twist of guilt and sorrow went through his stomach as he thought of his mother. She hadn’t deserved the end she’d gotten. At least now,s he could be reunited with his father. The man grunted, but took off.
Jonathan sat back, breathing heavily. Where would Ivy not look for him? He looked around the cab in desperation - maybe there was a city map that would give him ideas.
“Sorry, again, take me somewhere else, actually,” he said, as he remembered Mrs. Evan’s address. Nobody would think to look for him there, of all places. Not even Ivy.
“Whatever - you got enough money to pay for the ride?” The cabbie slowed down in preparation to kick him out. “I don’t do charity.”
Jonathan nodded. Bane hadn’t said where he’d gotten the envelope of hundreds, but there were more than fifty of them. “Yes, I do,” he said finally as the cab slowed down even more. He waved the change in his hand. The cab once again roared off, the cabbie smiling now.
He watched the city pass by, as the driver was content to keep his own counsel in silence. Bright lights glaring through the night. He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking until the driver asked, “hey buddy - you on something?”
“No, nothing. Just cold.” He rubbed his arms and hunkered down. The crowds thinned as the city gave way to residential homes. They stopped at a modest ranch, with a large front yard ornately decorated in a Zen Japanese style.
“That’s fifty eight and sixty cents.”
Jonathan shoved a couple bills at the man. “Keep the change, and keep your mouth shut.”
“Sure thing. Thanks and have a good holiday!” The man peeled away from the curb. Jonathan looked at the house, a sinking feeling in his stomach. There weren’t any lights on.
Holiday?
Mrs. Evans wasn’t home, then. She was probably visiting her daughter he recalled her talking about once, in another lifetime. He walked up the stepping stone walkway and rang the doorbell, hoping against hope. When no answer came he dropped to the stoop and succumbed to sobs. He’d been so close, and now - he had nowhere to run to. She would find him, and then she’d kill him. Slowly. Probably give him his own drugs and laugh. He cried harder. He’d never felt so hopeless in his life. Everything was a mess. He should have stayed, or he should have just killed himself. Or maybe he should have-
The door opened, spilling light into the front porch and a disgruntled man in a haphazardly tied dressing gown looked blearily down at him. The man scratched his salt-and-pepper hair, rumpling it more.
“What the hell do you want at this hour?” The man barked. Jonathan sniffled, and stood, wavering on his feet. “I’m sorry. I should have- it’s late- I’m just going.” He turned away.
“You all right?” The porch light went on. “Son, stop that, it’s all right. Mary’s here and you can come in and talk to her.” Michael gently put an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and steered him in. “Come on, in you get. Mary! It’s one of yours.” He called up the stairs as he hustled Jonathan into the kitchen.
It was homey, and warm. Painted a butter yellow with warm wood cabinets and floor, and white appliances. Lace curtains hung at the window, which wasn’t broken. There was an orange runner at the table and Jonathan traced the cornucopia design on it. On top of the breadbox was a small turkey figurine made of pinecones.
“Here, blow your nose.” Michael held out a roll of paper towels. “There now. You just sit down and get comfortable, Mary’ll be right in.” He smiled gently.
Jonathan sat in a chair with a large cushion to match the runner on it. Michael started up the kettle and went to get Mary.
“Who is it, Mike?” She slipped on her shoes and stood. “Do they seem drugged?” She tucked a canister of mace into a pocket of her comfortable cardigan just in case.
“I don’t know, he’s frazzled into incoherence. He looks in really rough shape - one of your rehabs isn’t doing so well. Looks like he’s almost dead. But not strung out.” Michael said, sadly. “I suppose we’ll add another chair for tomorrow?”
Mary shrugged. “We’ll have to see.” She looked at the clock. It was closer to three in the morning. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You’re most amazing man I have ever met.”
He gave her a kiss and climbed back into bed. “I know. Yell if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
Jonathan was half asleep, head in arms on the table when someone cleared their throat. He sat up, squinting. He’d left his glasses behind in his rush. They looked at each other for a minute in silence. The fridge hummed loudly, and Jonathan stuffed his used paper towels into a coat pocket.
“Mrs. Evans?” He finally asked, standing.
She blinked, adjusting her glasses. “Oh my god - Jonathan?” She took a step forward. He took off the hat and scarf and nodded. “Jonathan!” She went to him and hugged him tightly. “You look like shit. Where the hell have you been? What have you been doing? Are you all right? How did you get here? What on earth has been happening?!”
He took a step back holding out his hands to ward her off. “I’ve been sick.” He sat back down ad took a breath. “I need help.”
Mary nodded, “All right. Start with the most pressing ting and go from there,” she easily fell into her therapist mode, quelling her inner turmoil.
“Of course, anything. Just take your time.” She smiled and sat, waiting.
He pulled off the mittens and added them to the pile of hat and scarf, thinking about what to say in rational ways, when he really wanted to say everything at once.
“I’m free, now. I’m really free, right? Tell me I’m not dreaming or hallucinating.”
“You’re free and safe here, Jonathan.” She took his hands, tsking mentally at how thin ad cold they were. She chafed them between hers to warm them up. She marveled that he allowed such a thing - in fact, he didn’t seem to be aware of the touch.
He took a calming gulp of air, pulling his hands away to lace them tightly in his lap. “I was so afraid.”
“Of what?” She asked, hopping up to get the kettle as it started whistling. She got two mugs out and got tea bags. She brought the steaming mugs to the table. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, watching him as he squirmed.
“Of her. She kidnapped me- kept me drugged- I’m so scared. I hardly know what’s going on myself.”
“You don’t have to be scared anymore. Now, tell me what you remember happening.”
Jonathan took a breath and told her everything he could.
-------------------------------------------------
They sat in silence, finishing cold tea. The morning light came in through the window above the sink. Jonathan looked at the reflection off the toaster on the counter, numb and mind still reeling. Mary processed the information, trying to figure out what her next move should be.
“She’ll have discovered I’m gone now.” He shivered. “She’ll look for me. She’s going to find me!” He put the cup down, hands shaking. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve put you in terrible danger.”
“Hush, Jonathan. She won’t find you here.”
“You don’t understand! She’s insane. She’d kill anyone to get to me.”
“I have an idea. But you have to trust me.”
“What is it?”
“I can contact the police on your behalf - I won’t say where or who you are, and they can be armed and ready for her.”
He stared at her. “I don’t know. They’ll need gas masks. Or a whole platoon of SWAT.”
“I’m sure that they’ll have them. I’ll let them know. Please, let me help you.”
He reached up to take off his glasses, and realized that he didn’t have them. He dropped his hand. “Okay. Call them. She would send her lieutenants to Arkham and the police first, so it has to be covert.” He shivered and stood, pacing for a moment. “And tell them not to underestimate her.”
Jonathan went into the living room - he didn’t want to hear Mary call the police. It was too close to being real. If he woke up and this was just another dream, he’d die of anguish. He sank onto the leather sofa, and leaned back. He took in a deep breath. This room smelled like his father’s study, and that was his last thought as he fell asleep.
Mary took the mugs and put them in the sink, staring at the backyard, highlighted by weak morning light. She gripped the edge of the sink, mind reeling. It was almost unbelievable. Shaking herself, she thought time is of the essence!
She picked up the phone and called the police, telling them she’d gotten a tip on who was distributing the hallucinogens in the drugs recently and where and how to get her.
“It was an anonymous tip told to one of my outreach patients in the narrows, who called me, unsure of what to do, as she was afraid of the police,” she lied easily. The man on the other end sighed. “Is it reputable?”
“Of course - but you need to act fast - the person in question will know what’s up, if she doesn’t all ready.” The man sighed. “Thanks, I’ll pass it along.”
She went to the living room and smiled softly. Jonathan was asleep. She pulled a crocheted Afghan from the recliner and tucked it up around him. She went back into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long day.
1 2 3 4 4.5 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15
Rating: PG-13
Title: Something In Common
Part: 15/?
Warnings: None for this chapter.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything that belongs to DC and Time Warner/AOL.
Summary: Jonathan Escapes.
Finally, finally, the second hour passed. The fast second hand passed the number twelve. When it passed the ten and finally, the thirty Jonathan slowly rose from the kitchen table. The chair scraped across the floor, catching on the cracked linoleum. It toppled over. He looked around furtively as the noise echoed loudly through the empty apartment. Nothing. He righted the chair and let out the breath he’d been holding.
Run, Johnny!
The door wasn’t locked, and Ivy wasn’t waiting for him, trap laid. He closed the front door behind him silently, and looked around. The main causeway was empty. Without a last look back he bolted, running for all he was worth. Nobody seemed to be around. Not even the late-night street food vendors were out hawking their food to the club people. The cashier at the twenty-four hour general store was absorbed in a magazine as he ran by. The sounds of his staccato footfalls echoed down the large cavern, echoing back faintly.
He reached the elevator that would bring him topside, skidding to a stop, breathing heavily as he hunched over. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and adjusted his glasses. His gaze darted around. He searched the shadows desperately. Nobody. Wait. He straightened and by pure force of will, controlled his breathing. Jonathan laughed out loud. It was a cat. He jabbed the call button and sat on the concrete step, shaking.
He crouched in the bottom of the elevator when it came, desperately stabbing the close doors button, as footsteps sounded on the far side of the platform. Whoever it had been was left behind with a shouted curse up at him, as the car rose.
It had taken three months to get to this point. He’d been sick, but he’d recovered. Mostly. His health was an ongoing touch-and-go game of tag. But for now he was strong. Ivy hadn’t left his side for the first two months. He covered his eyes, shaking the feeling of being trapped. He’d almost gone insane with the smothering. Playing dumb he’d exaggerated his weakness and frailty to take her off the scent of the extent of his recovery. But even Ivy got bored playing the caring nurse, and had finally been persuaded to go on the drug runs to oversee. Tonight had been the night she’d not come back after an hour. He’d waited for two before taking the chance. Now, all he needed to do was to not meet her up at the top.
He stared at the crude, rusted grating of the open elevator above him, the crisp air of autumn making him shiver. He realized he wasn’t really dressed for an escape. His jeans were worn thin, and his light cotton shirt was good for summer, but it obviously wasn’t anymore, outside of the carefully controlled air system of the Underground.
Almost free! Look, the lights of the city!
Jonathan took in a deep breath, peeking over the edge of the door as he half-opened it. The above-ground platform was empty. And it didn’t look like there was anybody arriving. He got out of the elevator and looked around, standing tall, cracking a crick in his back. He took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. He was free!
Almost, Johnny-boy. Better get moving.
Yes.
He patted his jeans pocket for the envelope of money he’d been given by Bane. Bane was gone, now. But somehow he didn’t think it was because the man was rotting in a ditch somewhere. The other man had smiled, whispering something about seeing his family as he’d surreptitiously put the envelope in Jonathan's pocket. Ivy had filled the position of driver with another hulk of a man, but one with less brains and a penchant for grenades.
Warily, he slipped from shadow to shadow. The air up here was cold, and the wind brought the faint smell of petrol and garbage. He turned up his shirt’s collar and kept going. He reached a main street, and waited in the shadows of an alley, gathering up courage. People passed, heads down, warm coats on, getting the last bits of their to-do lists done before night fell. Not paying attention to him. He launched himself into the fray, and found himself carried along, until he saw the Goodwill. He went in, and grabbed the first jacket and hat he saw. The former was a thick black wool winter coat two sizes too big, and the hat had loose threads and a small stain. It was knitted wool that was scratchy as he pulled it over his forehead. The scarf was an obscene orange with red tassels. The boots were harder to find. He finally tried on a pair that fit. They were brown, battered to the point of the leather flaking off and smelled. He didn’t care. A kindly woman who reminded him strongly of Mrs. Evans added in a pair of mittens that matched the hat for half price.
She didn’t blink twice at his hundred dollar bill, either. She said kindly, “you look half dead, dearie. I know a good shelter, if you need one.” She patted his hand when she gave him his change back.
“No, just the clothes, please.”
“Good luck, and feel free to come in again - we’ve got a work outreach program, too.”
“Thank you.” He turned and fled to the safety of another anonymous alley and switched out his light house shoes for the boots. He pulled the hat low, and the scarf up. He picked up his shoes and started walking again.
It’s so close, you can taste it!
So close, yet so far. I’m still in the Narrows. I have to get out of here before I call a cab. It’s a long walk.
We can do it, though. We have to.
Agreed.
Johnny nodded to himself and gritted his teeth. The chill set in fiercer than before as the last fading rays of the sun disappeared behind the taller buildings, throwing the low streets of Gotham into deep purple shadows. He dumped the shoes into an abandoned trashcan fire. He basked in it’s warmth, closing his eyes against the blinding light. He turned finally and continued on, taking occasional breaks to catch his breath.
He reached the bridge after a while. He stopped at the dividing line between the Narrows and the rest of Gotham. He looked back. The crowds had thinned considerably. He was all alone, save for the passing cars, their windows fogged. He allowed himself a small laugh. With deliberate calm, he stepped over the thin line in the cement and then another.
Almost there, you can do it!
He walked on. When he reached the other side, he looked down at the boots standing on the free side of Gotham. However thinking of a better plan than walking all the way to who knew where, he made himself walk three more blocks before hailing a cab. He slid into the warm car gratefully shivering silently until the driver turned and asked, “where to?”
Jonathan paused. Oh. He didn’t know. Where should he go? “Um - Hang on.” The police or even Arkham (which was too close the Narrows anyway for his comfort) would cause too much of a stir - and Ivy would think to look for him in those places first. Where wouldn’t she look first?
“Look, You can’t be in here to stay warm. Either give me an address or get out,”
“Sorry!” Jonathan reeled off his mother’s old address. A sharp twist of guilt and sorrow went through his stomach as he thought of his mother. She hadn’t deserved the end she’d gotten. At least now,s he could be reunited with his father. The man grunted, but took off.
Jonathan sat back, breathing heavily. Where would Ivy not look for him? He looked around the cab in desperation - maybe there was a city map that would give him ideas.
“Sorry, again, take me somewhere else, actually,” he said, as he remembered Mrs. Evan’s address. Nobody would think to look for him there, of all places. Not even Ivy.
“Whatever - you got enough money to pay for the ride?” The cabbie slowed down in preparation to kick him out. “I don’t do charity.”
Jonathan nodded. Bane hadn’t said where he’d gotten the envelope of hundreds, but there were more than fifty of them. “Yes, I do,” he said finally as the cab slowed down even more. He waved the change in his hand. The cab once again roared off, the cabbie smiling now.
He watched the city pass by, as the driver was content to keep his own counsel in silence. Bright lights glaring through the night. He hadn’t realized he’d been shaking until the driver asked, “hey buddy - you on something?”
“No, nothing. Just cold.” He rubbed his arms and hunkered down. The crowds thinned as the city gave way to residential homes. They stopped at a modest ranch, with a large front yard ornately decorated in a Zen Japanese style.
“That’s fifty eight and sixty cents.”
Jonathan shoved a couple bills at the man. “Keep the change, and keep your mouth shut.”
“Sure thing. Thanks and have a good holiday!” The man peeled away from the curb. Jonathan looked at the house, a sinking feeling in his stomach. There weren’t any lights on.
Holiday?
Mrs. Evans wasn’t home, then. She was probably visiting her daughter he recalled her talking about once, in another lifetime. He walked up the stepping stone walkway and rang the doorbell, hoping against hope. When no answer came he dropped to the stoop and succumbed to sobs. He’d been so close, and now - he had nowhere to run to. She would find him, and then she’d kill him. Slowly. Probably give him his own drugs and laugh. He cried harder. He’d never felt so hopeless in his life. Everything was a mess. He should have stayed, or he should have just killed himself. Or maybe he should have-
The door opened, spilling light into the front porch and a disgruntled man in a haphazardly tied dressing gown looked blearily down at him. The man scratched his salt-and-pepper hair, rumpling it more.
“What the hell do you want at this hour?” The man barked. Jonathan sniffled, and stood, wavering on his feet. “I’m sorry. I should have- it’s late- I’m just going.” He turned away.
“You all right?” The porch light went on. “Son, stop that, it’s all right. Mary’s here and you can come in and talk to her.” Michael gently put an arm around Jonathan’s shoulders and steered him in. “Come on, in you get. Mary! It’s one of yours.” He called up the stairs as he hustled Jonathan into the kitchen.
It was homey, and warm. Painted a butter yellow with warm wood cabinets and floor, and white appliances. Lace curtains hung at the window, which wasn’t broken. There was an orange runner at the table and Jonathan traced the cornucopia design on it. On top of the breadbox was a small turkey figurine made of pinecones.
“Here, blow your nose.” Michael held out a roll of paper towels. “There now. You just sit down and get comfortable, Mary’ll be right in.” He smiled gently.
Jonathan sat in a chair with a large cushion to match the runner on it. Michael started up the kettle and went to get Mary.
“Who is it, Mike?” She slipped on her shoes and stood. “Do they seem drugged?” She tucked a canister of mace into a pocket of her comfortable cardigan just in case.
“I don’t know, he’s frazzled into incoherence. He looks in really rough shape - one of your rehabs isn’t doing so well. Looks like he’s almost dead. But not strung out.” Michael said, sadly. “I suppose we’ll add another chair for tomorrow?”
Mary shrugged. “We’ll have to see.” She looked at the clock. It was closer to three in the morning. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You’re most amazing man I have ever met.”
He gave her a kiss and climbed back into bed. “I know. Yell if you need anything.”
“Will do.”
Jonathan was half asleep, head in arms on the table when someone cleared their throat. He sat up, squinting. He’d left his glasses behind in his rush. They looked at each other for a minute in silence. The fridge hummed loudly, and Jonathan stuffed his used paper towels into a coat pocket.
“Mrs. Evans?” He finally asked, standing.
She blinked, adjusting her glasses. “Oh my god - Jonathan?” She took a step forward. He took off the hat and scarf and nodded. “Jonathan!” She went to him and hugged him tightly. “You look like shit. Where the hell have you been? What have you been doing? Are you all right? How did you get here? What on earth has been happening?!”
He took a step back holding out his hands to ward her off. “I’ve been sick.” He sat back down ad took a breath. “I need help.”
Mary nodded, “All right. Start with the most pressing ting and go from there,” she easily fell into her therapist mode, quelling her inner turmoil.
“Of course, anything. Just take your time.” She smiled and sat, waiting.
He pulled off the mittens and added them to the pile of hat and scarf, thinking about what to say in rational ways, when he really wanted to say everything at once.
“I’m free, now. I’m really free, right? Tell me I’m not dreaming or hallucinating.”
“You’re free and safe here, Jonathan.” She took his hands, tsking mentally at how thin ad cold they were. She chafed them between hers to warm them up. She marveled that he allowed such a thing - in fact, he didn’t seem to be aware of the touch.
He took a calming gulp of air, pulling his hands away to lace them tightly in his lap. “I was so afraid.”
“Of what?” She asked, hopping up to get the kettle as it started whistling. She got two mugs out and got tea bags. She brought the steaming mugs to the table. She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, watching him as he squirmed.
“Of her. She kidnapped me- kept me drugged- I’m so scared. I hardly know what’s going on myself.”
“You don’t have to be scared anymore. Now, tell me what you remember happening.”
Jonathan took a breath and told her everything he could.
-------------------------------------------------
They sat in silence, finishing cold tea. The morning light came in through the window above the sink. Jonathan looked at the reflection off the toaster on the counter, numb and mind still reeling. Mary processed the information, trying to figure out what her next move should be.
“She’ll have discovered I’m gone now.” He shivered. “She’ll look for me. She’s going to find me!” He put the cup down, hands shaking. “I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve put you in terrible danger.”
“Hush, Jonathan. She won’t find you here.”
“You don’t understand! She’s insane. She’d kill anyone to get to me.”
“I have an idea. But you have to trust me.”
“What is it?”
“I can contact the police on your behalf - I won’t say where or who you are, and they can be armed and ready for her.”
He stared at her. “I don’t know. They’ll need gas masks. Or a whole platoon of SWAT.”
“I’m sure that they’ll have them. I’ll let them know. Please, let me help you.”
He reached up to take off his glasses, and realized that he didn’t have them. He dropped his hand. “Okay. Call them. She would send her lieutenants to Arkham and the police first, so it has to be covert.” He shivered and stood, pacing for a moment. “And tell them not to underestimate her.”
Jonathan went into the living room - he didn’t want to hear Mary call the police. It was too close to being real. If he woke up and this was just another dream, he’d die of anguish. He sank onto the leather sofa, and leaned back. He took in a deep breath. This room smelled like his father’s study, and that was his last thought as he fell asleep.
Mary took the mugs and put them in the sink, staring at the backyard, highlighted by weak morning light. She gripped the edge of the sink, mind reeling. It was almost unbelievable. Shaking herself, she thought time is of the essence!
She picked up the phone and called the police, telling them she’d gotten a tip on who was distributing the hallucinogens in the drugs recently and where and how to get her.
“It was an anonymous tip told to one of my outreach patients in the narrows, who called me, unsure of what to do, as she was afraid of the police,” she lied easily. The man on the other end sighed. “Is it reputable?”
“Of course - but you need to act fast - the person in question will know what’s up, if she doesn’t all ready.” The man sighed. “Thanks, I’ll pass it along.”
She went to the living room and smiled softly. Jonathan was asleep. She pulled a crocheted Afghan from the recliner and tucked it up around him. She went back into the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. It was going to be a long day.
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