Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 39 - Nerves Of Steel

Chapter 39 - “Nerves Of Steel”

 

By Roseyone

Mr. Abel paused in the open doorway, he wore a bathrobe, his feet were bare, and his wet hair clung to his head, magnifying his already big, sharp features. He glanced down at the gun that I had leveled at him and nodded. Slowly, Mr. Abel stepped toward me, entering the room with open hands held up near his tall head like quotation marks. He looked at me through cold chlorine pinked eyes, his eyebrows steepled, wrinkling his ruddy forehead, then without looking away, Mr. Abel kicked the door closed behind him.

 “How are you going to explain this, Pinks?”

I advanced on him. I brought the tiny barrel up to his chest and pressed it into him until I felt his body beneath the robe. Mr. Abel took a tentative step backward. I took a step forward with him, then I pushed the gun against him again. We moved together that way; as if in a solemn dance, until Mr. Abel’s back met the closed door and he was sandwiched between it and me. Mr. Abel leaned back, rested his weight and the back of his head on the door, with his hands still raised, he angled his chin upward and regarded me from the top of his nose.

 “You were expecting me.”

 “Quit it…”

 He didn’t listen. Mr. Abel seemed as detached as I was, even with danger just a squeeze and a few thin layers of skin away.

 “You persist in having things mixed-up. Think Amelia, at school and here, I have proved myself to you. Yes?”

His tone was wrong. I said nothing. I hadn’t thought whole words since calm had fallen over me. I had buried fear whole, it had no place in, and no grip on me. Mr. Abel tilted his head to one side, his gaze swept from me down to the gun at his chest and then back again.

“Did Friederich  give you that little clit of a thing? Why do you accept his fumbling? What better proof could there be to illustrate that there’s no profit in him whatsoever?”

Mr. Abel’s pink tinged eyes seemed to glisten, he smiled and nodded in anticipation of his next comment.

“Now is a very good time for this country to go to war.”

Mr. Abel laughed. I pressed the muzzle more emphatically against him. What he’d done...Who he was...The memory oozed forth, too thick, coagulated, and rotten. Mr. Abel paused, his smile vanished and he sucked in a breath, but I knew at that moment, that he believed I would not shoot him. After a moment, just a sliver of a smile tugged on his lips.

 “Amelia, think of your fa-”

 I squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. I squeezed again. Still nothing. He chuckled then, without a thought, I’d cracked Mr. Abel in his face with the gun. First, he’d grabbed his nose with both hands, and bent away from me, then I stepped back and launched a second, harder blow.

 Mr. Abel caught my wrist mid-flight. We struggled, or more accurately, Mr. Abel got a hold of my other wrist, pulled them up over my head and twirled me into an about face. He squeezed hard. I refused to make a sound, or face. The pain staggered me, I dropped the gun, he released my wrists, slung an arm around my waist and pressed me against his body. From behind, Mr. Abel whispered into my ear as if he were calming a nervous horse. I kicked backward at him. I tried to smash his bare feet under my heels, then Mr. Abel lifted me up with one arm.

“I will not be crude with you no matter what you say or do,” he said.

I tried jabbing at him with my elbows, Mr. Abel chuckled then his free arm circled my shoulders and neck capturing my left arm. I reached upward and backward with my right hand, found Mr. Abel’s wet hair and tried to snatch and pull, but it was too slick and short, my knuckles were empty. He chuckled again and told me to calm down. I leaned forward into his yoking arm, bit through the sleeve of his robe and into his skin.