Pursuit Of The Cygnus Thief

Chapter 40 - That Was My Stain

Chapter 40

 

“That Was My Stain”

 By Roseyone

 ***This story was kicking my butt again. I was going to skip this interlude, but it became increasingly important as I worked toward speeding the narrative. The music selection is live from 1958 - 1959, while it's a couple of years advanced for the story,  this live version of "Sweet Little Sixteen" originally by Chuck Berry, apart from the poor live quality recording of its time, sounds quite modern in style, phrasing, timing and musical play in the hands of Eddie Cochran. I just had to use it because it's great IMHO, it got me through a spell of writer's doubt, and it fits into Amelia's uncomfortable Chapter 40 situation.***

I’d refused to cry out or weep. Instead, I’d counted ten blows in total. Although he felt it was imperative to punish me, Mr. Abel, who considered himself honorable, ‘would not be crude’ with me, so he’d hit me through the fabric of my clothing. My backside stung. Freed, hearing his heavy breaths, I lunged from his lap, away from him and the bed where he sat. The effort had re-opened his nose, the lower third of Mr. Abel’s face was again slicked with fresh blood.

“It’s done. Learn from it. Save us both from this strife going forth,” he said.

Between wet breaths, Mr. Abel wiped the blood from his face with the back of one hand, then transferred it to his already blood stained robe. I was afraid, but I also dead set against exhibiting pain,or fear in front of Mr. Abel.

“It won’t last for more than a day or two. Rocio will see to it.”

As Mr. Abel exhaled, more blood, thinner and brighter than before, trickled and pooled in the furrow over his top lip, mixing with stubble. We looked at each other.

“I’m getting the hell out.”

“You are going to clean up. While you do that, you’ll consider your father.”

Mr. Abel paused and cocked his tall head to one side.

“Do I need to be more explicit?” he asked.

I nodded. The headache that had nagged at me all day had turned to a gnawing sensation, sharp and vicious. I couldn’t tell my father anything, his life dangled over a sheer cliff and depended on me, but I could plan. I’d taken a huge leap, I’d meant to kill, that was my stain. I was no longer the same, I had landed somewhere far downhill of where I’d been. Mr. Abel had won something from me, but this was not the end. I’d lost, but I’d be certain somehow, to make sure that he would lose even more...eventually.

“We understand one another,” said Mr. Abel.

I backed away as Mr. Abel stood up, pain like a furious applause at the wrong moment in a silent theater cut through me. His hands went to the sash of his robe, he unknotted it, peeled the robe open, exposing his hairy chest, his entire front from head to toe, but thankfully, Mr. Abel still wore swimming trunks. He wanted something, searched for it in me. I fought down my fear. I sneered, let my eyes sweep over him first up, and then down. I watched as he’d frowned and closed his robe.

“You are intimidated,” he said.

Mr. Abel shook his head in agreement with himself. He knotted the sash and licked his lips, whether it was to further disgust me or for the taste of his own blood was of little importance, either reason was abysmal, horrendous.

“I can understand that much, I don’t deserve that part of this, but it comes with the territory. Yes?”

I felt that he had flattered himself, and worse, that he only pretended to be chagrined by it.