Laying Paris In The Tomb (Chapter Three)

Three – Pull The Trigger & The Nightmare Stops
I woke up in my own bed.
Just like that, I was in my own room, lying in the centre of my queen sized mattress and my 1,000 thread count sheets (I’m sorry, but anything less than 600 count is like sleeping on hay) like nothing had happened. As if I had just woken from the most improbable dream.
I almost didn’t believe it – that was, until I sat up and felt all the blood rush to my head – and nose.
It was only as I flopped back onto my pillows, reeling from pain, that I saw the blinking light on my mobile phone. Who the FUCK was texting me at – I checked the time – 11 PM!? I mean, I was already flipping shit over how long I must’ve been passed out, but this was just ridiculous.
Cursing, I fumbled on my bedside table for a hold on my phone. Once I got it, I couldn’t help but smile and roll my eyes at the number of concerned texts I’d received – my mother (4 times), Gunner (twice), both of my brothers, and my sisters – one time each. It was the last text in my inbox, though, that caught my attention:
Fr: 07128347247
--------------------
Bonjour, ma cherie. How are you feeling?
-------------------
1:03AM 15 September, 2008
I didn’t know how he’d gotten my mobile number, but seeing as it was Adrien, the master of mystery, I wasn’t really all that shocked. No, I didn’t really care about that. What did concern me was the timestamp on the text – just minutes after I’d woken up.
Wincing, I pushed myself out of bed – actually, I fell out of bed – and moved slowly toward the window. On my knees, because I was still much too sore to stand, I peered out of the glass paning, but saw nobody. Confusedly, I texted back.
To: 07128347247
---------------------
Adrien? How did you know I was awake?
---------------------
1:05AM 15 September, 2008
I dragged myself back to bed, flopping back onto the pillows as I waited for an answer. It came quickly, with the loud buzzing of the vibration I always put on before I set foot into the hospital – there’s nothing worse than attending to a sick child and having your phone start blasting “A Little Piece of Heaven.”
Fr: 07128347247
--------------------
Teller and I sat outside to make sure there were no complications. Again, Ma cherie, how are you feeling?
------------------
1:06AM 15 September, 2008
...What?
To: 07128347247
---------------------
You ... sat outside?
Adrien, it’s 1 in the morning,
the last thing I remember
is 10 am yesterday.
Have you been there all this time?
---------------------
1:06AM 15 September, 2008
Fr: 07128347247
--------------------
Oui, ma cherie. How is your nose?
-------------------
1:06AM 15 September, 2008
To: 07128347247
---------------------
It’s nothing I can’t handle.
At least come inside,
you must be terribly cramped.
---------------------
1:06AM 15 September, 2008
Fr: 07128347247
--------------------
What about your sister? She lives with you, yes?
---------------------
1:07AM 15 September, 2008
To: 07128347247
---------------------
I’ll cross that bridge
when we come to it.
Now, I insist, come inside
before you freeze.
---------------------
1:07AM 15 September, 2008
Instead of receiving a text back, I was answered by a quiet, authoritative knock at my front door. They’d undressed me to a state of comfortable decency, so this time I slid out of bed, bracing myself, and began to head toward the foyer of the house. After a long period of time, I reached the front door and used it to pull myself up so I could see out of the pain, and there they both were – well dressed and equipped with the patience I assume all assassins must learn.
I pulled open the door and invited them in, my voice low – it was, after all, very late at night. Not to mention, y’know, the fist-shaped bruise on my trachea.
“Please, come in. You must be tired.”
They entered the house silently, the door closing behind them with a soft ‘click.’
“Ma cherie, you should really be sitting.” Adrien said softly, his eyes on mine.
“Adrien Lafeyette,
do not start coddling me.
I was keen enough to fight this morning,1

and getting hit in the face2

does not excuse me from the pain
I clearly brought upon myself.
I’m not going to faint again,
so there’s nothing to worry about.”
Teller snorted.
“...Can I help you?” I asked coolly, glaring up at him.
“Women are so stubborn.”
“Men are so sexist.”
“We are not!”
“Let’s go to the judges on that one.”
I put my chin in my hand
and pretended to think,
‘mhmm-ing’ occasionally.
“Yes, it seems that you are,
in fact,
a misogynist,
and therefore
an arse.”
“Then, that must make you
a misandrous bitch.
Not to mention
a veritable fuckton
of crazy and estrogen
waiting to erupt.”
“I’m not the one
that makes gross generalizations
about the opposite sex.”
“You just did!” He said, stepping so close to me his height should have been intimidating.
“Only in response to
the overall statement you made about
the fairer sex!”
“Fairer? More like bitchier.”
“...Are you trying to start a fight,
or are you just naturally a prick?”
“A little of both.”
“You really want to fight an injured woman?”
“It’s good practice for marriage.”
“That was bad, even for you, mon frère.”
Adrien said, laughing in spite of himself.
I stood, mouth agape at the utter creepiness of his statement, trying to figure out whether or not he was kidding.
Teller shook his head exasperatedly.
“I’m tired of this.” Scooping me up, despite my many protests, he threw me over his shoulder and beckoned to Adrien to follow as he headed into my room. When we got there, he dropped me onto the bed and took his seat in the corner, appearing disgustingly pleased with himself.
“It is better not to argue with him, ma cherie – you two could argue until the end of the universe, and we just do not have that sort of time.” Adrien said, stopping my outraged sputtering with a mere hand in the air.
Huffing, I settled back against my headboard and made an exaggerated ‘lock-and-key’ motion, exasperated with the smirking blonde in the corner.
“Thank you, ma cherie. Now, let’s begin.” He reached into the pocket of his trench and took out a (rather nice looking) sidekick, handing it to me. “This is your new phone. You will only make calls to and receive calls from the Brotherhood on it. This w-“
“We picked a girly phone so
people wouldn’t think it was weird
that you had two...”
He was cut off by Teller, who ceased speaking in response to the dirty look Adrien gave him.
“As impolite as he is, Teller is correct. You may decorate it as you wish, but you must always have it on you. You will receive assignments, bulletins, and news on it – not to mention, it may help you build your friendship with the brothers, whom you will be officially meeting tomorrow. They were very impressed with your performance, and are eager to begin training with you.”
“Assignments?”
“Yes, ma cherie. Training schedules, new methods of training, locations of training. All very important.”
I nodded, feeling a bit overwhelmed.
“Is that it?”
He shook his head.
“You will be officially inducted following the end of your training.”
Teller grinned.
“Until then, we own you.”
I looked at Teller, then at Adrien.
“If this is going to turn into some bullshite fraternity hazing,
I’m not up for it. Sorry.”
I stood, preparing to hand the phone back.
...Unfortunately, the dizziness set in, and sent me reeling back to bed.
Adrien nodded. “See, ma cherie? I told you to stay seated.”
I grumbled as he helped tuck me back in, nodding.
“There is much more, but you are clearly in no state to hear it. Please, rest. We will be here when you wake up.”
Too tired to question him, I curled up in my bed, careful to avoid bumping my nose, and reached for my iPod. Sleep playlist set to on, and brain set to off.
I’m not sure how long I slept peacefully.
All I know is that I woke before the sun had risen,
screaming.
Cold sweat,
tears streaming down my face,
screaming at the top of my lungs.
I have nightmares almost every night, but they’re never so bad that I scream. I suppose the renewed contact with my father had exacerbated my previous insanity, and then ripped my subconscious to shreds. The worst part was that I remembered only the scariest bits of the dream – something about rape, beating, and pain. It was more than enough to shake me to my core.
My sister came running, as she usually did, at times like this, only to find Adrien rushing to my side and slipping his arms around me, holding me against his barreled chest and rocking me back and forth while Teller looked on curiously.
“...Capulet!? Is this why you were screaming? Who in the fuck are you two, and what’re you doing with my sister?” As I shook and cried, Adrien shook his head and spoke.
“We’re friends of hers. She had a nightmare, and I’m only comforting her. I swear.”
Thought I was shaking, I nodded my agreement.
“I-It’s okay, Imogen. I’ll explain in the m-m-morning.”
Looking suspicious, but trusting me, she nodded, closing the door behind her, with one last curious look at Teller and Adrien.
When she left, I pulled away from Adrien, drawing my knees in toward my chest and burying my face in them, thoroughly embarrassed at the impromptu display I’d just put on for, all intents and purposes, my new colleagues. I was still shaking, so violently that I couldn’t stop, but the tears and the screams had stopped – Mortification has a way of killing your emotional responses.
“Capulet? Are you alright?”
Adrien glared. “Of course she is not alright, Teller. Look at her.” He stood and walked into my bathroom, returning with a warm, wet cloth, which he used to wipe the tears from my face (after prying it from between my knees). Underneath his gentle ministrations, the shaking slowed first to a quake, and then to a barely visible tremble. Warm, callused fingers brushed my chin, directing my gaze up into his eyes. I stared for a moment, falling into them, and he nodded. “You are going to be fine, Capulet.”
I nodded, moving to curl back beneath my covers. He tucked me in like I was a child, and like Adrien had earlier, and moved to walk back to his spot in the corner.
“Adrien?” I asked meekly.
“Yes?” He turned on his heel, looking at me.
“Will... will you stay with me? I know it’s foolish of me, but I...”
I broke off, shaking my head, preparing to tell him to forget it – only to be stopped by Adrien removing his jacket and shoes, pulling back one of the tucked sides of my blanket, and sliding in beside me.
“It’s not foolish at all, ma cherie. Please, get some rest.”
When morning finally came, I awoke from he most peaceful sleep I’d had in quite some time – warm, cozy, almost... cherished, with Adrien’s arm thrown across me. But as always, what was sure to be the best part of my day had to end – I had a shower to take and family members to lie to calm.
I reluctantly peeled myself from where I lay sandwiched
between Adrien’s body,
the bedsheets,
and the bed,
and more or less dragged myself to the shower.
Nothing is as good for the soul as a hot shower – except maybe a hot shag, but that’s of no relevance at this point in the story.
Once the water had stopped
running pink and rust coloured with
dried blood,
I began to hum, feeling more like myself.
The water scalded my dark skin,
enough that I turned a sun-kissed,
back-to-the-wall-shagging pink,
underneath the coloured ink decorating my body,
like a topographical map
of my mental terrain.
I was so immersed in my obsessive compulsive shower ritual that I didn’t hear the door open – or even notice that someone had come in, until the water pressure changed. I popped my head out, expecting to see my sister, and instead ‘eep!’d’ at the sight of a half-dressed Teller Guildenstern, standing at my bathroom sink and washing his face. ...I know it was immature, but c’mon! I’d never had a man in my bathroom up to this point in my life - what would you expect, excluding my general awkwardness and failure at life?
He popped his head up and immediately reached for his gun at the sound, halfway through drawing it and removing the safety before he saw my face peeking out of the shower curtain. He sighed exasperatedly and relaxed, putting his gun down and walking over to me, leaning against the wall nearest the shower.
“Do you make a habit of scaring people with guns?”
“...Only when they sneak into my shower!”
I squeaked in my defence, ever the adult.
“Oh, I haven’t snuck into your shower.
If I snuck into your shower,
that door would be locked,
and we’d both be wet right now.
I think you can fill the rest in for yourself.”
I blushed so hard, I swear I nearly passed out. I fought to retort, and Adrien knocked on the door amongst my helpless sputtering. “Double it up, you two. We have got to head out of here early, and Capulet still needs to speak with her sister, I am sure.”
...Panicking more than I cared to admit, I reached for my towel – snatched it from the rack, really, and was pulling my arm back into the shower enclosure when he grabbed my wrist, smirking.
“Awh, it looks like we’ll have to wait and try this out next time. Pity, isn’t it?”
I ducked my head, blushing and yanking my arm from his grasp.
“Yeah, sure, it’s a real pity.”
I nearly slipped trying to shut the water faucet off with my foot as I bundled myself in my towel, shaking my hair out. Gathering my dignity, I forced myself to square my shoulders and step out onto the bath mat, ignoring Teller’s presence as I snagged another, smaller, towel from the rack. Water sprayed everywhere as I flipped my head forward to wrap my hair in the soft cloth – including all over Teller – from head to toe.
Giggling, I pulled my covered head back up, clearly challenging him.
As is his nature, he met my challenge – by shrugging and undoing his jeans then shoving down his boxers before I could say anything.
“...Fuck, mate, give a bird some warning!”
I yelled indignantly as I turned my head and shielded my eyes.
Climbing into the shower enclosure and turning the water on, he shouted to be heard over the streaming water.
“Y’know, if you join the organization,
you’re going to have to stop being such a prude.
You’ll be the only girl training with us,
so you’d better grow up fast.”
God, how the man infuriated me. Grow up? Grow up? I had more or less been running my life, my patients’ lives, and the lives of my ‘older and wiser’ family members for as long as I could possibly remember. I’d been grown since I was 15 years old, juggling school and my shitty part-time job with my sick mum and angsty siblings. My god, where did he come off?
Pissed beyond reason, I reached blindly behind the curtain and slammed down on the knob, shutting off all the water coming from the faucet. He shoved his head out of the curtain to glare at me.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing? We haven’t got the time for this.”
“Let me make one thing perfectly clear,
Teller Guildenstern.
You may have seniority over me,
but I have not agreed to join your ‘organization,’
pause for air-quotations, ‘
and I am a grown arse woman,
and I don’t need some chav
with self-esteem issues
(most likely stemming from some sort of anxiety relating to the size of your prick)
giving me lessons in life. Is that clear?”
“My prick is more than adequately sized.” He said, moving to step from the shower.
Adrien knocked on the door again – well, it was more of a banging the second time – and yelled something in French, punctuating his statement with a solid kick to the door.
“Whatever you have to tell yourself to get through the day, Teller.
Now would you please put a rush on it
so we can go do whatever it is Adrien wants us to do,
before the man has an aneurysm?”
Before he had a chance to continue our ever-so-witty repartee, I picked up my clothes and sauntered from the bathroom, hips swinging in a manner that was much more confident and sensual than I have ever felt. Had anyone looked beneath the surface, though, the rapid beating of my heart would surely have given me away.
Adrien dutifully looked away as I rummaged about my room, going through drawers and casually chucking articles of clothing across the room as per my usual morning routine.
He’s quite the gentleman – unlike some I can think of. I thought, rolling my eyes in the general direction of my bathroom, and the man inhabiting it. I yanked on a pair of dark jeans, a collared work shirt (mostly unbuttoned, I can’t stand looking too white-collar without feeling like Feminito Mussolini), and a frighteningly zebra-striped blazer on loan from Izzy – a best mate of mine with an unhealthy love for musical theatre. All that was left to do was my makeup, which required reentry to the bathroom.
So I took a deep breath and opened the door, averting my eyes and focusing only on myself in the mirror, doing my best to keep my hands steady as I drew on myself with my trusty liquid eyeliner. From the very edge of my peripheral vision I saw Teller looking over my shoulder, tugging on his pants and jeans and coming to stand behind me. I managed to ignore him, until he rested a hand on my back, tracing the lines of ink on it, visible through the thin cotton.
“Can I help you?”
I asked, making inadvertently silly faces at my reflection, as I always do during the application of makeup.
“Nice tattoo.” He was speaking of the image of a crow spanning my shoulder blades.
“It’s clearly not the only one.” I, however, was speaking of the rest of my prized ink –
¾ sleeves on both arms,
one on the back of my neck,
and mostly hidden by my collar, my pride and joy –
a full colour rendition of the Hiroshima Lovers from Watchmen,
spread across my chest from shoulder to shoulder,
collar to breastplate.
“They let you work in a hospital with all of this?”
“Normally, it’s frowned upon – not very respectable, and all that rot.
But my boss is great, so he lets it slide.
Hell, he even came with me to get some of these done.”
Finished with my eyeliner, I penciled on my Monroe, and brushed my teeth while the kohl dried.
“That’s right, you and your boss are always together. What’s going on there?”
I spat in the sink and looked at him in the mirror as I rinsed. When I could speak again, I glared.
“There’s nothing ‘going on’ there.
Not only is he more than 30 years my senior,
he’s got a wife and three beautiful children who I’ve babysat
on more than one occasion.”
I reached for my eye shadow palate, deciding on a rainbow colour scheme for the day, and began to apply. “Besides, I don’t date.”
“There’s a difference between dating and a quick shag to relieve stress.”
“I don’t do that either.”
I said quietly, reaching for the orange shadow pot.
“Celibacy’s not a good idea when you do what I do.
Sometimes it’s the only thing that gets you from one day to the next.”
“I’m not 'celibate,' Teller. I’m a virgin.”
“...”
He was silent for a long moment – long enough that I could apply
yellow,
green,
and blue
to the top and bottom lids of both eyes.
As I stretched on tiptoe to get at the purple,
he cocked his head to one side, finally speaking.
“You’re a pretty little bird, I’m sure you could get a guy if-“
“If what?
I paraded myself around in short skirts
and itty-bitty tops
that left nothing to the imagination?
If I dumbed myself down
to placate the overly sensitive ego
most men are prone to have?
No, thank you.”
“...Are you a lesbian?”
Rolling my eyes, I didn’t pause in tapping the brush on the lid of the container and blowing on it, shaking my head.
“What gave you that idea?”
“You’re a feminist who hates men.”
“I hardly hate men – I just don’t trust them.
There’s a large difference. "
I completed my makeup, turning my head at all sorts of angles to make sure it was even.
“Why don’t you trust them?”
“That,”
I said, turning against the counter to look into his eyes, only to find that it was necessary for me to stand on tiptoe to accomplish that,
“Is none of your business.”
Not quite touching, but not far away enough to be deemed proper, he held me there long enough that time paused – It wasn’t until Adrien began to tap at the door again that we both jumped, and separated.
All that was left was to tug on my dirty, worn white Converse with the red laces, courtesy of too much time spent watching the new seasons of Doctor Who, and look up at Adrien.
“Ready when you are.”
Teller tugged his shirt over his head as he exited the bathroom, nodding.
“Me too. “
They left my room first, leaving me free to apply deodorant and my favourite perfume, as if anyone was ever going to notice it. I lagged behind long enough that my sister caught me, concern in her eyes.
“Capulet, what the sodding hell is going on? You disappear from work, come home battered, wake up screaming in the arms of some man I’ve never seen, and share a shower, shit, and shave, then leave without saying anything? I won’t have it.”
Turning to her, I rested my hands on her shoulders.
“It’s complicated, Imogen.
Their names are Adrien and Teller,
and I met them a week ago.
They need help with something,
and I can offer them the help that they need, that’s all.”
Still not convinced, but realizing I wasn’t going to explain any further at the moment, she sighed. “You’d better ring me to at least let me know you’re alright this time.”
“I will, I promise.”
I kissed the top of her head and squeezed her hand, grabbed my mobile and headed for the door.
I stepped into the bright morning sunlight, only to see Adrien in the passenger seat of a slick black Prius, Teller leaning on the hood. Being the child that I am, I walked close enough to the car that I could reach the door and shouted ‘Shotgun!” wrestling with Teller for the handle. I finally got it and slid into the front seat, narrowly missing getting my leg caught in the door as he slammed it shut.
Walking around to the back, he gracefully climbed in, kicking the back of my chair like the grown up that he is.
“Right. Adrien, I know you’ve got us on some sort of schedule, but I neglected to mention that I’m absolutely worthless without a cup of Starbucks in me, so it’d be to your benefit to take me to a drive-thru and let me get my morning caffeine fix, or I’ll be hell to deal with later.”
Chuckling, Adrien nodded and handed me his iPod, pulling out of the driveway. From the backseat, Teller maturely gave his two cents:
“Women.”