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Welcome back to Monday with Story Orgy. Ready to see what happens next?
Welcome back to Monday with Story Orgy. Ready to see what happens next?
Mum's the Word
Chapter
Twelve
Oct
19: It was all he expected.
The creep factor in the hallway increased
a thousand fold after Owen left. And how that had even happened, Izzy couldn’t
quite explain. Big blue eyes… Head jerks… then “I’m going to pee”, and voila.
Izzy was left holding the flashlight for a
man who wasn’t seeming quite so sexy any more. One who had apparently decided
that with Owen away, Izzy was…
Available?
Now
why would he think that?
Because
you met him at a bar?
Flirted
with him in the library?
Made
eyes at him and --
“Urg.” He choked on his own thoughts and self-consciously
inched away from the professor.
“Did you say something?” Micahn Gregoire
looked up from the door he’d been trying to unlock.
“Uh… no. Sorry.”
“Perhaps you could shine the light a
little closer. This lock… The key doesn’t seem to match.” Finding the right key
for most of the doors hadn’t been any trouble because they were meticulously
labeled.
Izzy directed the beam over the
professor’s shoulder, annoyed that the action required that he move closer.
Standing this close to Owen had stirred his senses, but having caught a
chilling expression in the professor’s eyes earlier, the professor’s proximity
just made his skin crawl.
“Ah…” Door released as tumblers fell into
place audibly. The professor rose, grabbed Izzy’s arm and tugged him into the
room, closing the door behind them in one abrupt, shocking movement. The
flashlight tumbled from his grip to land somewhere on his left, beam directed
uselessly at the wall beside him. “Where’s your friend?”
“He… uh…” Izzy glanced around frantically.
The room was dark, his flashlight beam was still aimed low… “Went to the
bathroom.”
“Good.” The professor breathed, stooping
slightly to whisper directly into Izzy’s ear. “I don’t trust him. That boy is
up to something. He’s not like us, Izzy.”
“Uh…” Izzy jerked backward, running
immediately into the wall. “He’s--”
“What were you two really doing here,
Izzy?” Gregoire crowded closer rudely, in a movement that could have been
interpreted as sexy by a viewer, but for Izzy, looking into those thinly
slitted dark eyes, there was no mistaking it for anything but what it was. A
threat.
“Oh…” He wiggled a little, trying to
escape and to come up with some believable excuse for their presence. “We were
just passing.”
“Just passing?”
Izzy stopped moving. Surely… the
professor’s accent had disappeared. He now spoke crisply in a completely
unaccented English. “Just passing.” He placed both hands on the professor’s
barrel chest, braced his back on the wall and shoved.
The professor fell back but recovered
himself smoothly. “I don’t believe you. You’re a terrible liar, Izzy.”
Stifling the cowardly impulse to pretend
he hadn’t noticed that slip in the man’s accent, Izzy gathered his courage and
spoke. “You’re a pretty good one though.”
“Ah.” All pretense of amiability and
flirtation were stripped away, as though that one word had been a disguise that
the man shed. “I had rather hoped you hadn’t noticed that. Too bad.”
Wincing, Izzy wished the door would open
up behind him and free him from this position, trapped between the door and a
suddenly not so veiled threatening presence. “I can’t believe you’re a fraud.”
Where the hell was Owen? Pissing shouldn’t
take this long!
“Fraud?” Gregoire stepped back, giving
Izzy just enough room to duck under his arm and dart across the room to a place
that might not have been any safer, but at least put some distance between him
and the unknown. “That’s not how I’d put it.”
“Well, how would you put it?” Izzy
demanded, covertly seeking something to use as a weapon if Gregoire got too
close again. Seemed like since this was a museum storage room there should be
potential weapons everywhere… knives, axes, pipes, candlesticks, ropes… But
here in his own personal hell of a Clue game, there were only black shadows and
vague shapes, which from his personal experience most likely contained
correspondence or trinkets.
“Oh for the love of Mike. Quit looking for
something to clobber me with.” There was the sound of something scraping on
something, a little quiet thumping… then the overhead light came on, blinding
Izzy with its dim glare.
He blinked rapidly, unwilling to trust
Gregoire when he couldn’t see him. Reaching behind him and praying that he’d
come up with something useful, he grabbed the first thing he could wrap his
hand around. His heart pounded furiously, and it seemed to take forever for his
vision to adjust. His ears strained to catch any more signs of movement, any
indications that Gregoire was coming closer, moving in for the kill maybe.
“Sorry about the lights.”
Said lights glinted on something metal as
Gregoire extended his arm. Izzy didn’t stop to think, just reacted. It might be
a gun or a knife, either way… He swung his own weapon over hand, pegging
Gregoire in the face with whatever it was.
“Aurgh.” The man staggered, reached for a
shelf to upright himself, and instead sent it toppling towards himself. Izzy
scrambled backward, eyes finally adjusting to the darkness in time to see the
shelf full of what looked to be civil war battlefield relics topple.
fascinated, like watching a game of
Mousetrap in slow motion, he watched one cannon ball roll down, chasing a
canteen and a leather satchel as the slid toward Gregoire, who had regained his
balance, somewhat.
“What the hell?” The man wiped at his
forehead, examining a streak of blood on his hand, unaware of the impending
attack. He glanced from the blood to Izzy, frowning. “Why did you… What did you
throw at me?”
Izzy pointed to the floor, shrugging. He
didn’t know what it was. Whatever it had been, it had his undying gratitude,
because the professor no longer appeared to have a weapon. He must have dropped
the gun or knife when Izzy’s mystery object struck him.
Gregoire’s head followed Izzy’s finger,
and the first object from the shelf struck him in the back of the head,
followed in rapid succession by the rest, ending with the cannon ball which had
gained enough momentum that when it contacted Gregoire’s skull it did so with a
loud, resounding crack.
Gregoire crumpled to the ground with a
faint moan and lay silent. Izzy relaxed enough to realize he’d been holding his
breath.
“That was truly fortuitous.” He glanced up
at the ceiling and addressed a deity he’d never been really sure existed, but
had been dragged to church enough by his suburban parents to feel too guilty to
completely ignore. “Thank you. I…”
“Oh…” The man on the floor stirred and
Izzy decided prayers of gratitude could wait. He had to get out of here
and find Owen and then really get the fuck out of here.
He kept as much distance between the fallen
professor and himself as he could, but the man was in front of the door, so he
had no choice but to step over him. It was midstep, with one foot poised over
Gregoire’s knee that he saw what must have been in the man’s hand. A gleam of
gold on the floor a few feet away caught his eye.
His heart sank and Izzy returned to his
original position, bending down to scoop up the leather and metal. He knew
though, that he was in a boatload of trouble even as he squinted to read it.
Gregoire was a cop. Undercover.
And Izzy had assaulted him.
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