"I don't suppose you can forgive me?" I asked. Abel Ignatius Blade Donovan-'why was his name so terribly long?!'-pressed me more rigidly against the wall, his dark eyes freezing me between his arms.
I looked depressed where I was, cornered, but my mind was actually making frantic calculations. 'How did he know?' My gaze discreetly shot to the open door, glossed in a tasteless dash of green. My eyes flickered subtly. 'Did the boss rat me out?'
'No! It couldn't be! The boss values those artworks more than I could ever know, and he must know how less I value my life in the first place!'
'Unless...'
I lifted my head of short, black hair, and our eyes interlocked. Our bodies were tightly pressed against each other, his hard muscle pressing firmly against my soft flesh so intimately, with only the thin fabric of our clothes separating us. His heart was beating steadily, unfazed by how close we were. I could feel his breath gently caress my cheeks.
My heart was almost breaking my ribcage. I quelled my anxiety and parted my lips, brows lifting slightly. "Sir? What on earth do you mean? Please unhand me right now. If anything, all this penalty-talk and...was it, 'Mona Lisa', you said?" I scoffed. "Sir, I am not foolish enough to not spot a ravager when I see one!"
He narrowed his eyes at me, barely letting go. His grip tightened on my hands, his fingers intertwining with mine. I believe it was for the purpose of restraining me-'fingers could do a lot', from a criminal's viewpoint-however, a warm and fuzzy feeling rose into my stomach. My face flushed slightly. I hoped it was not visible through the dim lighting.
"Miss Long," Sir Abel began, frigidly, not a speck of feeling perceivable in his abyssal black eyes, "you have been involved in over twenty cases, all of them, except one, being successful. Eight cities are victims of your larcenies. You're infamous for choosing cities erratically, as though rolling dice to determine your next target, and you always melt from the scene before the police can even catch a glimpse of your shadow." He paused, observing me quietly.
I hoped I did not look like a vile miscreant, for the sharp government official was ticking all the boxes as though he read records of my crimes each night before bed. Perhaps I didn't look guilty though, seeing that I was too busy drinking in his every feature greedily as he spoke. His chest would motion upwards slightly, against my own, pressing some very delicate part of me.
'Oh, please be over and done with this already! Can you not tell I'm suffering?'
Nonetheless, he continued, "You only steal ancient paintings, especially those created over centuries ago. You previously seized a treasured painting in Leabridge. The painting was of a deranged widow fully draped in black robes as though attending her husband's funeral on the same day.
"The widow was in a wintry area — somewhere in the West, I presume — surrounded by snow that was being melted slowly by the morning sun..." He fell silent. He was no longer looking at me. His gaze was foreign, almost as though he was looking into another realm — a realm which I could never hope to grasp.
"Sir...please let me go...I know nothing of-"
"That painting was... I always wondered deeply what made you steal it. It was just..." The cocktail of emotions in his eyes swirled, rippled, and surged - like a storm - before calming, and what was left was a sunken cavity. He squeezed my hands and I flinched dismally at the sensation that left me tipsy.
His profound, dark eyes, chilling like a dying man's nightmare, bore deeply into mine before he tore his gaze away and stepped back, his upright figure unswayed. I staggered a bit. Maybe it was because I had gotten too familiar with such a heavy weight pressed against me.
Sir Abel clenched his hands firmly into tight, powerful fists, before he slowly loosened them. He was concentrating his gaze on the floor. 'Did he want to dig a hole into it or something?'
"Miss Long, I..." He faltered, brows furrowing. My heart was pounding wildly. I held my breath, awaiting him expectantly to speak. 'Had he found me out, or had it all been a ruse to incite some sort of reaction from me - a reaction that would prove me innocent or guilty?'
Abel remained silent. A silence that made my shoulders fall slack and my knees wobble imperceptibly with apprehension.
A silence that pierced through the darkness of the corridor.
After a long moment, he broke the silence.
"Miss Long, as it currently stands, it seems I am unable to squeeze a word from you that proves you are the one we're looking for. But," He looked at me, emptily, "there will be measures taken to smoke you out." How he said 'you' irked me greatly. It was as though he was certain in his mind that I would spill the beans eventually. However, if he was so certain, what was it impeding him from putting me behind bars already. My gaze shifted to my boss's ominously quiet office, so quiet you would have thought not a soul resided within.
With that, Sir Abel wordlessly turned on his heel to leave. His tall figure disappeared into the darkness of the passageway, as though he was returning to his origins — a dark and lonely realm, I imagined. His departure was quite sudden for me. I expected him to at least give one final glare that would make me go weak in the knees or that he would send me some sort of threat. But was he an ordinary man? Did he care for such trivialities?
Even after he had walked away, I waited for a little longer - until the regular, solid sound of his footsteps had vanished completely, leaving a dense silence for me to stand indolently within, unsure and befuddled.
I finally released the breath that I had been holding. I hadn't noticed until then, but my heart had long calmed down and my shirt was soaked with sweat.
I had perspired nervously, underneath the layers of garments enveloping me, out of anxiety for my life. I wasn't a very recreant person, to begin with, but this itself did not imply that I was unafraid of being locked behind bars for decades.
I glanced into the direction in which Sir Abel had disappeared into, numerous questions shifting and tangling in my psyche without seeable answers. I sighed, a sigh that seemed to be the accretion of several coalesced sighs.
Then I gingerly approached the open door and stepped into the shabby little room of my boss. No sooner had my gaze adjusted to the dim, golden light than my body froze, a deathly - almost nightmarish - aura overtaking me.
My breath lurched in my throat, my knees shuddering underneath my terror. Behind the wide desk, on the dark, wooden chair, was my boss - Darius Franklin.
His platinum-blond hair was disheveled. Folded streaks of grey hair melded with the rest of his hair, as though the grey wisps had been there since his birth. His face was smacked against his cold desk, his arms splayed indolently against the wood. I gulped, eyes dark with anger. I couldn't sense any trace of life or vigor from him.
'Was he dead?' The query vexed me greatly, impelling me to purse my lips in bafflement. Carefully, with stiff steps, I approached Darius' immobile form. My hand stretched towards him from across the desk and gently lifted his face. His eyes were closed, wide wrinkles varnishing his countenance. I sighed when I saw the subtle motions of his chest. His broad chest was heaving upwards slightly, expanding and contracting with each breath. He wasn't dead.
I slumped into the other seat across the desk, relief spilling into my being, making my tense muscles relax. I suddenly felt myself to be such a fool to have even hypothesized that the frightening official would dare to mar his hands red, and without concrete evidence of Darius' crimes at that.
My eyes then flickered to the specks of dry blood on Darius' swollen lips, clear indications that he had undergone some sort of torment.
My face paled. 'They couldn't have...'
I brought my hand to his face, caressing his cheek that was unusually red. The skin was coarse and uneven, with faint strokes — like the scars left by a needle grazing his face.
I didn't want to envisage what could have happened, or the consequences of the events.
I, therefore, simply sighed and brought my hand from his face. He was a ridiculous boss but had been unexpectedly resourceful when I needed it. More than anyone, I had owed him.
'However...'
I brought my palm into my pocket, retrieving a brown envelope. I placed it on the table, beside the black briefcase I had strived to transport there.
'...my debt to you, Darius, is now cleared.'
I looked at his unconscious face that I had grown so used to, and a faint smile emerged on my visage. I had had just about enough of stealing for him, crossing boundaries I was not meant to cross underneath a measly nickname he had formulated for me at a whim. I had grown tired of being 'The Mona Lisa' with him.
And, for all I cared, he was now a one-man team. I was no longer the witless dog that would rashly follow orders that were carved from avarice and manic. Not anymore.
I reaffirmed this in my mind and the cold light in my gaze became rigid and unwavering. The lone light from the lantern shone in my green eyes, illuminating my dark hair, my faintly pink lips, and my pert nose.
I was relieving myself of burdens.
I was flinging them away.
I was now a bird — free and weightless in the air. Bound only by myself and life.
After six years. Finally.
'This is the end.'
'Farewell, Darius.'