It was just like he'd said.
The doorbell rang in that unique shapeless melody, somewhere at twilight when the birds were retreating to their nests. When I opened the door, I was greeted by the scene of about half a dozen men assembled at the precinct of my house. They stood on the damp earth, blanketed by melting snow, lugging enormous cases and sealed cartons. Two cerulean juggernauts were faintly perceivable at the mountain's foot, appearing like two rectangular, blue ants, obscured by the thick foliage coating the slope.
A grizzled man ambled towards my unmoving figure, a kind smile plastered on his gnarled face. His hair was whiter than the snow coating the fir and cedar trees and his eyes were a rich, amber hue, like fallen autumn leaves.
The old man held out his gloved hand towards me, the other men behind him eyeing me impatiently. "You must be Miss Long," his voice trembled, his sharp eyes narrowing into slits as he peered at me, "Such a...charming young lady you are. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. I am James Webb, Master Abel's closest retainer and his attendant. I am here to bring Master Abel's paraphernalia."
I nodded, shaking his hand. Mr. Webb shook my hand with a firmness I would not have expected from a man of his years. Of course, what was there to expect from someone under Mr. Donovan.
I turned on my heel and led him to an ample guest room that faced the sprawling view of the lake. Through the floor-length window, I could make out that glistening patch of water that shone invitingly beneath the golden sunset. Beyond it was the evergreen forest that encroached the sloping hills reminiscent of giants staring fixedly at me from the horizon.
Mr. Webb strolled in, his gaze riveting from the clean tatami to the breathtaking scene visible through the window. He stared distantly into the horizon for a moment before a smile emerged on his withered features. "Nice. Very nice. I am sure that Master will enjoy his time here quite a bit." His gaze flickered to me imperceptibly as he said this before he stepped back quietly and signaled the men to bring in the cases.
I gazed at his back in bafflement. 'Enjoy his time here?' I peered at the simple room with even simpler furnishings. There was nothing much to be in awe of besides the scenery, so what could the mister have possibly meant?
Quizzical, I could only helplessly brush the thought away before I chose to oversee the transportation of the baggage into the room. Doing so was, in my view, several times much more fun than sitting in cold silence with a certain someone in the living room, staring thoughtfully into thin air.
'Yes, this is so much better,' I advised myself. But my gaze eventually wandered to the noiseless room branching through a double door in the corridor.
What is he even doing in there? I finally inquired internally, still staring at that lone door in the corridor. Gigantic men stamped past me, carrying hefty loads upon their backs. Some of them passed me inquisitive peeks.
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully, still gazing discreetly at that forlorn double door. I had left him taking his coffee, listening to Mozart. But he surely couldn't have been doing that the entire time, could he? And, doesn't he want to keep an eye on how his men are handling his stuff, or at least raise his hat to his retainer(not that he had a hat to raise)?
My throat was burning with curiosity. And it wasn't simple, 'by-the-way' curiosity. Hardly. It was a bit...unexplainable.
I finally stepped towards the living room and the door creaked open without much effort. My gaze veered over to the luminous green radio which was playing soft, relaxing music. I could not decipher the musician, but he was good. One of them was playing the viola—a steady rhyme like the pitter-patter of the fine drizzle against the sodden earth.
It wouldn't have been difficult to surrender to fatigue and drowsiness in between. Of course, I didn't expect him to be asleep.
Oh, surely not. Does he even sleep for one thing?
But he was asleep.
Closing the door noiselessly behind me, I strode over to his unmoving form on the couch. Is he dead? was the first thought that crossed my mind. But his chest was rising and falling with life.
Scrutinizing his perfect features that remained distinctly cold and stern but significantly less tensed, I couldn't help but bring my face a little closer. I frowned, looking at his knitted brows. Before I knew it, my slender fingers were already massaging the wrinkle on his brow, kneading gently just like how my mother would often do when I was a child...
'Maddie, stop! What on earth are you doing?' an incensed voice from within me confronted me angrily.
My frown deepened, my naughty little fingers drifting to his well-defined nose. Touching him, duh!
'I can see that, but 'why' are you touching him? That's not something you're supposed to be doing, is it?'
No, I don't think it is...but I can't stop.
'What do you mean you 'can't stop'? Of course, you can,' that mean, little voice countered vehemently.
Honestly, from a logical and unsentimental viewpoint, I do think the voice wasn't blabbering nonsense(not that much anyway), no matter how much it sounded aggravating. But I wasn't precisely feeling logical and unsentimental, especially my fingers, so I am certified for giving the voice a cold shoulder, aren't I?
One lean finger stroked his sharp chin lightly, before sliding to the corner of his mouth. His thin lips were pursed into a thin line, even in his sleep. A grin unconsciously creased my face as I gingerly pulled up the left corner of his lips.
I gently pinched his left cheek between my index finger and thumb, a small smile plastering on my face. I was planning on retrieving my hand just then, but my poor hand was suddenly clenched firmly in an iron grip.
His eyes had opened and were glowering darkly at me, deep and foreboding like a nightmare. Bodiless feelings stormed in his eyes — but that was impossible. He was an unfeeling law enforcer, after all. Unfeeling law enforcers weren't supposed to have feelings, were they? Not him, anyways.
For a moment, neither of us spoke, only staring fixedly into each other's eyes. My hands were on his chest. I could feel the smooth, exorbitant fabric and the tense muscles underneath.
My fingers twitched, as though they had a pressing mission to accomplish. But what mission?
Staring dazedly, I drowned in the abysses veiled in the recesses of his eyes before suddenly being flung out of that murky pool. His cool voice inquired in a guttural, rough tone, "Miss Long, has my retainer arrived?" His strong arm was on the small of my back, subtly pulling me closer.
What? He wasn't going to ask about...well...the infamies I had been perpetrating on his face?
'Why? Isn't that better? You do want to remain in this position, locked in his arms forever, don't you?' came a small, artful voice.
"Y-Yes. He has," I replied, my voice softer and smaller underneath his gaze that was frostier than the Arctic but left me feeling as though I was leaning on a volcano. My back tingled as I felt his rigid hand tighten on my waist. Several spine-tingling sensations shot into my being as I felt his hand inch downwards.
'No, no, no, no, no!!' That vehement little voice was hollering uncontrollably as though on steroids.
A quick throb stimulated my legs as I pulled myself from his arms and said, glancing away from him, "Um...I...I think I need to go...sir." My trembling eyes were gazing behind him, awaiting a reply, but I heard nothing - nothing except a rough sound, rougher than the motions of my heart, deep in his throat.
Before I knew it, my feet had moved by themselves, as though possessed by some demons, and were racing down the corridor.
I stumbled into my room, my poor heart being tormented by...by...excitement? No! Excitement, of all things? How could it be excitement?
'You know why,' cackled a devilish little voice, which I was now desperate to strangle in my twitching hands. Too bad I was too busy punching my poor pillow in emotion.
I think I had jabbed the pillow about enough for my face soon buried itself within the pillow tiredly.
'Tiredly? Are you sure it's not to hide your face that now resembles a beetroot?'
The blush reached my neck as I muttered, my voice muffled by the pillow, "Ftup uppff!!!" (Shut up!!!)
My hand motioned to my chest, where I could feel my heart beating erratically. I could no longer hear the noise from the men moving the hefty luggage. The noise was still there though; only, it had been drowned out by the beating of my heart.
"Shut up..." I mumbled, softly, in the noisy silence of the room. To myself.