Keeper Of Peace

Chapter Four - Explanations

She did the only thing she could think of: She called Nathaniel. His voice on the other side of the line sounded groggy, tired, as if he'd already been asleep.

"What do you want?" he demanded, his discontent ringing clear.

"Help." Catherine wasn't sure he'd even heard her, she'd been that quiet. But he had, and it seemed to have caught his attention.

"What happened?" Concerned. He sounded concerned, she thought. That finally vanished all doubt left about a prank gone wild.

"I don't know, she... it all happened so fast, I... can you come over, please?"

She hated to beg, especially in front of him. It was humiliating, but she knew that if she stayed alone for even another hour, she would go insane. The police wasn't really an option for her right now, and except for Nathaniel, she had no one. Not that she'd ever had Nathaniel, but he was the only person who managed to be at least halfway civil with her right now. Sylvester! Sylvester was nice to her, but then again, it was his job, he was earning his money by being nice to the most impossible people. And she didn't even know him, had never exchanged more than a few polite words.

If she could say that she knew Nathaniel, she wasn't sure. She knew what to expect from him, though, and that he would never sell her out to the tabloids. At least she hoped he wouldn't, otherwise this would end in a disaster.

"What happened?" he repeated, sounding even more urgent. She laughed helplessly. He would hear the tears in her voice, she knew, and she hated it, but what could she do.

"Can you just come over? I've been warned about people tapping my phone, and I would really like for police and press to not think me crazier than they already do."

"That bad, huh?" And within the blink of an eye, he was back to not taking her serious again. Or trying to get her into a better mood, but that seemed quite unlikely to her.

"Nathaniel, please." She was too tired and scared to put up with his shit right now. "I promise I'll listen to you this time."

That shut him up successfully. There was the clicking sound signalling he'd hung up, and she slid down the wall into a heap on the floor, curling up into a little ball as if it would protect her somehow. How could all of this happen? How did her life turn from everything she'd ever wanted to worse that she could've ever imagined? People were attacking her now – with knives.

She could've died today. She could've died and no one would've shed a tear, because they all still believed that she'd killed Jonathan. It probably wouldn't even have been properly investigated, whomever people would've been suspecting would have most likely received a massive boost in popularity. Damn it. There really was nobody who would care if she died – in the country, at least. Her parents, of course. Her grandmother. But otherwise... Well, Nathaniel would notice, maybe, whatever reason he has for paying her that scarily much attention. Would Sylvester, though? And would anyone pay attention to a waiter in a café that had seen her for five days in a row and at absolutely no other time, that had exchanged about forty words with her? Surely they wouldn't.

Sweet Lord, Catherine admonished herself. Shut up, you're driving yourself into hysterics! Not that it helped, because of course her mind kept racing. Just a few days ago she had wished that Jonathan and her had owned a pet, and now that wish was stronger than ever. If she couldn't have Jonathan, she wanted something warm and alive to remind her of him. Something she could cuddle, love and take care or, that would need her. Nathaniel didn't exactly fit that description.

Should she shower? It hadn't occurred to her before. But she was covered in blood and cold sweat, her hair in tangles. And her mascara and eye shadow had likely left greyish tear tracks down her face. That was one more thing she had learned in the past weeks: Just because the label claimed something was waterproof didn't mean it would be tear-proof. A knock on the door interrupted her thoughts, effectively making the decision for her: No showering, Nathaniel was here. Getting up took her a little while, her joints having gotten cold in the chilly foyer.