Madness At Noon {COMPLETED}

The Caretaker of the Gentleman 3/5

Short author's note: the underlined words in this section are meant to be struck out but Wattpad is a buttmunch that doesn't support struck out words.... so use your beautiful imaginations to move the line :P

I bask under the glow of the air conditioner as I stretch my legs and brew myself a much needed pot of coffee. The problems waiting for me back in the infirmary fade as I zone out, focusing only on the steady drip of fragrant liquid that is as life-giving to me as my only blood.

Then, I see a tuft of messy blonde hair poking out from the doorway. It vanishes almost immediately after I spot it. I sigh.

"She's not here," I say. "She never leaves that room."

"You never know..." Christian says, stepping out. He sways on the tip of his toes, ready to run at the slightest noise like a nervous deer. He has not slept well since Noon's arrival and it shows in the dark shadows around his eyes and the twitching of his left hand.

"Trust me, she has plenty of other things on her mind than us."

The young boy frowns. At fifteen, he has seen more of the black underbelly of the world than most adults ever have the misfortune of experiencing. These hardships have written their lines on his dark skin, marked him, turned him from a boy into a cracked statue of rigid stone and sand.

"And you think she's just going to walk out of here without a fight?"

The coffee maker lets out a little jingle as beautiful, beautiful java fills the pot. I offer Christian some though I know he'll refuse. Triston is the caffeine junkie; Christian prefers to have a 'clear, unaltered mind.' I toast him and drink straight out of the pot.

"She's in our debt," I say, wiping my mouth as my head buzzes with new, albeit limited, energy. I have already argued this a thousand times in my head, sitting in that room, watching her. "We've saved the Gentleman's life. She'd conquer a country or permanently join a nunnery if we asked her."

A flash of uncertainty and fear flashes through Christian's eyes. His fingers scrape against his palm in a nervous twitch, brushing across the 'totally-not-a-fanny-pack' strapped around his waist. He always wears the hideous thing. It's filled with an emergency first aid kit and a small but sharp machete suited to its owner's small hand. Just in case. The boy doesn't have it in him to hurt a spider, but I think the weapon brings him comfort. He is no longer powerless.

Even after being under the Gentleman's protection for over two years now, Christian has yet to find his courage. The Gentleman found Christian and his younger brother in a shipping crate in the Old Docks by the Jokkil River. They had been stuffed in a tiny chamber with nearly fifty other children, packed so tightly that there was no room to sit; they had to stand for weeks as the cargo traveled and one by one the children were sold off to the highest bidder. By the time the Gentleman got to them, six had died. Unable to move, the remaining children had to share the space with standing corpses.

While the rest of the rescued children were delivered to the Royal authorities of Vexus City, the Gentleman had brought Christian and Triston home 'on a whim.' I stopped believing the Gentleman's 'whims' my first week in this house. Our master had the uncanny ability to measure up a person, all of a person: what they were, what they are, what they will ever be. He had seen something in these boys and invited them to join the Great Quest.

The fear of his ordeal had never fully left Christian's eyes. He saw kidnappers and cages in every shadowy corner. Yet, the boy was a genius, spending all his time nested in the couch cushions in the living room, a stack of books by his side. That, or playing video games with his brother. Christian liked the puzzle challenges while Triston's favorite were the spaceship shooters. Within one week of his 'adoption,' Christian had read every book in the house. So, the Gentleman had bought more. And more. And a thousand more.

Now, while Triston tinkers with the Gentleman's guns and explosives, Christian acts as the official medic, patching up the great hero every time he returns from his crusade of fighting crime. He has saved our master's life a thousand times over.

"We need more blood," Christian says after a long pause, handing over the daily mail. The usual junk goes into the trash, the bills into a tray on the kitchen counter that I will have to take care of later with the usual benefactor unable.

"I thought Noon was providing-"

Christian shivers at the sound of her name. His dark brown eyes remain fixed on the floor. "The blood's for her. For them both. The human body can only lose three or four pints of blood before it starts hemorrhaging. She can't give anymore." He shrugs. "Unless you wanna just let her die."

My fierce scowl sends the boy scuttling back into the hallway. "We are not in the business of killing," I tell him. "We save lives here. Remember that."

He bites his lip. "Yes, ma'am," he says, and bolts. His heavy footfalls thud down the hall, ending with the slam of my bedroom door and the heavy clang of the bolt falling into place.

I sigh. Trust is quicksand in this house: constantly shifting and disappearing. The sooner Noon leaves, the better.

The sooner my master recovers, the better for us all.

Flipping through the rest of the mail, an odd letter catches my eye. It is in a neat, pink envelope with no stamp and no return address. Scrawled across the front in messy handwriting reads: To Whom It Might Concern. Please Read This Please.

I tear the envelope open with a sharp letter opener. A small, bronze house key falls out. Picking up the key, I turn over the single piece of paper that came with it and read:

Hello. My name are Cheshire. I live in Apartment 57 with Noon. It is a very nice home.

I know Noon is with White Cape Man and I am very worried. She left her purse at home and does not have her blood divise daviss devise box. Could you please come get it for her?

Thank you very much.

Love,

Cheshire

P.S. This is my first letter. I hope I did good.

In the past, the Gentleman has told me that after so many years of encountering supernatural threats in Vexus City, there is nothing that surprises him anymore. I read and reread the letter a dozen times before the words truly sink in.

The line It is a very nice home stares back at me.

A child.

Living with Noon?!

This I have to see. And anything is better than going back into that room. I trust the twins to take care of our master in my absence.

I shove the letter and the key into my jean pockets. "Boys!" I shout. "I'm going out!"