His Captured Curiosity

Chapter 15 - Trust or Doubt

I close the unmarked police door shut as quietly as I dare while I adjust to a comfortable position and click my seatbelt in its place before the car starts to roll away softly.

It's so silent in the car that I hear the annoyed huff from my driver, that they hardly tried to conceal, their displeasure at me doing this every week hasn't changed and neither has my stubbornness.

"Vanessa, it's only for a little longer," I promise as I turn to face the detective. Upon noticing the thick headphones covering her ears and blasting Smash Mouth, my choice, of course, I instead tap her on the shoulder.

"I hate that you do this!" Vanessa shouts and a genuine smile tilts my lips as she obnoxiously yells over the music slamming into her skull. Cutting her coal coloured eyes to me sharply, Vanessa sours her expression further as she rips off the headphones and throws them in my lap.

"It doesn't matter that we pick up that stupid journal at ridiculous hours in the night, Esmeralda. He's got cameras everywhere and he's not stupid. He's trying to lower your guard by not showing but each visit is a higher risk."

I keep my expression neutral despite hearing these same concerns for the last four weeks, and instead I nod sympathetically as we weave through the sluggish New York streets.

"That's why we have the precautions, the precautions you masterfully put in place." The list had to be long for Vanessa to agree to maintain this crazy plan, but it has certainly paid off so far.

Firstly, the pick up is always in the same car due to its illegal level of tint on the windows. The cameras surrounding the club have no hope of seeing who my driver is.

Secondly, the headphones for Vanessa, just in case we are ambushed by Omen. We're hoping the music will be enough to strip Omen of his power over her at least temporarily.

Then, finally, we drive around the city for exactly an hour and a half before reaching a garage storing Vanessa's personal car, which we then leave in out of a second exit, entering a highway a street over.

All this trouble for a game of twenty-one questions with a guy I hate.

"Well, come on then, what has he written now?" She huffs, brushing off my compliment. But I notice the loosening of her shoulders nonetheless as she takes us further and further away from the lion's den.

Glancing down, I switch off the headphones and place them in the glovebox before sliding my finger between the pages of the flimsy book, revealing the latest page filled with handwriting that's as slippery as the writer themselves.

My dearest Esmeralda

Ugh. This guy makes me want to hurl this book out the window.

"I can't thank you enough for your sincere answer to my last question, I wasn't expecting such vulnerability and I'm glad you are able to see a part of me that is capable of care," I read out sarcastically, my tones dripping with mockery. Vanessa snorts.

"Didn't he just ask you what your favorite ice-cream flavor was and why?" Vanessa responds with a raised eyebrow, I hum in agreement as my forest-green eyes stray up to my earlier answer.

It would be chocolate chip, it was my grandpa's favorite before he died. He and I would eat it by the beach every summer, one of my favorite places.

Lies, lies and more lies.

1. My grandpa died before I was born.

2. I hate the beach.

3. My grandpa and I have always been lactose intolerant.

These last few weeks I've turned it into a game to see just how much insincerity I can jam into each answer. My family are unfortunately right, lying is what I'm best at and in fact it's something that I'm finding myself enjoying more and more with each passing fib.