Decode

Chapter 17 - His Eyes.

I stepped forward and placed the damp cloth on his forehead deciding the best idea would be to stop the heavy flow of bleeding from the rather deep cut stretched across the top of his face. He jolted back at the initial touch but soon grew accustom to the pressure. He continued to look up at me with scepticism in his eyes. I moved onto cleaning up the rest of his face as best as I could with the little tools I had. I wrapped the cloth around his head, stemming the blood flow. 

I wasn’t satisfied with my clean up procedure but it would have to do. I stepped back several feet unit my butt hit the desk. I slowly pulled myself up onto it again and crossed my legs. I tilted my head much like he did but instead of feeling confused, I tried my best to study him. He wasn’t the usual character I would choose to recreate in my mind, let alone try and figure out anything about.  

He was tall, pretty lanky, lacking the muscles anyone in the South gang had. His leather jacket was ripped and stained from the obvious brawl he had been in. His jeans were also ripped and his shoes evidently scuffed. He clearly didn’t want to come willingly - not like I blamed him. One thing that did stand out was the tattoo on his forearm, bold and menacing. The words looked like they were scrawled in Latin but underneath was a badge of sorts, I came to a conclusion it was the gangs symbol, but I could only presume. 

I sat there watching his movements, which were pretty minimal, for far too many long minutes. According to the clock it had only been ten or so, but it felt a lot longer with the never-ending silence. He didn’t move much; his eyes were either closed or focused on my own. I hadn’t heard his voice and I wondered whether it’d be dark and ominous or crackly and timid.  

Honestly, I had no idea what I was doing or what I was supposed to do. What exactly was I supposed to try and figure out? Why he was here? What he was doing? And how exactly did Harry expect me to find anything out? I said I didn’t condone violence in every instance, not can I please interrogate this stranger. 

I chewed hastily on my bottom lip, aware that it would probably start bleeding soon at the rate I was going. I began to swing my legs back and forth, my discomfort becoming obvious. The stranger’s eyes began darting to my feet and then to my face. He looked panicked by my movement, which was odd.  

I narrowed my eyes at him as I chose to speak for the first time properly. I was slightly hoping the silence would get him to spill everything straight away but it obviously wasn’t going to. “What’s your name?” 

He looked up at me properly again, confusion etched across his features. His eyebrows knotted together as I raised my mine, as if I had just asked a simple, friendly question. “Dan.” He finally spoke. His voice was half as I predicated, a little timid, scared and unsure. Nothing like anyone occupying this house. 

I decided to choose my questions carefully and wisely, avoiding hitting the main point straight on the head to start with. “Did they do this to you?” I asked, my eyes indicating I meant the people who had left the room over a quarter of an hour ago. 

“Who else would have done it?” He spat viciously. I was suddenly glad he was tied to the chair in fear he was actually more powerful than he obviously looked.  

“Just a simple question,” I replied somberly. “What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t belong here Lennon…Rae.” He dragged out my last name sending shivers up and down my spine, the hairs on the nape of my neck stood to immediate attention. 

“How do you know my last name?”

“Everyone knows your last name. Everyone knows you and that fact you don’t belong here.” A painful grin appeared on his face making me feel extremely uncomfortable and somewhat vulnerable although I had the upper hand in the situation.