Prisoner of Cell 554

Chapter Fourteen

We crawled for hours, through sludge and muck and other unspeakable things. The smell was so strong and revolting that I had to stop several times to hack my guts up, throwing the green goop out of my stomach to mingle with the brown sludge on the concrete ground. After the second time, nothing came up, and I would dry heave as I continued to move down the drain. During these times, the stranger would become increasingly aggravated at me, tapping his foot against the cement and crossing his arms. As I came up from the fourth round of dry heaving, I glared at him, wiped my mouth on my sleeve, and pushed past him as I continued down the drain.

Soon, though, the stranger had overcome me and was once again in the lead. We walked silently, footsteps and the soft splashing our feet made the only sound between us. I was used to silence, had so often in the past craved it, but this time, my mind was brimming with questions.

"So..." I croaked, my throat dry and scratchy from the dry heaving. But before I got another word out he interrupted me.

"No."

Irritation flared though me, and I did my best to stifle it. "But I haven't even said anything yet."

"Don't care. I can imagine what you're going to say, and that's enough."

Now I was angry. This guy was such an ass! In fairy-tales, the rescuer is supposed to be gallant and sweet, doing anything and everything for his rescued damsel, including risking death by dragon. Why did I have to be stuck with an ass for a rescuer?

Of course, this wasn't a fairy-tale, and I couldn't forget that.

And I was no damsel.

"Well, then," I said, blowing air out of my cheeks. "That's just to bad, stranger. Oh, speaking of which, you should probably tell me your name so I don't keep calling you stranger." I waited expectantly, but the only sound between us was the quiet splashes of our feet. I signed. "I could just give you whatever name I wanted. How about dickhead? Or asshole, or doucheface, or shitbag... I could keep going all day, you know." I glanced over at him. His jaw was set and he stubbornly remained facing forward. "Okay, then. Dickhead it is. Now dickhead-."

"Riff," he grunted, interrupting me.

Satisfied that I got something out of him, even if it was by being annoying, I grinned. "Hello, Riff, I'm River. At least, that's what I was told my name was." Deliberately avoiding mentioning who told me that. Need something to get my mind off of that particular dangerous route. "What kind of a name is Riff anyway?"

"What kind of a name is River?" He snapped back. I glared at the back of his head for a moment or two before reluctantly acknowledging that. River was a weird name. I never really thought about that before. I had to much else to think about. But now that I had, I could admit that.

Then again, I didn't really know what was considered a 'normal' name anyway.

We walked in silence for a few steps more before he signed, as if resigning himself to something. "Riff is my nickname. Well, technically it's 'Rip-off,' but people usually combine those two words and just call me Riff."

Oh, greeeaaat... I've been 'rescued' by a man that calls himself 'Rip-off'... Just fantastic.

"And how does somebody get a nickname like that?" I almost didn't want to hear the answer.

He threw a look over his shoulder at me, as if saying 'dah.' "I rip people off."

"Right." Of course. Why didn't that occur to me? Oh, right. It had.