(Your POV)
"Maybe this morning..." I said to myself. "Tintin will wake up."
Yes, it had been some time since he fell unconscious. Yesterday night, to be exact, but I couldn't stop thinking about Tintin. The paramedics tended to him and said he'd probably be fine. But they mentioned if Tintin doesn't wake after a certain amount of time, he would need to be taken into the hospital.
My stomach hurt whenever I thought about him.
'He'll be okay!' I tried to think. 'Tintin's tenacious, strong, and brave! He won't let a few bumps stop him... except... for the fact that they are serious ones! What if he never wakes up?! It's all my fault this has happened to him! What do I do? How can I fix this?!'
I groaned at the conflict my brain was having about the issue. But there was nothing I could do besides hope he'd be better. I wouldn't give up on Tintin, not for a moment!
I walked back inside from taking a stroll on our street. Thompson and Thomson recommended I stay at the apartment for a while if those dang thugs spot me and try kidnapping me again. But I really wanted to walk outside to clear my mind, so I woke up super early and made sure only to stroll Labrador Road for my safety.
Ms. Finch greeted me at the door.
"Is he awake yet by any chance?" I asked her doubtfully.
It had been a couple of hours that I was out, and I hoped to receive good news when I got back.
"Not yet, lass," she answered. "Just give 'em time. He had a nasty fall!"
I sighed.
"Yeah... I know."
"Would you like to read another story?" Ms. Finch asked. "It helps me unwind; perhaps it'll help you."
I looked her in the eyes and smiled a tiny bit. We both had become chummy reading buddies since my arrival. It helped that Ms. Finch was good at storytelling, so I preferred to listen to her the whole time rather than taking a turn to read out loud myself.
The smile faded as the same heartfelt tug forced me to look upstairs in Tintin's apartment direction. I bit my lip. Maybe he was awake but hadn't left his room yet?
"Actually, do you think..." I trailed. "It would be okay if I checked on him real quick? You know... just to make sure he ain't dying on us?" I said, forcing a lighthearted chuckle.
It was not really a laughing matter, but I didn't want Ms. Finch knowing how worried I was.
She smiled reassuringly and nodded.
"Of course, love." She started walking away. "I'll go cook you some breakfast!"
I smiled as she left and stared at the flight of stairs. Slowly, I walked up them and approached Tintin's apartment door.
I bit my lip and fought against the tightness of my throat.
'Maybe this is stupid? I don't know... but I gotta see if he's okay...'
I knocked lightly and listened for a response. Sadly, there was nothing. Not a peep from the other side of the door. Hesitantly, I turned the knob and cringed at the loud creak sound it made in the process.
When I heard footsteps, I stopped.
"Tintin? Are you up?" I whispered.
I gasped when the cute white terrier jumped in front of the crack in the door. I gave him a pat then pushed the door open to look inside.
There was a quiet ticking of a clock that rested on Tintin's mantle. I examined the interior before taking a couple of light steps into the room. It was dark because the lights were off. I looked around and spotted the clever ginger-head laying peacefully on a red sofa.
"It sure is dark in here... let's get some light!"
I walked up to the windows, pushed away the curtains, and opened the windows halfway. Even with the dull clouds in the sky, the sunlight which seeped through made a drastic difference.
A room in the back caught my attention, and I entered. There was a desk with a typewriter and magnifying glass in the center of the room. Frames filled the wall with every newspaper headline of Tintin and his friends hung as a reminder of their victories. I gaped at some of the exciting risks Tintin had taken before smiling.
'He really is a hero, huh?' I thought.
My attention was drawn back to Tintin, and I left the room to check on him. Tintin lay silently with one hand on his chest while the other hung over the couch. His head rested on its side in my direction, and I tilted my head when noticing the ugly bruise on his forehead.
"Tintin?" I called softly. "Can you hear me?"
Snowy walked calmly up to Tintin and sniffed his hand before looking at me. I looked down at him.
"I'm sorry, Snow... doesn't look like he is gonna wake anytime soon, does he?"
The mutt tilted his head at me. I decided to leave. Snowy groaned when I turned my back, so I stopped. I tilted my head at him.
"What is it, boy?"
Snowy walked back up to Tintin and whined, nudging his hand, which limply hovered over the floor. Then, he sat down and stared me dead in the eyes as if trying to tell me something.
"You want me to stay for a second?" I asked him, trying to read his eyes.
Snowy didn't react... which only made sense. Most dogs understand as much English as the average two-year-old... well, maybe Snowy knew a bit more than that. He was a smart little guy.
I thought about how coma patients could hear everything. I didn't know why, but I wanted to give it a shot. Maybe Snowy wanted that, too?
I approached quietly. The first thing I did was make sure Tintin really wasn't dead. I got confirmation when I saw his chest rise and fall.
"At least he's breathing," I said, casually placing the back of my hand on his forehead to check his temperature. "No fever... that's good."
Snowy hopped on the sofa and curled up beside Tintin's feet. I hesitantly kneeled beside Tintin, wincing at seeing the horrid bruise on his head up close. I wondered how trash Tintin was going to feel once he woke up.
"He'll be fine, Snowy, I'm sure of it," I said worriedly, turning to Tintin. "Hey... I've missed seeing you around. I'm not giving up on you... I probably look so stupid right now but... I'm expecting to see you up and running again, trying to work on more news stories! Okay?"
Taking a breath, I stared down at his hand, which rested on his chest.
'What's the worse that can happen? I mean, besides him waking to see you right next to him, that is...'
I dismissed my thoughts and placed a light hand atop his.
"I'll be here waiting... and so will the Captain and your other friends. I think you're super smart, brave, nice, and a very good friend! So... see you later, I guess!"
Snowy seemed content, so I stood to leave. That's when I heard something from my apartment. I stepped out of Tintin's apartment and shut the door behind me before opening mine. I gasped in horror at the shock which awaited me.
"Hi, princess!" taunted the Australian from the day before. "Hope we aren't barging in!"
I spotted a grappling hook hoisted on my window sill, where he and the others climbed. The thug forced his hand over my mouth and yanked me inside, slamming the door so my hollering would be muted from a listening ear. He dragged me to the window, where I saw the same red van waiting for me outside.
(Tintin's POV)
rrrrriiiiiiiiinNnNnNnNnGGGGGGGGGGGGG!
The sound of rushing wind startled me, and I popped my eyes open.
The heart palpitations calmed. I stared up at the chandelier above me and saw the overwhelming fog and shaking diminish. There was a quiet ticking, a clock... my clock. I felt a breeze flow from a window behind me, and the gentle rustle of leaves blowing through the curtains made the utter silence all too odd.
I heard a whine. Snowy, curled by my feet, crawled onto my chest and nudged my face.
"Snowy?" I whispered.
He wagged his tail calmly and yipped. Quickly, I sat upright and embraced him tenderly.
"Oh, Snowy!" I cried, caressing him passionately as if it had been years since we last interacted.
The smile on my face faded just the slightest as I examined the room. It was my living room, of course; where else would I be? But it all felt a bit unfamiliar or perhaps unbalanced.
My hand slowed while petting Snowy as I looked to make sure I wasn't mistaken. I sat on the same sofa; there was the same mantle with my safari photo above it, the different treasures I had found on my adventures remained in place. I turned behind to look into my study room and could still see the old typewriter and framed newspaper articles that featured our triumphs.
It was my apartment, no doubt, but what was wrong?
I began to grow a bit anxious.
"What has happened?"
I stood to my feet quickly but immediately fell to the floor. My head started throbbing, and I winced from the pain, holding the sore spots in wonder. The ringing briefly echoed in my ears. Stars circled my head, and everything went dizzy. I tried but failed to recall what had taken place that had caused me to feel so lost and winded. Was I hit on the head while cleaning the chandelier or hanging another trophy? Perhaps I just needed to take a break from investigating?
"Good heavens..." I whispered, trying to dismiss the headache.
It finally stopped. Holding the back of my head, I carefully crawled back onto my feet and looked out the window. It was only partially open, and my reflection caught my attention. An ugly bruise, hidden mostly under my ginger roots, stared back into my eyes from the right side of my forehead. My eyebrows buried deep into my face as I put a hand over the gash confusedly.
I winced at the pain it brought. Suddenly, I pulled my hand back and glanced at it. A memory came to me. I remembered someone had noticed the same issue before I collapsed, and I raised my brows.
"Wait... was there someone here...?"
Snowy tilted his head at me, not understanding. I sighed, knowing that it only left more questions, not answers.
"But-what... what happened?" I questioned aloud, darting my eyes to and fro as I frustratedly gripped my head to think. "I can't remember... I-ah!"
I heard humming outside my door. I knew it was Ms. Finch, so I walked to my door to see her, hoping for something to come back to me. She was carrying a large tray up the stairs but struggled. I stepped out of my apartment and became distracted by her need.
"Ms. Finch-"
"OH! Mr. Tintin! How good to see you awake!" Ms. Finch said joyfully, tsking. "The lass has been worried about ya', but I assured her you'd be back to your old self in no time-WOAH!"
The dishes slid to one side and made her tilt. I hurried to Ms. Finch and steadied her as she finished the journey up. Ms. Finch had a strange limp when she walked, so I asked her if she was alright.
"Thank you, love! My leg is a wee bit sore from doing some housework. But you should only be concerned with yourself. You had a horrid bump on the head, honestly! Glad you aren't locked away unconscious anymore!"
"Unconscious?" I asked.
She shrugged.
"The nurses figured you wouldn't remember. But not to worry, it's done and over. Be thankful it wasn't any more serious than it already was!" she added.
I paused. As if nothing happened, Ms. Finch continued wobbling towards the apartment across mine. I tilted my head.
"What's that?" I asked, speaking of the heavy tray she held.
"Oh! Well, what do you think? Breakfast for the Mrs!"
I retraced my memories as best I could but didn't understand who she was referring to.
"Uh... 'Mrs?' "
Ms. Finch seemed amused by my question.
"(Y/n), dear. Your friend from the new story your working on."
I furrowed my brows at her nickname choice and looked away to think.
"Oh... right."
Ms. Finch continued casually, but I stopped her.
"Here, please." I took the tray from her.
Ms. Finch smiled. She tipped her head, patted my cheek, and magically dashed down the stairs with full strength.
I shrugged at Snowy with bewilderment before walking to (Y/n)'s door.
"(Y/n)?" I called, knocking.
I waited a minute, but there was no answer. Snowy's ears perked alertly, and he started pawing at the bottom of the door frame, growling unusually.
"Perhaps she's still asleep," I told him. "But I'd like to ask her some questions."
After another minute, I lifted a hand to knock once more but was interrupted by a sudden squealing of tires outside the window. I frowned and stepped up to it. A familiar red van had parked parallel to the building on the street. I noted the logo 'SHEPHARD SHUTTLE' fixed onto the back door. A group of gruff, uncivil individuals hopped out and muttered something secretly to somebody in the alley beside the complex.
There was one man in particular, who spoke with an Australian accent, that appeared to be the head leader of the group. I shook my head at the memory of his face, and, almost as if on cue, he looked me straight in the eyes and smiled menacingly with a tip of his fedora.
I spun my head to look at the apartment door again.
"Oh no..."
Throwing down the tray on the desk, I banged on the door severely. Only silence followed my pleas, so I took a step back, built up strength, and kicked the door with all my might. It burst open, and the overturned furniture inside proved my theory correct.
"(Y/n)?! (Y/N)!!!"
A grappling hook rested on her window sill, so I rushed to the window to look out again. The gang piled inside the van. (Y/n) reached out her hands in desperation towards the building before the men dragged her inside and slammed the door.
I retreated to my room and grabbed my gun. Ms. Finch stepped out with a distraught expression as I hurried down the flight of stairs.
"Now, what's all this-"
"Those men! (Y/N)'S BEEN KIDNAPPED!" I shouted.
Ms. Finch put her hands over her mouth in shock.
"Not again!"
I reached for the door but stumbled for a moment as the pain and dizziness shot back at me. I cried out in agony but shook it away, gripping the knob firmly and swinging it open.
"Mr. Tintin! PLEASE! YOU MUST SIT DOWN!" I heard Ms. Finch plead.
I ignored her and ran down the street. The van sped across the intersection up ahead as I neared it. The driver waved with a manic grin as if my concern was just a toy for his own pleasure. They knew what they were doing. There was more to it than I had grasped, but what?
I tried shooting the man, but no bullets were left in my gun. My apartment window was open, so the thugs must have emptied my weapon while I was unconscious. Yet, if that was the case, why would they keep me alive? If I was an obstacle to their schemes, why not shoot me instead? More and more questions...
My vision went dizzy again, and my heart pounded bitterly from inside my chest. I panted a bit, then collapsed abruptly. But I wasn't going to give up that easily. I forced myself awake and stood back on my feet, running my hands through my hair to keep myself from reaching the highest peak of panic.
There was shouting coming from behind. I fled back to Labrador Road and spotted a second red van racing down the street. It came to a halt right in front of the apartment complex as a thug towed Ms. Finch outside.
"No, NO!" I yelled, fleeing to the shuttle.
The van slammed the door and shot by me in an instant to disappear just as the other did. The vans were the same color and model, with the same logo engraved. I tried following it to get an idea of where they were going, but they were too quick.
I hurried inside my apartment building and reached for my phone.
'DRAT-WAIT! No dial tone! Those tryants... they cut the blasted phone cables!!!'
I hung up the phone angrily.
"Hold on... (Y/n) said that Thomson had called her about the Professor..." I relayed to Snowy, darting to (Y/n)'s apartment. "The Australian mentioned something about heading to the dock. That's where we'll have to look first!" I called Thompson and Thomson to tell them what happened before calling Haddock. "Hello? Captain, it's Tintin! Yes-yes, I'm fine! The thugs came back and took (Y/n) and Ms. Finch! Meet me at the dock; we are going to look for them there!"
~~~