It didn't take too terribly long for Whiskey and I to get there, despite the heavy traffic that tried to make it harder on us. With all the stupid jackasses that roam around Cleveland, I am genuinely surprised that there were no outrageous road rage incidents that got too out of hand. If anything of that sort did happen, then Whiskey and I would have no choice but to interfere...and quite frankly, we didn't want to do that unless it was absolutely necessary.
Plus, it's a huge mood-killer.
Had Whiskey and I been forced to intervene in a road-rage incident, then we most likely wouldn't be in the same mood for the rest of the day. That's why we tend not to intervene unless absolutely necessary. For example, if anything got physical, we would try to play peacemaker. Well...I'd be the one to get in there and try to break it up and maybe get caught up in the fight myself. According to Whiskey, I'm a bit "unhinged", which means that I'm bound to do some crazy shit.
But luckily, there were no road rage incidents taking place, which means both mine and Whiskey's morales were sky high.
Once Whiskey and I arrived at the well-known staple of Ohio, I practically leapt out of the car because I was too excited to wait. In fact, Whiskey had to do everything in his power to try and stop me from going in early.
"Ah, ah, ah," he said. "I know how excited you are, sugar, but you can't go in without the tickets...and I got 'em right here on my person."
"Damn it!" I exclaimed, climbing out of the truck much calmer than before. "I really thought I'd get away this time."
"Why's that, sugar?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Well, I wanted to give you a run for your money. I hadn't done that in a while."
"Sugar, you always give me a run for my money," he responded. "You make life exciting! Not to mention, you're also kinda crazy, in the best way possible. That's why I love you. You give me something to look forward to every single day."
I bit the inside of my cheek, not knowing what to say next. Anything I could've said is something that I would've already said. Nothing was original!
"Come on, sugar," he finally said. "Let's go have some fun. But family-friendly fun."
"Damn," I said. "You read my mind."
He and I then grasped onto each other's hands tightly as we walked into the museum. "Sugar, I knew what you were thinking long before we managed to get here...and we are keeping things kid-friendly here in public."
"Fine," I groaned sarcastically. "I'll play along."
Once inside, I was immediately struck with awe. I had never seen something so amazing before. I had never seen anything like this before. Then again, I hadn't been out of state in such a long time. Tennessee is such a wonderful state. Why would I ever leave?
"Shit! This is amazing," I said. "I never knew Ohio could have stuff like this."
One of Whiskey's eyebrows hooked upward as if he was confused. "You've never been to Ohio?"
I shook my head back and forth. "Nope. Never."
"Damn, sugar," he said. "Good thing you took up the Statesman job, huh? You get all your traveling in."
I nodded. "New and beautiful sights and experiences. I love that! Plus, I get paid a shit ton to basically beat people up. Now, who wouldn't want that?"
"You sure do like beating people up, don't ya?" he asked, showcasing a bright smile on his face.
"Mmm hmm," I said, nodding up and down vehemently. "You tend to have a desire to unleash all your frustration when you've been constantly beat down for the past couple years."
Before the thoughts and memories of my personal tragedies came to me, Whiskey managed to successfully calm me down enough. Enough to keep my sanity and level head. "Now, sugar," he said. "Calm down. Gettin' all worked up ain't gonna do you any good."
"You're right," I agreed. "You're right. Getting all mad ain't gonna do me much good. I gotta keep my head screwed on right in order to keep an advantage over Balor."
"There you go," Whiskey responded, patting my head gently so that I didn't get a concussion. "Now, you're onto something."
Keeping my head on a level pedestal, I wandered with Whiskey over to another exhibit, and upon our arrival to it, we were immediately frozen in our place. A grand, glamorous exhibit of the "King of Rock and Roll"...Elvis Presley. Yes, the Elvis Presley! There were so many wonderful artifacts—guitars, jumpsuits, even cars—and they were equally amazing to see in real time with the added accompaniment of some of Presley's greatest hits.
It was basically heaven for Whiskey.
"You good there, babe?" I asked, as Whiskey somehow already spaced out.
He snapped out of his daze and refocused his attention back to me. "Huh? What'd you say, sugar? I didn't hear you."
"Are you okay? You seem—out of it," I reminded.
He looked around again, his smile the biggest I've ever seen. "Of course I am, sugar. This exhibit is just—just purely amazing. It amazes me every time I come here and see this exhibit."
"Well, I wanted to make sure you were okay," I said, "because you spacing out kind of worried me."
He nodded. "It's okay, sugar. I'm fine. Between being with you and experiencing this, I—I felt like I've died and gone to heaven. It's just—wow!"
"I know," I agreed. "I have that feeling too. Then again, I'm only experiencing this for the first time. It's almost like when I was falling in love."
I sighed, knowing that I'd be forced to keep Whiskey waiting if I didn't spill the beans. "You were my first love, Whiskey. My very first one," I said. "I didn't know how to love, or what love was for that matter. That is, before I met you. You showed me what love was really like. It's beautiful, but it can also be a bitch. And I wouldn't have known that if you weren't in my life, so...thank you."
He took my hand that he was holding and kissed it longingly. "No, sugar. Thank you. My life wouldn't be the same without you in it, and you definitely changed it for the better. So thank you for everything."
I smirked, knowing damn well that it wasn't just Whiskey who helped me. But in retrospect, he did help me out a ton. If it wasn't for him, then I wouldn't be where I am today. Instead, I'd be the saddest sap on the planet, or I could be dead. Whiskey definitely helped me out of the depressive hole I'd been secretly in since my twin's death, so I have a lot to thank him for.
In the midst of Whiskey and I taking a deeper look at other exhibits, I couldn't help but get an overwhelming feeling. The feeling as if we were being watched and followed.
"Whiskey?" I asked him.
He took his eyes off of one exhibit. "Yeah, sugar. What's up?"
"I have a gut feeling that we're being followed," I said sternly in a low tone so that no one else could hear.
I could see the bright light in his eyes extinguish abruptly as I said that. His entire mindset changed on a dime, as he shifted from enjoying his time with me to protecting me. He had to protect me from whatever or whoever was following us.
"Like, coincidence following or like, creepy stalker following?" he asked.
"Creepy stalker following," I answered simply. "I see his face everywhere we go, and all he does is just—stare at us. He stares at us like he's plotting to do something."
My breath started to quicken, and beads of sweat formed along my forehead and eyebrows. My heart was beating so loud and fast that I felt like it was going to burst out of my chest at any given moment. Despite having the symptoms of such, I denied suffering from a panic attack. I can't have one! Not when I work in such a stressful field like this one.
I looked around to see if I could find the culprit, but no luck. "Where is he?" I asked, looking around panickily. "He was just here, and now—now he's—now he's gone!"
"Sugar, calm down," Whiskey said, firmly grabbing my shoulders. "It's gonna be okay."
I was still in my episode of panic. "No, it's not, Whiskey! What if—what if—what if Balor actually got to us? Then, we're shit out of luck!"
"Here, Rocky, let's sit over here and get you calmed down," he said, gently guiding me to a nearby bench. "Now, tell me. What did this stalker look like?"
I inhaled before starting. "He was, um—about six feet, two inches. Had kind of grayish-ice blue eyes and dark-brown hair. And he had a decently muscular build."
"Okay. That's a start," Whiskey responded. "What was he wearing when you saw him?"
"Black, long-sleeved t-shirt, grayish-black jeans, and these—these jet-black boots that aren't exactly 'cowboy boots', but they come close," I explained. "Oh, and he was also wearing—wearing a—a dark gray leather jacket. One with pockets and a good zipper."
Whiskey nodded. "Got it. Now, how close did he get to us?"
I thought about it for a hot minute, thinking back to the most recent time I spotted this stalker. "I'm not sure. I guess about—fifteen feet maybe. I don't know. He was oddly close the last time I saw him."
"Gotcha," he responded. "Don't worry, sugar. I got you. And we have permission to carry our guns and stuff around, remember?"
One of my eyebrows hooked upward as my panic attack slowly disappeared. "When did we get a conceal-and-carry permit?"
"A long time ago, long before you came to the agency," he explained. "Since we technically work for the president, we have that permission. Our goal is to protect the States at all costs, and we can't exactly do that if we don't have our weapons with us. That's when the government issued us a conceal-and-carry permit, so we can jump into action at any given moment."
I nodded. "I see."
I looked around again to see if I could find the stalker. Turns out, I did. He was trying to play it off by looking at another artifact within the Beatles exhibit.
"God, Whiskey," I said. "I found him. I found the stalker."
"Where?" he questioned, looking around subtly.
"Over by John Lennon's white guitar," I said, "but please don't make it look like we know. That's gonna throw everything out of proportion."
He nodded, swallowing me up into his arms with a huge hug. While he did this, he looked around to see if he could find the person who's been stalking us. Not surprisingly, Whiskey found him almost instantly, despite it not looking like he did. He took my suggestion and wanted to keep our presence subtle, so that our cover wasn't exactly blown.
"I see him," Whiskey said slowly into my ear. "He does look oddly familiar."
We broke the hug at that moment. "I know, right? He looks familiar, but at the same time, he looks like he came from Poland," I said. "Come to think of it—he looks like the man we met so we could scope out information on Balor."
"Our confidante?" Whiskey asked.
I nodded. "Yep."
"Don't worry, sugar," he said. "I gotchu. I'm gonna keep you safe. Just let me know when hell freezes over or something like that."
Even though I felt comfortable in Whiskey's presence, there was still a part of me that was deathly afraid. Afraid that something terrible was going to happen. I guess I've been having that feeling ever since I graduated college. It's what you get when you get a job within the criminal justice field. Despite it being so stressful, I'm glad I'm a part of it. It's so rewarding yet exciting and stressful at the same time.
Unfortunately, one of those stressful moments came into play.
Whilst I was calming down with Whiskey, I noticed that there were several men—all of them looking like evil henchmen—bolting toward us. And guess who was at the head of the pack? Our stalker!
"Whiskey!" I said. "Shit's hitting the fan!"
He looked up and saw the crowd of henchmen bolting toward us. "Shit," he exclaimed. "Run!"
Whiskey grabbed me firmly by the wrist, dragging me along as we tried to escape. Who the hell were these people working for? If they worked for Balor, how did they even find us? Then again, it's a mystery that I can solve another time. Right now, my main goal was to escape with Whiskey successfully unscathed.
In the midst of the chaos, Whiskey let go of my wrist and bolted ahead of me, becoming confident that I could keep up easily. It was a lot to get through—the exhibits, the crowds, everything—but somehow, I kept up with Whiskey pretty easily. Except...I ended up getting hindered by a large crowd of children who were on a field trip. That put me about ten seconds behind Whiskey, and it also gave the henchmen some time to catch up. But I didn't let them catch me.
Whiskey was somehow already in the truck when I finally made it out, which gave him time to start it up.
"Come on, sugar! Hurry up!" he shouted, as I ran as fast as my legs could carry me.
I luckily managed to get into the truck with a little time to spare, as Whiskey drove off just before the henchmen could catch me. It was a harrowing experience, but it's a mystery that Whiskey and I could solve later.
"How did they even find us?" Whiskey asked as he kept his vision on the road ahead. He was also especially careful to keep an eye out just in case the henchmen were following us.
"I don't know," I answered. "It was like they appeared out of nowhere. Like someone ratted us out or some shit."
He clicked his tongue as he tried to come up with a logical explanation. Turns out, there were none. None that we could think of on the top of our heads. "We'll figure it out soon," he said. "As soon as we manage to lose these guys successfully and get back to the hotel."
Luckily, they never found us. Whiskey and I had already disabled anything that would keep track of our location, so we were basically incognito. Since we were spies, we had to be incognito. We were on the run from Balor for Christ's sake! If we weren't incognito, then we would already be dead.
Once Whiskey and I got back to our hotel room, we immediately became shut-in. We locked the door, covered the peephole and the crack underneath the door, and closed all the curtains in the suite. After what happened at the museum, we had to be extra cautious going forward. We had to be extremely cautious until we could get out of here...and that was until Monday.
"Now, look at the shithole we're in," I pointed out to Whiskey. "I knew this would happen. I knew it! Balor's onto us, I could tell."
"You really think that this was Balor's doing?" Whiskey asked.
I nodded. "I have a gut feeling that it might be."
"Well, let's try and figure it out," he said. "You start scoping out any information about Balor and what he's done on some sort of computer, and I'll scope out any news outlets on the television."
"Got it!" I said. "I'm great at sleuthing!"
I then dug up my laptop and immediately got to work, scouring the internet to see what I could find. There's bound to be something out there that Balor was the cause of. I just needed to find it. So far, I have had nothing useful found.
"Anything useful yet, sugar?" Whiskey asked.
"No. Haven't found anything," I answered. "Haven't even found any news articles yet."
Whiskey scrolled through the different channels to see if he could find anything that even had the slightest hint of Balor. "Try using that software you got and track his location. See if he's anywhere close."
Like Whiskey suggested, I pulled up the software I had that tracked Balor's thermal energy via satellite. Whiskey was right. We had to see if he was anywhere close to where we were at, then we could go from there.
"Got him!" I exclaimed.
Whiskey came over and looked at my laptop from over my shoulder. "What do you got?"
"According to his thermal energy, he's somewhere in Spain," I said, "and judging by the area in which he's in, it sure looks like he's trying to comb through Barcelona."
"So we have time before he gets to us," he said.
I nodded. "For sure. As long as he isn't in Cleveland's city limits before noon on Monday, we should be fine."
"Can you see if you can find anything regarding his henchmen?" Whiskey asked.
I sighed. "It'll be a bitch, but I can try."
"I'll keep looking on any news outlets and see what I can find," he said, going back to the television where he was previously at.
It wasn't long before Whiskey managed to find something on the television that sparked both of our interests. "Sugar, you gotta look at this."
I joined him in front of the television. "Is it a breaking news report?"
"Yeah," he said, "and I want to see if this has anything to do with Balor.
Turns out, Whiskey's hunch was right. It was about Balor. We had it confirmed as the reporter broke the news to several viewers watching.
"We have some breaking news to report, coming from Barcelona in Spain," the reporter said. "A tragic event is unfolding there. An international terrorist has unleashed chaos in the middle of a crowded town square, which ended in the deaths of at least thirty people and many more injured."
"Good Lord," I said. "I'll scope out any news articles to see what the hell happened."
Whiskey stopped me before I could do that. "See if you can find the face of the person who did this and see what the hell they did to these people."
I quickly made my way back over to my laptop and dug up any information I could. My focus was entirely on this breaking news. Who did this? What the hell happened over there? It's a tragic situation that I have to make sense of, and I'll beat myself up if I don't know what really happened.
"Whiskey, I think I got it!" I said.
Again, he looked over my shoulder as I showed him what I managed to find. "Look here," I said. "Apparently, this guy used tear gas in a town square to distract all these people. And then, he shot the place up. Death toll's still rising, according to some of the articles I read."
"Did you manage to find a face?" he asked.
I pulled up an image almost immediately after he said that. It was the same image from a news website, but I used some software to enhance it and trace its features back to who the person may be.
"Here you are," I said, pulling up the image. "I have a feeling that this is who we think it may be."
"How can you tell it's him?" he asked.
I showed Whiskey some of the features that the software found. "Well, if we look carefully at these facial features and maybe enhance them a bit, we can finally trace them exactly back to—Balor!"
"So Balor's the one who carried out this attack?" he asked.
I nodded. "Unfortunately, it looks that way. But why would he do somethin' like this, Whiskey?"
"To try and light a fire under our asses," he answered. "He wants to do everything he can to draw us out of hiding, and he thinks that committing terrorist attacks like these are a good way to get us fired up."
"Well, we ain't comin' out of hiding just for that," I remarked. "He's gonna have to do a lot more than that to get us fired up."
Whiskey patted me on the shoulder to show that I did a good job. "That's right. See? You got a level head. You're gonna need that once we get closer to the fight."
He was right. Keeping a level head can go a long way in this struggle against Balor. He's an evil terrorist who's known to do anything in order to get his way, even if it means taking things to a psychological level. If all we do is keep a level head and not get too rash when it's not needed, then we should be absolutely fine.