This is short, I know. I've been dealing with the migraine from hell. Seriously, this chapter was written and typed in the dark with my computer screen dimmed one notch from completely black. Anyways, it's not as bad as it was so I typed something up to get back into the swing of updating :)
Chapter 59 – Fragments (Samson Conrad POV) Pt. 4
Silas broke his arm once – heck more than once - by climbing this amazing tree that when we got to the top we thought we could see the whole wide world. We couldn't. But at age five it felt that way. When he fell from the tree I'm fairly certain that it had been maybe the twelfth or thirteenth time that he had fallen from the same exact tree. See while it grew tall some of the branches just couldn't hold our weight, so naturally, they'd break, we'd fall, get injured, and then a month later do it all over again.
Climbing that tree was no good for us.
But at age five, once the pain subsided, we were right back at it again until one time when I fell and instead of landing in a way to brace my fall, I ended up flipped over, my bouncing off a few sturdier branches. I was out for maybe three days. After that fall, Silas and I didn't climb our tree anymore. Sure we moved onto other activities that were just as dangerous but that last fall taught us a lesson.
Just because something is fun doesn't mean we need to do it and as I grew and matured, I knew more and could see this small lesson learned on a larger scale. I loved staying up late, the only one in the house awake at two or three in the morning. But then I'd be exhausted all day and my grades slipped. I loved watermelon and decided that it was it's very own food group consuming it until I made myself sick.
Now I knew that wanting something doesn't necessarily always mean that it is good for you.
Point in case? The man and woman standing in front of me had answer about Fatima. Yet everything inside me since we walked into this little live music bar was screaming to tuck Fatima under my arm, stash her in the truck, and get the hell out of Wisconsin as fast as we could without being pulled over by some hidden county sheriff or whatever.
With the lights glowing brighter I took a good look at the two people, beaming at Fatima like she was their savior. The woman, maybe just over five foot five inches, had chocolate colored skin, her eyes a light honey brown, dark brown hair curled down past her shoulders. The man standing just about six feet gazed at Fatima, his blue eyes shining.
"You know who I am? Who Dmitri is?" Fatima asks again.
The woman takes a step forward. I move closer to Fatima, ready to block access.
"Have you never heard of personal space?" Rafael blurts out looking between the woman and Fatima. Surprised I blink at his immediate uprising to defend Fatima. The woman, blinks, takes a step back and raises her hands out palms toward Fatima.
"Sorry, sorry," she says hurriedly, "I'm just – we're," she fingers the man, "We're excited to meet you," excitement clear in her voice and features.
"Again," another, older individual says coming up, a total silver fox, strong similarities with the man standing next to my Fatima like she was ready to drop to her knees and bow at her feet. "Excited to see you, again," the older man says, his blue eyes squinted, but still entranced by Fatima.
He's met Fatima? I ask myself just about the same time that Imogen and Luca share a look, and from the corner of his eye he glances my way.
Imogen frowns.
"You might want to introduce yourselves to our guests."
What the hell? I internally shake my head. I knew this was a bad idea.
I examined the older gentleman, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, the corners of his lips, everything. Trying to sift thru memories, hoping that I had possibly came across this supernatural – a Werejaguar like us.
While I couldn't place him or the two younger enthusiastic strangers in front of us, that was not as bad as the fact that Fatima couldn't recall most of her true childhood. She was getting new memories everyday, however there was so much missing, and if they knew Dmitri, could they know that it was safe to claim they had seen her before? Use that missing fragment of her life against her?
"Oh, oh," the girl bounces, apologizing. "Sorry, I'm Sunny James and this is Xan Phillips," she pointed.
"And I'm Davis Phillips – Xan's father," the older gentleman finished off, his eyes appraising Fatima.
"And you've met?" Imogen jumps in. Thankfully, she posed the question, not Fatima.
Davis nods, his salt and pepper hair glinting in the low light when hit just right.
"Yes, Fatima might not remember. A few of us came with Dmitri when she was being held in Colorado – we aided in Fatima's rescue."
"So you've known about me since I was a young girl?" Fatima asks tilting her head to the side, sizing up Davis, a small frown on her lips.
"Yes your Divineness." Oh. There's that word again. "We were Dmitri's accomplices, a few members of independent families Dmitri found and brought together." Independent? Like Fatima's belief in the Independents? Those Independents?
Those around us continue with their socializing and when Fatima brings her casted wrist out, Xan moves forward, concern flooding his features.
"You're injured," he says reaching forward, only stopping when Fatima pulls her hand away from his gaze. Trying to remain calm, needing to do that, I observe Davis' expressions, my eyes burning a hole into the side of his face. Watching as he observes Fatima and his son, a perplexed look on his face, until he glides his gaze to my arm, whipping his head in my direction.
Holding strong, I leave my arm where it is.
"We must get going," Fatima says dryly, slipping from the stool she was seated on. Sunny and Xan take a step backward putting space between them, their faces immediately sporting frowns.
"What? Why? You've only just arrived," Xan rushes out, Sunny nodding. "The rest would all love to meet you. Where is Dmitri?" Sunny asks.
"He had business elsewhere," Fatima says, before signaling the rest of us.
"He left you on your own?" Davis questions puzzled.
Fatima turns to face the older man. "Does it look like I am alone?" she challenges.
My heart nearly bursts with pride and awe.
"No, no," Davis relents, his eyes flicking from Luca to myself, "you aren't alone."
Fatima nods her head sharply once. "I'll let Dmitri know you would like to speak with him, although I'm sure he has plans to come this way himself," Fatima explains before she starts walking away, Luca and I flanking her.
Why did she lie about Dmitri? Why are they calling her Divineness? Are they the Independents Fatima foresaw? I wonder, though I immediately push all questions aside. Now was not the time to question her behavior. That question was now second fiddle to the bigger problem we had; would these people let us leave Lake Geneva without a fight?
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So... who can guess why Fatima is ready to get the hell out of there?