Two Villains

Ch. 12- Kidnapping of The Damsel

"You should take the car that we have given it to you, Madame." 

Giuseppe requested me. The sky had grown dark; it was 9 p.m., and the scent of rain hung in the air. The wind tousled my untied hair, but I shook my head defiantly. I refused to be their captive or their pawn.

My palate was craving the taste of authentic French cuisine, and as a food connoisseur, it was my duty to satisfy it. I turned to Google in search of the best Blanquette de Veau, a quintessential French stew, paired with Gratin Dauphines. I had sampled gratin in London, but I'd long harbored a desire to taste it in France.

Following the directions on my Google map, I ventured into an alleyway where I was led to believe I would find these two dishes that were also compatible with my dietary restrictions. I spotted a restaurant with nearly four-star reviews, a mere 15-minute walk from my hotel. With Google Maps as my guide, I made my way there independently. The past 24 hours had been emotionally turbulent, leaving me unable to fully enjoy the usual excitement that bubbled within me when I explored a new country or tasted a novel dish.

As I settled into my seat at the restaurant, the heavens opened up outside, and rain poured down heavily. The ambiance in the restaurant felt like I was dining in a Van Gogh painting.

The soup, however, was disappointing. This was my first time trying the whitish Blanquette de Veau, and it did not meet my expectations. I couldn't help but regret spending 15 euros on this dish when I could have ordered something else in the comfort of my hotel room and enjoyed a warm meal in a bed that belonged to someone else.

Yep, that bed belonged to someone else. Yuck!

I momentarily pushed aside the thought that I was staying in someone else's bed and focused on eating. The gratin was absolutely delightful, oozing with cheese and gooey goodness, while the potatoes were soft and mushy. The soup had been a disappointment, but the gratin and the Basque chicken were perfection. I had initially been unsure about ordering the chicken, but the waiter had assured me that the portion was just right for one person, and it turned out to be a satisfying choice.

By the time I finished my dinner, it was well past 10 p.m. The rain had completely stopped, and a chilly breeze swept through the surroundings. A craving for something sweet, something chocolatey, took hold of me. Although the restaurant menu didn't offer any chocolate options, I ventured out in search of a chocolate crepe that could warm my heart. Stepping outside the hotel, I wrapped my leather jacket tightly around myself to ward off the cold.

After nearly half an hour of searching, I stumbled upon a minivan that served warm crepes with Nutella. I purchased one and enjoyed it immensely. However, as I finished, I suddenly realized that I had lost my bearings and couldn't remember the way back to the hotel. Panic set in when I opened my Google map and saw to my horror that I had nearly lost network connectivity..

A sinking feeling struck my heart with fear.

I glanced around, and the surroundings seemed to resemble a less reputable part of town, with many people on the streets.

"How do I get to Hotel Caelus?" I asked the van's cook. He merely shrugged his shoulders, clearly unaware of what I was referring to.

Shit, I couldn't ask anyone around here. They might assume I came from wealth and target me for robbery if I inquired about directions to Caelus.

I took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself, and urged my brain to work its magic, much like a skilled surgeon dealing with a complicated case on the operating table. My brain obliged, and I began to recollect the route I had taken to arrive here. I retraced my steps from my somewhat hazy memory.