64 Hours

43 h0urs

~the forty-third hour~

"The earth has music for those who listen." -Shakespeare.

I walked out of the police station with the suited man in silence.

As soon as I stepped through the exit I was unsure of where to go. Rich man here beside me put a gentle hand on my shoulder and pointed to a car. As soon as his hand came in contact with my shoulder injury I flinched. 

He looked at me as if I had blasphemed, but said nothing. I didn't have the heart to tell this man that it was just the wound that made me jerk away, not his touch. Without waiting he swept past me to the direction of his car. 

Tentatively I followed him, which lead me to a stunning Bentley. The car stood out adequately from all the cheap cars in the parking lot of a police station. My eyes adjusted to the beaming shine of the black exterior and polished lights. As I stared at the resemblance of the intruder and the car, I couldn't help but notice that they both had the same stance and qualities. Poise, shine, and haught - in which I lacked all three. 

The rich man swung the driver's door open and stepped inside. Without hesitating I took the door to the back seats. 

"Come on, Adam, are you still a kid?" his voice was low and soothing, a chuckle rumbling in his throat. He reminded me of a tiger. 

I glowered at him and didn't reply. 

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." I watched him put the key into the ignition, and twist it around with a strong push. I imagined those hands enfolding around me and warping my throat. I visibly shuddered. 

As he reversed out of the parking and allowed the posh wheels to roll over the highway, I wondered where we would go. I had the urge to ask him, but I was afraid that if I opened my mouth, a bunch of clumsy questions would pour out of my mouth uncontrolled. 

I was sitting behind his seat, so that all I could see was the sleeves of his black suit. I leaned back onto the leather upholster, pressing my back against the chair. I wished that I could sink right through the leather and disappear out of sight, away from this man. For once I was glad of the only thing dividing us: the driver's seat. 

Every once in a while our eyes met awkwardly in the rear-view mirror. I would get an unwanted peak at his frosted-velvety eyes. They were impossible to read. The only piece of information I could snag from his daunted expression was exhaustion. Behind his well-structured face and deep eyes, I recognized circles around his eyes and wrinkles accompanying them. I didn't feel an ounce of pity for him. 

I averted my gaze to the window, still trying to recover from the shocking yet sublime encounter I just had with him. After so many years, this was the worst way to meet. 

After fifteen minutes we pulled over at a coffee shop. But not just any coffee shop - it was Gloria Jean's, where I worked at, and the exact same branch. It wasn't a coincidence. 

Rich man got out of the car and slammed the door shut. I sat stiffly at the back for a few seconds, absorbing in the silence, then got out. 

I followed his confident stride into my workplace. I felt very uncomfortable going there, since I missed two days of work and never told Janice, who would surely choke in me the few coming minutes. But I still didn't say anything. 

Reece was there at the counter himself, looking very flustered and tired. With the wedding coming up, he was sure to experience tough times getting ready for it. As soon as the suited man entered he looked surprised to see such a highly-dressed man come in. "Hello, how can I-"