Thirty Nine Minutes (COMPLETE)

Chapter Eighteen: I Don't Speak French

The storeroom was cold, and smelled of engine oil. Helen shivered under a piece of canvas she'd dug out from between two boxes.

When they'd finally relieved her of the hood, she could tell they were at sea, and could be just about anywhere in the world by now. She'd shouted until her throat was hoarse, and banged on the locked door until her fist bled. Neither of which was answered.

And so she had found somewhere to sit, and sat; she hoped emulating a meditative state would inspire her to think of a plan, but so far all she'd achieved was a numb leg. Her mind kept wandering to Craig, and where he might be. The last time she heard him he was screaming about a professor, presumably the man that raised him: Hines. The merman's naivete that any professor would be his missing father would almost be charming if they both weren't stuck on a strange and possible foreign boat.

She had studied every corner of the small storeroom. Gray, concrete walls surrounded a grey, concrete floor, decorated only by sturdy and cold wooden boxes or sheets of corrugated iron stacked against the far wall. The only color that could be found was in the form of the dusty yellowing light that swung to and fro with the swaying boat.

The door's lock jiggled with a key inserting into the lock. Helen's ears pricked, her entire body tensing at the noise. The door was heavy, and as it was pushed open, she heard someone grunting in exertion. Helen instinctively pulled the canvas around her as a makeshift shield.

The dark haired woman stepped in, her short bangs now fell over her forehead rather than being swept back like before, and her face seemed softer, even gentler. Helen regarded her warily.

"You are Helen, yes? My name is Odette."

"Where is Craig?" Helen's tone was clipped.

"Oh, the fish boy? Not to worry. He is safe."

Helen didn't say anything, only glared at her.

"I know you don't trust us. Is okay. I didn't expect you to."

"Tell me where Craig is."

"Once the professor gets here, I tell you then. You hungry?"

"Where's Craig?"

Odette left, dragging the heavy door shut once again and leaving Helen in the dreary silence. The wall definitely was colder as she leaned back against it. It was clear she wasn't getting any information out just by asking: she'd have to wait it out, however long that might take."

*****

Something woke her from her turbulent sleep, bringing her back to the unpleasant nausea she'd tried to forget about by sleeping it off. It was Ichmaël prodding her shoulder, big blue eyes looking at her like she was some kind of curiosity. 

"Get off!" She batted his finger away as she sat up. "How long are you gonna keep me here anyway? Where are you even taking me?"

A sliver of panic and embarrassment flickered across his features, and he stammered. "I, uh, I not speak much English. Come? See, see le poisson. Uhhhhh…" He rotated his hands, looking for the right word. "Uh, le fish? Fish...garçon - ah, boy. Fish boy." He mimicked a swimming fin with one hand.

Helen didn't speak a word of French, except maybe 'hello' and that one phrase from the song in Moulin Rouge. Ichmaël didn't seem as menacing as before, and his big features just looked kind of gentle. Perhaps she just needed a bit of comfort, and her mind was desperate for a friend. She nodded and he grinned, standing up to his towering height and offering an outstretched hand, which Helen took. His warmth, despite her mood, was very welcomed.

*****

The small tank he was being held in was hardly accommodating for him, and Craig's tail could barely outstretch fully. Helen walked around the iron door and saw him sitting, scrunched up in a corner of the tiny space. He leaned over his tail, listlessly stroking the skin up and down.

Upon seeing her though, his eyes seemed to glow and he pressed his hands against the glass, grinning from ear to ear. Helen, he mouthed, looking her up and down. He didn't seem hurt or upset at least. Sitting beside him was Odette, looking over some paperwork on a clipboard.

"Craig." Helen walked to the glass and pressed her hand against his, only a small barrier between them. She looked at Odette and back at Craig, relishing that warm sparkle that lit up her guts as they smiled at each other. "Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

Odette merely sighed, only adding to Helen's frustration. "What is the word...So, uh, eager. Very eager."

Helen turned and glared at her. "Well, can you blame me? You march me onto a ship, you don't tell me a single thing and now you're apparently holding us both prisoner! So forgive me, Miss, for being ever so slightly eager."

She heard noises from the tank, and Craig was at the surface, gently hitting the glass with the side of his fist; not in a desperate way but just to grab someone's attention. His lips were moving, but it was too muffled to hear him. "For the love of all that is holy," said Helen, "would someone just tell me what is going on?"

"The professor is on her way. She's old. Sick. But she'll be here soon." She grabbed a wrapped flapjack and offered it to her, but Helen shook her head and pointed to Craig.

"Feed him. He's starving."

"How do you know?" asked Odette.

"Just look at him! Look how he's looking at your food!"

"Professor said not to feed the fish until she arrive."

"Oh for crying out…" Helen slumped onto the chair beside Odette. "How long until she gets here then?"

Odette shrugged and went back to looking at the paperwork and chewing on a sandwich as Ichmaël busied himself over in the far corner, moving boxes around or some such nonsense.

****

It was another hour of awkward silence before the professor finally showed up. Helen had spent her time sitting by the tank, next to Craig as he sat too, beside her but not touching her. They couldn't speak, and so instead had elected to Craig shaking or nodding his head at messages Helen kept sending to him by breathing onto the tank and writing in the condensation; which was a lot easier said than done.

The heavy iron door groaned open, and Helen looked up, as did Craig. A familiar face entered, flanking a woman whose cane tap tap tapped the metal floor. She wasn't hunched or bent, but her posture was awkward. Neil stood beside her, his own back as straight as an arrow. Helen didn't move.

"Sorry about all this," said Neil as he took a step forward towards the two of them. Craig seemed very tense, and was pressing both hands against his prison as he watched. "This is my mother, professor Fleur Cole. She was a colleague of the man who raised Craig."

"Hines," said Helen. Fleur nodded, whilst Neil quirked a brow.

"How the hell did you know that?"

Helen gestured with her head over to Craig, who still hadn't been given the benefit of listening to the conversation. He could only watch as these people discussed him like he wasn't even there.