Wow, it's been three days without a post... I should probably explain, maybe, sorta... Tuesday was a very special day so I officially gave myself the day off from everything. Wednesday was, busy. I had a lecture, a job interview and then a rehearsal. Thursday, well, yesterday, was also busy... Had some stuff to sort out during the day and then had a standup gig in the evening... Busy busy busy, but it gave me time to think about this project and what I want to do with it. So, here we go, the as yet untitled detective story continues... I really do suck at titles...
Dexter ran through the hallways. He hopped up onto the couch for a better view out of the window and then ran through into the kitchen, skidding a little in excitement. "Damnit Dexter! Get down! You know this is people food..." Ryan smirked and crouched by his English Sheepdog, ruffling the giant hound's hair and brushing it from its eyes. Dexter gave a short, commanding bark and pawed Ryan to the floor then moved to sit upon his chest "C'mon Dex, I can't breath! You're too heavy." Ryan rolled the dog off of him and stood, dusting himself off, returning to his pan of pasta, turning the flame down before the water boiled over. He sighed and looked to the clock, then out of the window. Raining. What was it about January that meant rain? He shook his head and looked back to the clock. Five fifteen; she'd call soon. She always called at twenty three minutes past five to say that she'd be later home, to save her some dinner and to let Dexter out... He started to prepare the sauce for his pasta. Five twenty seven. No call. Ryan glanced to the phone. Dexter sat, panting upon the cold, tiled floor.
Five Thirty, the phone rang. "Hello?" It wasn't her voice. "Ryan, it has been long time." Ryan paused and looked to the mantlepiece, at the photo framed there. It was him, some years younger, but not much. That same messy chestnut hair framed his face and hung around his grey eyes. With him was a girl. Why hadn't she phoned? Then there was another man, taller and of a heavier build. No, heavier was the wrong word... Stronger was more apt. "Niki?" He smiled. It had been four years since that time in Paris. "Niki, what time is it over there?" Nikolai's thick accent was even more apparent over the phone. "It is, half past eight... And you? Your time, it is, only five in Mankester?" He always did struggle with the 'ch', and it always made Ryan smile.
"Nik, I'm not gonna lie, I'm waiting for a call. Could I ring you back in li-" "No! I must speak to you. I have a case. I need you. I think you are only able to help with this... You must meet me. I fly tomorrow. I can't say more now. I think they have Chris..." The line went dead. Ryan dropped the receiver and stared at the wall. It was odd how, in this moment of shock, he noticed the slight patch of damp developing behind the radiator. He noticed the cobweb in the corner of the room. He heard police sirens and saw their flashing lights breaking in through his window, reflecting off his mirror. He saw himself in the mirror. He saw that picture on the mantlepiece... It all seemed so insignificant right now, so... Inconsequential. Chris had been taken by, by, whoever this was. But, how did Nik know? What was going on in Moscow that could possibly effect over in Manchester? How could Chris be involved? All he could do was wait. Nikolai knew what he was doing, most of the time. Things would be fine, wouldn't they?
So there we have it. Remember that short one off I posted about a prisoner a while back? Decided to link that one into here too... Just something I've been toying around with, hope you enjoy it!
Adios for now,
Craiggy.
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