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“But Sarge—”
“Thanks, Eames,” he says dismissively, not taking his eyes off mine for a second.
“What do ya say, Xander. Why don’t we all head down to the station and have a coffee and a chat, eh?”
I know it’s not a threat, maybe just his instinct kicking in. But when I notice the old man’s hand resting on the butt of his pistol, just in case. I figure there’s no use making this any worse than it has to be.
I know I won’t be held anywhere for long, it’s Gillian I’m worried about.
I don’t want to be separated from her, not now, not ever. But if I make as big a stink as I feel like making right now, I’ll maybe never see her again.
“Sure Hank,” I tell him, smiling and playing along. I force myself to relax outwardly, but inside my gut is in a knot, and my mind is only screaming for one thing.
The one thing I know is mine and the only thing I’ve ever wanted.
Gillian.
I’m not surprised when she appears next to me, keeping her distance for appearance’s sake, and pretends to stifle a yawn, hobbling on her ankle, yowling, and wincing whenever she has to move.
“What’s going on?” she asks in a demanding tone, and not to me but to the senior officer.
She puts up about as much front as I have, but we both know if her dad gets in on this, we’ll have nothing but more trouble by comparison.
Within half an hour we’re at the medical center, some staff already waiting with a wheelchair for Gillian. Hank Stanton ordering me to stay put while he has a word with a doctor.
“Xander?” Gillian asks, sounding frightened. “What’s going on?”
I try to tell her with my eyes. But she’s too upset, too scared to get the full message.
“Just routine,” I hear my voice say. “Just do what they ask and I’ll make sure the house and dog are taken care of,” I tell her.
Still not sure which one of us is likely to be going anywhere soon.
Hank’s look seems to have hardened a little by the time he gets back in his car, but as we pull away he gives me another word to the wise.
“If there’s anything you wanna get off your chest, Xander. Now’s the time,” he says quietly.
“Yeah,” I tell him after thinking for a moment.
“You got a good pension plan?” I ask him.
“Hope so,” he replies quickly. “Should be getting it next year when I retire, all things going to plan.”
I nod slowly, thoughtful again.
Wondering if it’s worth making waves for Hank, or even Eames for that matter.
I’m already planning my revenge, I guess. Another new emotion for me.
To have the greatest treasure on earth, only to have her taken from me isn’t something I like. And I know from experience, the people I work for, well getting mixed up in their world often ends badly, no matter how well-intentioned people might be.
Gillian’s safe, I’ll see to that.
But Hank and anyone else who gets in our way?
Suddenly I’m not so sure. Depends where all this is going.
And worse than that. I almost like the feeling of a vengeful Xander.
A protective Xander is more likely. Protecting and watching over the ones I love.
I like the idea and can see more than just Gillian in that picture in my mind.
A family.
Hang on Gillian. Just hang on, I’m coming for you real soon.
Chapter Nine
Gillian
“Well this is the strangest thing I’ve seen for a while,” the doctor remarks, holding up x-ray after x-ray, and looking again at the ultrasound and even CT scans of my ankle.
My patience has worn thin, but I remember what Xander was trying to tell me before they took him away, more of a feeling rather than words.
I figure I’ll just play along, but really? It’s been hours now.
“Umm? I do have other things to do.” I remind the doctor, who wants to run even more tests, and that’s when I have to start refusing.
The memory of Xander being taken away, our time together this morning, not to mention that damned house to be cleaned and the dog found still.
I groan at the thought, a nurse asking if I need something for the pain.
“The only pain at the moment is in my ass,” I snap, finally having had enough of all this.
“I want out of here and I want all of your names too. You and the college will be hearing a lot more about this I can assure you,” I bluff. Noting the unsurprised staff blinking back, one even shrugs.
“We’re just making sure you’re okay,” the nurse reminds me, looking edgy when the doctor frowns at her.
“Alright, I guess you can go,” he huffs. “But are you absolutely certain you’ve never injured this ankle before yesterday?” he asks for the millionth time.
