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“Ack!” Walter exclaimed as dropped his pen along a stack of paperwork. Ink splattered along the pages as it rolled and skidded onto the edge of his desk. He shook his hand, then brought it to his lips and sucked along his index finger. She was cooking again, he thought as he drew the hand away to observe an angry red welt developing within the meat of the finger. It stung like hot acid.
Eyes wandering down, he observed the dark blot along the pages of a lesson plan he’d been reviewing. Several complaints from parents had forced him to investigate one “Mr. Needham” of Biology and his lackluster methods of teaching. Bribing children with free A’s in exchange for bringing him lunch didn’t exactly live up to the school’s standard of excellence in education. Interviews with students and an impromptu class observation were in order, as was a stiff conversation with his employee, but not before he took a hearty look at how the class itself was conducted, and whether or not the students were on schedule. Thus, the demand for this week’s lesson plan which Mr. Needham had reluctantly surrendered before turning in for the night.
Typically, he only reviewed the plans of newer faculty members, a habit he had inherited from the previous command. The senior members of their staff surely knew what they were doing by now...or not, given what he had read. It was no wonder that the man had been cagey: the class was alarmingly behind schedule. They should have been far past mitosis by now. The blot on the page was deserved, and perhaps even served as an improvement to the utter disaster that lay before him, which failed to be any sort of “lesson” or “plan” at all.
In any case, a potential new hire was on the horizon. One who could better meet the institution’s expectations, or rather, his expectation, to not be bothered with extra paperwork, therefore allowing his attentions to shift back to what really mattered: world domination. Well, at least enough of it to secure his race’s sustainability. Power meant security, and as it was, it felt like he was still waiting in line for the guillotine.
Another sting had him hissing, and he tugged his sleeve up to glare at a second blister blossoming below his wrist. Whatever she was attempting to do, it wasn’t going well. He dug into his pocket for his phone, pulled up the familiar picture of Barbara smiling in her lab-coat, otoscope in hand, and dialed. Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his hair.
“Hey, Walt,” Her tired voice drifted through the receiver. “Still up, I see.”
“Did I wake you?” He asked, knowing he hadn’t.
“Oh no, no,” the sound of a utensil being set down came through the line. “I couldn’t sleep. Jim isn’t home yet. No word from him. I'm trying to make dinner just to calm my nerves. I don’t want to get him in trouble again, but if he doesn’t text soon, I’ll call the police.”
“He’ll turn up, I have no doubt.” The office chair creaked as he sat back. “Would you like some company while you’re waiting?” What possessed him to offer, he couldn’t know. He didn’t have the time. There was the teacher to review, and a meeting with Otto later...
“God yes,” she said before he could think further. The relief in her voice halted his heart. “You have no idea how much I want that right now.”
“I’ll be there in half-a-heartbeat.”
“I’ll watch out for you. Be safe.”
“Of course.” He said, and hung up the phone. The warmth that spread at her concern over him was something he’d never get used to. That she cared for his safety, even during something as trivial as a ride to her house, lent him a sense of security he’d never had. Changelings looked after themselves. They were never looked out for...not until now.
Unruly employees forgotten, he joyfully grabbed his keys and hummed to the tunes of his car radio the entire way there. No more burns occurred along the way (thank the stars), though that little quirk of hers never failed to rouse a smile. Barbara Lake was a very capable human being: she could do anything, he reasoned, anything at all.
...as long as it didn’t involve cooking.
He supposed the oddly notable Percy Spencer deserved a nod for keeping her intact during the years prior to their meeting, as did the equally as commendable James Lake. Jr, chef amateur. How he was going to get out of killing the boy remained a vexation. Somehow, that crystal-eyed troublemaker had wormed his way right into the rugous organ beating within Walter’s sternum. The addition of Barbara had only heightened the effect, intensifying the occurrence paternal affection, which was rather an infection at this point. Something his kind had been inoculated against, unsuccessfully as it turned out. Now he had love for two things, neither of them being the former primary: himself. It wasn’t the way of the half-breed to look out for others, yet here he stood like a suricate.
A suricate with surrogates. Good gravy.
“I’m sorry about the smell,” she said when she ushered him into the doorway upon arrival. “My meat loaf is now a meat brick.”
“Quite alright, Doctor,” he followed her into the kitchen, taking a moment to admire the skirt and blouse she wore beneath her lab-coat -- the former dark red and patterned with flowers; the latter a creamy white.
“Not really.” she shuffled out of the coat, as though just having realized that she was still wearing it. “God, I keep getting distracted with these phone calls from the hospital! Either I’m on call for a patient, one of my colleagues wants to ask for my opinion, or I’m getting called to cover someone’s shift…I barely have time for my child. And what's more, I can’t even make him a proper dinner as compensation.” She shook her head and placed a hand along her temple. “I know I need to cut back. I just feel like every time I try, I end up working more.”
Granting a pause for sympathy, he stepped forward and pulled her in from behind “You’ll get there, Barbara,” he murmured into her ear, planting a kiss on her cheek. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. In the meantime, we’ll remake the dinner.”
A hand brushed across her midriff. She caught it, closed her eyes, and leaned back. “Mmm,” she hummed as he swayed her back and forth.
“No scrubs today?” He nipped along the ridge of her jaw.
“I had to present at that EM conference today so”, she gestured to her uniform, which he admired over her shoulder, “half-doctor, half scholar. I worked the floor a little on my lunch break, but then it was back to the conference, so that’s all the action I got.”
“Oh, you want more action, do you?” the swaying became more dramatic, prompting her chortle. He could almost feel the worries melting away from her muscles with each swing of his hips. “I forgot that was today. No doubt you served as a beacon of enlightenment to the field of emergency medicine.” he heart her snort. “Did you get to eat during this busy lunch?”
“Jeanie made me eat the crackers that came with her salad, and I did manage to snag packet of apple juice from a meal tray.”
The impish smile he wore continued as he nuzzled his nose behind her ear, inhaling peonies. A strange comfort flushed over him, one he consistently forgot to expect. “You need more doctoring than that, Doctor.”
“She's learned not to mess with me when I’m on a mission. I was working a severe case of hypotension with abdominal pain. It took us a while to figure out the cause. Ordered some labs: pregnant. Ordered an ultrasound: ectopic pregnancy. It’s where the fetus grows outside of the womb. She was transferred to Obstetrics and Gynecology. They’ll have to...end the pregnancy with surgery and stop the bleeding. It’s not a situation where the baby would have survived anyways, but it was still sad. Luckily,” she shrugged it off, as a doctor must, “we caught it early, and the patient wasn’t all that upset. Apparently the father was out of the picture and the current boyfriend would leave her if she ever got any stretch marks. I wanted to tell her that that guy is a schmuck,” she inhaled as his hands slithered down her abdomen, where indeed she had such areas of postpartum scarring, which stretched (elegantly, in his opinion) in faint strands like lightning towards her navel, “and that she should find someone better, but they don’t pay me to dole out my personal opinion. Let’s face it, we all care a little bit about what other people think of our bodies, even if we shouldn’t, but those ‘other people’ can make it a lot easier for us to to accept ourselves if they have the right attitude.”
“Well said. So you’re not going to leave me if someone turns me back into a frog?”
“On the bright side, we’d never have to use lube again.”
He laughed openly at that. Of course, being turned back into a troll forever would present quite the opposite situation, but that was no matter, because it was never going to happen-- not on his watch. As they continued their small dance, the ensuing silence warmed him like a fire. He watched her lashes close behind modest lids, and considered just how barb-like Barbara was. He was a moth to her fiery light, decidedly hooked, and it seemed, now, impossible to rend her away from the fabric of his life--not without considerable struggle and pain. If he was worried or sad over the thought, it didn’t last long. Soon enough, she countered his lulling pattern, hips rocking back in a not-so-subtle way against him.
A chuckle behind a muffled voice. “You like this?” Curious lips launched an exploration of her clavicle.
The doctor’s head tilted back to expose parted lips. “I like you," her eyes grew soft, and she met him the rest of the way in a backwards kiss. When they broke away, his breath fluttered. He felt the urge to change.
“I suppose” He said, forcing himself to focus, “that we should prepare your son’s dinner before engaging in other appetites.”
A soft laugh. “I suppose.”
Peering over her shoulder, he watched the bump of his hand rise up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, lips smoothing along the milky slope of an ear.
“How about tacos?” He ran his nose along her neckline, causing goosebumps. “We can salvage some of the meat within the center of the loaf. Add a few spices...”
Blue eyes fluttered. “Oh, I’m feeling spices.”
“And of course,” he kissed her jaw, “the natural sweetness of the meatloaf will add an intriguing touch.”
“Very intriguing,” her eyebrows rose.
His throat bobbed in laughter. “And perhaps I could offer the lady some strawberries for dessert."
She turned around within his grasp, eyes lidded as she wrapped her arms around his neck, and wiggled her nose against his in clear affection. He sucked in a breath when her fingers toyed with the nape of his neck. “You should know that I always stole the cookies in the jar before dinner when I was a girl.” Pink lips brushed his. Her tongue darted out. “I don’t see why I can’t at least lick the batter as we go along.”
He was beet red by the time she finished kissing him, and more than ready to skip past the main course, but patience was his forte.
“Lick all you like, love,” he nipped at her cherubic lips, and then lifted a pan with a smirk.
***
Gently guiding her hands with his own from behind, they chopped vegetables, rolled out flour tortillas, made scratch salsa, and eventually carved most of their way into a meal, both of them reveling in the excuse small moments gave to linger closer.
He clutched a hand to her stomach as he reached for the cayenne, inciting another round of giggles.
“What? Don’t fancy being used as leverage?” He wished it were entirely a joke.
“Leverage for what? Making things spicier?” She watched him heft a few shakes into the pan of browning meat, then sneezed when the excess reached her nostrils. “I’ll volunteer anytime.”
“Gesundheit. You have a burn?” He lifted her hand, using it to hide his own enchantment-induced welt.
“I'm fine. You know,” she leaned back against him, “Jim looked up this herbal remedy one time when he was sick with pneumonia. He must have been nine at the time. I had him bundled up on the couch watching cartoons when he asked me to open up the microwave. As soon as I did I got this wave of apple cider vinegar and this stuff to the face.” she pointed to the bottle of cayenne. “Talk about clearing your sinuses. It had some other things in it: lemon juice, honey, ginger...I think he even had garlic and peppermint there. The smell was atrocious. I looked at the recipe he’d pulled up and the kid had definitely added a few things. The website called it a ‘cold tonic’ but he insisted on calling his version of it ‘Satan’s Cider.’” She paused as he chuckled. “I was worried that he was going to get a stomach ache, but he insisted that he needed to drink the whole thing. He was so congested that I let him. Oddly enough, it helped him get to sleep. God, I stayed up all night just watching him breathe, making sure his chest was still rising up and down. As a doctor, I knew that he was going to be alright, but as a mother, I was panicking.”
“It’s always harder when it’s your own child.” Or one’s own student, as it were, he thought. At this point, he was fretting almost as much as she was over Jim’s condition. Perhaps it was the bond, or perhaps he really had become that sentimental.
“Yeah,” she said, spinning around to face him. “Never gets easier, but it does help to have someone around...”
“Glad I could be of service.”
“Hmm,” she toyed with the nape of his neck, then placed a hand beneath his chin, gently tugging him closer. “I’m not done with you yet.”
“Trying to steal a few more cookies from the jar before bed, I see.” His mouth brushed hers.
“Oh, that jar’s gonna be empty.”
He could feel a certain warmth spreading through their bond. “Tisk, tisk. You never had your dinner.”
“I think we’ve both taste-tested our way through most of a meal. C’mon, you never eat your cake before your capers in Great Britain? The food needs to cool anyways, and we could both use the relief.” Lithe fingers traced the leather belt along his waistline. “I can tell you’re more stressed than you’re letting on.” She poked him in the ribs. He placed a hand over the mock-wound. “Even beyond firing Mr. Needle.”
”Needham. And my trials are trivial by comparison.”
“I don’t believe that."
“You wouldn’t believe it, no,” he said, facetious. “But if its dessert you want, then dessert I shall provide.” One long hand hooked beneath her leg and lifted, while the other squeezed her waist. He bent low to claim her lips, smoothing any remaining anxieties away with his cayenne-laden kisses. His touch traveled up and down her leg, relishing the way her calved draped down into a pencil thin ankle. She, too, launched into a frenzy, hands clawing up and down his back and over his hips.
“Ahh,” she hissed at a particularly amorous attack as he bit into the curve of her neck. “We left the milk out.”
When her free leg gave out, he caught her, picked her up, grabbed and put away the milk, kicked the refrigerator door closed, and kissed her every step of the way up the staircase and into her bedroom. That door too, he kicked closed.
What followed was bliss.
***
An hour later, he remained clothed, despite her attempts to disrobe him. Working around the zippers and buttons had been...interesting, if not somewhat humorous, and was the safest option by far given the threat of the Trollhunter’s return. The only things that hadn’t made it into her bed were his shoes and jacket, which had both been tossed haphazardly onto the floor near the entryway.
He felt empty, sated, cleansed.
And irrevocably in love.
Barbara, patron saint of stonemasons, of geologists, of architects and miners...she was appropriately named. She had identified his substance, reshaped it, made him into something others could admire, and the effects ran deep. Far deeper than his human guise.
Shirt still untucked, he stretched and traced his fingers down her arm. Spooned around her as he was, he could feel her dream-laden heartbeat beneath his chest. Barbara had managed her way into a nightgown, the straps of which seemed to continuously migrate down her bony shoulder, inciting both amusement and pride as he righted the string, and then kissed the skin where it had fallen. Once again it fell, and as he lifted his lips away, his green eyes wandered over her neck. He could see the indents along her clavicle where he had bitten too hard, the deepest among them highlighting a particularly defining moment within in the course of their lovemaking.
He could still see her, feel her, hear her cresting above him, both of them desperate to find relief from the trials of the day.
“Will you stay?” she’d whispered, out of breath against him.
Of course he would.
She slept through every press of his lips, unassuming lashes clasped tight with the weight of dreams. Unconsciously, she pressed into him, seeking warmth against the chill that had settled into the night-stricken household. Every inch of his long life with its elaborate schemes and exponential worries seemed to freeze in the face of this little moment. Green eyes closed with relief.
Sleep partially found him. Often, the ease he felt in the waking world was ripped away in the land of dreams. Tonight was no different. Angor, Bular, and Gunmar sifted in and out of his horror-riddled slumber, followed by running. It was a long time before he realized he was not himself, but her.
She was running, through a forest. Always with these deep, sick-with-worry, dark forests. (What on earth? Why wasn’t he himself?) She could feel her dress, a maiden’s dress, dragging behind her on the muddy ground, and her long hair catching against thorns and branches.
(Distantly, he thought he heard a voice: “Wow, tacos! These are great, Mom!”)
“Mommy?” she heard her child’s voice from within the branchy shadows.
“Jim? Sweetie, where are you?” Her eyes bolted around, finally spotting her mark toddling towards her through the thicket. “Jim! Honey, stay there, I’m coming!”
“Mommy!” A great, black horn rammed through the child’s gut. Blood spattered against the dress.
Barbara bolted up, screaming, heart racing as the wetness of tears streamed down her face.
Dear god, his dreams had filtered into hers.
Immediately, his hands were on her, surrounding her, hushes and whispers streaming into her ears. “Shh, shh, it’s alright.” He soothed. “It was just a dream."
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said frantically, covering her face with her hands as he rocked her. “I don’t know why this keeps happening. I thought it might be hormones...menopause or something, but nothing shows on the tests.”
Strickler shrank with guilt.
“You’re going through a lot right now. It’s hardly abnorm-”
Thundering resounded up the stairs. “Mom? I heard you screaming, are you alright?” The door rattled. “Mom? Mom! Agh!" Crystal eyes met stormy blue, and then green. All sets were fixed in horror.
“Get off of her!” Jim shouted. Suddenly, all one-hundred-and-something pounds of stringy teenager were upon him.
“Jim!” Barbara shouted. “It was just a nightmare! He didn’t do anything!”
But Jim only shouted, tackling Walter onto the ground in an ungraceful clump.
The changeling yelped as the world spun in a circle until his head slammed hard against wood. Barbara’s gasp of pain was indistinguishable from that of shock. Jim clearly mistook it for the latter. The boy straddled him, icy gaze turning crimson with veins of rage. Walter noticed that he had a smudge of sour cream on his face before the teenagers fist drew back. a coiled snake preparing to strike, and although Walter had already mapped how best to parry and disarm the child, he heard a bleating “James!” from Barbara’s throat.
Jim’s gaze widened. He looked up to his mother, who had one foot flung over the bed in an attempt to reach them, and closed his eyes. Strands of dark hair fell across his forehead. “AAAGGGHH!” He punched the mattress, stood up, and paced toward the window.
Walter reached for her hand, brushed himself off, and cleared his throat. “I’m fine," he responded to her hushed inquiries, "no harm done.” Squaring his shoulders, he tugged at his jumper.
“Jim, you need to apologize to Walter, right now.”
“He doesn’t care about you like you think he does, Mom.” Jim rubbed his arm across his face, eliminating the sour cream. “He’s the reason you’re having nightmares.”
“No, this behavior of yours is the reason.” She growled. “I didn’t even know if you were coming home tonight! I was beside myself!”
“This guy,” he pointed at a wide-eyed Walter, “Is not looking out for your best interest.”
“That’s not true, Jim.” Walter locked his jaw, gaze sharpening. He cared. He cared far too much.
“You, don’t get to talk.”
“Hey,” Barbara snapped her fingers, “you don’t make the calls around here. Walt is only trying to help. He’s been trying to help since you got yourself arrested. I know you’re having trouble transitioning, but you can’t displace all of the blame onto him. You need to do the responsible thing and own up to your behavior. We can’t make progress if you’re not willing to recognize that you are part of the reason things have been so strained in our family lately." A heavy breath filled the air. "I know that I’ve contributed as well. I could have done a better job communicating with you about Walter, and I apologize for that. I’ve tried to distance my life with him from the household, and have been working on a way to more gradually introduce him into your life, but things are going to overlap like this sometimes, sweetie. I was worried about you, and I didn’t want to worry alone. Short of calling the police again, I didn’t know who else to go to.“
Walter’s eyes flitted down and away from Jim’s glare.
“You don’t understand what’s going on.” Jim pleaded.
“Then tell me, Honey,” she scooted over the bed, making to stand. “We can speak in private, if you want. I’ll sent Walt home. Let’s just talk this out.”
“No, we’re not discussing it. This isn’t some medical diagnosis, Mom. You’re not going to be able to figure out the symptoms and treat the cause.” he shrugged her hand off of his shoulder. “Ugh, I can’t stay here tonight. I’m gonna go pack my things.”
“Jim?” She reached for him, trying to stop him with her voice as he walked toward the door. “Jim!”
“Atlas, please.” Walter stood, but Jim kept walking.
Barbara covered her mouth with one hand as the door slammed in the hallway.
“Jesus, Walt. I’m sorry.” She shook her head, eyes watering with guilt.
“Please, love.” A hand steadied her shoulder as he sat back down on the bed. “This is my doing.”
He felt a hand smooth a cross his chest. “How is this even remotely your fault?”
“It’s my presence he’s upset by. I certainly could have done more smooth things out between us. I regret not doing so.” He found himself, oddly, not lying to her again. “Let me speak with him. I can at least attempt to mend the night, perhaps convince him to stay.“
“No,” she grasped his hand, tugging him back as he tried to rise. “Talking to him might make things worse, and if anything, it should be me. He doesn’t trust you.“
A pause fell between them; he smiled wearily. “I think, one day, if I am to earn his trust, I must try now.” His hand brushed over hers. “Jim may not want to hear me, but I was once his mentor. I never led him astray before, and I’ve always kept my word, even if it is the word of a scoundrel...” he trailed off. “I have to believe that a part of him is still willing to listen. If we can establish an understanding for tonight, it will be some progress.”
She took a steadying breath, and let him go. “I’ll be downstairs cleaning up the rest of dinner. Just send him my way whenever you’re done, okay? I need to know how he is.”
Walter nodded, kissed her once more, and slipped quietly into the hallway.
His hand felt heavy as he knocked on the door, yet he had not switched to stone.
“Jim.” he tried to direct his voice through the wooden panel before him. A chorus of shuffling commenced beyond, but no response. “Jim,” he repeated, and twisted the handle. To his surprise, it was unlocked.
Two icy eyes glared up at him. Wet cats came to mind. “Are you seriously trying to talk to me about this?”
“Yes, Young Atlas, I am.”
“Well, don’t bother.” He shoved a pair of pajama pants into his bag. “Why are you even at my house, anyways?”
“Your mother was upset, Jim. I came over to comfort her, and to spend time with her...”
“Ugh, isn’t it enough that you cast this spell? Do you have to date her, too?” His twiggy arms flailed. “I get it. You’ve made your point. You have control over everything. Stop trying to rub it in. ”
“I’m not trying to rub anything in.” Walter defended. “I want to be with her.”
“She’s human, dude.” He tossed his bag onto the bed, and reached into a drawer. “You should stay with your own kind.”
The teacher pointed a corrective finger. “I’m a hybrid. Part of me is human, even beyond the link I share with my familiar.”
“Yeah?” the child pointed back, phone charger dangling from his hand, “Well, that’s the part that’s gonna break her heart when the rest of you shows its ugly face. She already had to go through this with my dad. She doesn’t deserve to relive it with you.”
Walter felt the first twinge of emotional shock. His voice took on a strange, lowered timbre.“You think I enjoy the thought of hurting her?”
The teenager held his arms in the air. “You seem to enjoy hurting everyone else.”
Coldness, like a spider, crept into the room at the words. “You’re referring to our former amity.”
“Yeah, I am. I know exactly how Mom’s going to feel when she finds out about you because you had me fooled, too. You made me feel like I could trust you; like I could confide in you.” The boy paced across the room to his bag. “But then, BAM!” His arms flew up, “I become the Trollhunter and it turns out, you never really cared about me at all. Everything was just a ruse, and now you’re going to blindside mom, just like you did me.”
“That’s not true.” Walter scowled. “None of it is!”
“Oh yeah?” Jim’s eyes smoldered, hurt flashing in those diamond-like irises as he zipped up a compartment along his bag. “Prove it."
“Look at you. You’re intact, Jim. You think that’s all because of you’re skill as a hunter?”
“It’s certainly no thanks to you."
A flush crept up his neck and into his cheeks. Walter felt his eyes flashing, and growled. “You have no concept of what’s going on around you, or of what this war really means.” He huffed, unwilling to tread further into the truth. The boy’s hatred was crucial to keeping the scales in balance. “Do you honestly think I should throw my lot in with Trollmarket?” He sneered and shook his head. “They’ve put Armageddon in the hands of a baby.”
Jim scoffed, slung his backpack along his shoulder, and opened his window.
Panic struck. “Where are you going?”
“To Trollmarket.” The boy scowled, one leg out of the frame. “The one place you’re not welcome.”
“Please,” desperation clotted his voice in a way he didn’t recognize, “at least go to Toby’s.”
“Why?”
“Your mother won’t sleep until she knows you’re safe. You need rest, too.” He added with odd sincerity.
Dark locks shook. “He’s probably asleep by now. I’d wake him up.”
“I can make it worth your time," he admonished." I’d be willing to overlook your absence at school tomorrow morning. You can sleep in. I’ll even foot lunch for the two of you: meatball subs from Mr. Benoit’s, principal’s special. “
Jim’s leg returned to the room. He paused in thought. “Buy one more for Claire, AND, bring one to my mom at work tomorrow, and we might have a deal.”
“It’s done.”
“And get mom a side salad.” He crossed his arms.
“Of course.”
“With the special vinaigrette.”
“I know.”
They stared at each other for a cold moment. Walter’s eyes narrowed. Jim reflected.
“Fine,” the child relaxed his shoulders, “I’ll go to Toby’s, but I’m only doing this because I want Mom to get sleep, and because Claire could use the surprise. You and I aren’t cool. You’d better keep your word on that meal.”
“I maintain no illusions of false camaraderie, and you have my word on the meals.”
“Yeah, like I could ever trust ‘your word’,” Jim frowned.
Silence as Strickler scuffed his foot against the floor.
“Will you visit your mother before you leave?”
“Already headed there.” The boy rammed his shoulder into Walter’s arm as he rushed past.
He watched Jim look toward Barbara’s room. “She’s downstairs.”
“Fine.” His footsteps thundered down the stairwell.
The changeling rolled his eyes. Alone in the room, he closed the window. Not for the first time, he felt confusion, anger...even fear. He was tearing this family apart. Tearing her apart. He could hardly blame Jim for resenting him.
Heavy footsteps led him, once more, to Barbara’s bedroom. He shut the door demurely and sat on the bed, hands on his knees, staring into the blank dark.
Perhaps he would give Mr. Needham a second chance. He wasn’t the only one doling out bribes to students.
“You’ve gotten yourself into a knot, old boy, you really have.” He said to himself.
His phone buzzed along the bed stand. “Hello?” His voice answered strained and weak.
“Oh, did I wake you, Strickler? You sound upset. Hattest du einen Albtraum?”
“Otto, what have I told you about calling me in the middle of the night?”
“You have missed our appointment, mein Befehlshaber. You know das Deutsch and our commitment to punctuality. You are getting old if you are falling asleep so early," the man taunted.
“I instructed Fragwa to inform you of my absence this evening.” Walter lied, “It’s hardly my fault if that half-witted miscreant chose picking his nose over remembering his assignment.”
“You could have sent me a text.”
“Too traceable, I'm afraid.”
“An encrypted e-mail, then.”
“I didn’t have time to shoot you an e-mail, Otto. I have far more important matters to attend.”
“You are with der Doktor, aren’t you? You keep her veeerry close.” His tone was suggestive.
“Yes,” he played it off. “And that means I keep the Trollhunter close. I control the mother; soon enough, I’ll have control of the child as well. The more vulnerable he feels, the more reckless he will become, and the sooner he will step into Angor’s traps. Once Mr. Rot has had his fun, he will destroy him.”
“I still don’t understand why you don’t do away with der Junge* yourself.”
“Reputation, my dear boy. And Angor serves our Lady, remember? Every soul he traps feeds her, strengthens her. She is our true focus.”
Was our true focus, he thought to himself.
“I will try to have faith in your plan.”
“It's her plan, Otto. Don’t forget that she speaks through me. If you must have faith, have faith in your creator. She has never led our race astray.”
“Wirklich, ich habe Vertrauen.”
“Gut, I expect it. Come to my office tomorrow around 6. Tschüss, Otto. ”
“Tschüss.” The phone hung up.
By the time Barbara re-entered her bedroom, he was nearly asleep again. He sat up as she shut the door, blinking through the fatigue.
“Did he go to Toby’s?” he said drowsily, running a hand through his rumpled hair.
“Yes, he did.” The mattress gave a light jolt as she sat down. He placed a hand on her thigh and squeezed in familiarity. “What did you say anyways?”
“Less than I wanted to,” he looked down, and sighed. “I want so badly for this to work out between the three of us. I wish I could find a way.”
“We will,” she put her head his chest, fingers tracing his breast.
He wrapped his arms around her. Closing his eyes, he inhaled.
...and then smiled. “You ate a taco, didn’t you?”
The levity loosened her shoulders. “Maybe.”
“You fiend, I can smell the cumin. And you spared none for me?”
“Well,” she kissed him, and he felt the sting of cayenne on his tongue. “I figured you could live vicariously through my experience.”
“Oh, is that how this works, now?” He tilted her down against the mattress.
He kissed her for a while--slowly, reverently--pushing her deep into the pillows until, after a time, they settled back to bed. As she slept, Walter held her bony frame in the cold and hovering darkness, listening to the crest and fall of each shallow breath. The patina that had so clouded his gaze over time was being washed away, and in the wake of clarity he felt as vulnerable as a lost sheep.
Albtraum. he thought, as his eyes grew heavy. Yes, nightmare. He was the nightmare, the cause of her unrest. He understood that now, but despite himself, despite his desire to protect her from such things, he couldn’t stop his eyes from closing.
Once again, he was running through a forest.