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lostsoulobsidian · 5 years ago

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She likes detective stories

ElongSue fanfic, Ralph Dibny/Sue Dearbon (kind of, implied I guess). The Flash CW

After an interview with Sue’s former boyfriend, Ralph thinks about her and he's shocked to notice he's starting to see her as something else than a case.

It hadn't been easy, getting an appointment with Mr. Wladon. He was quite busy, being the head, in Washington, of the consulate of Modora, a tiny but wealthy republic in Eastern Europe.

He was also the man whom Sue Dearbon had had her most serious relationship with, according to her parents.

Ralph had had to call to the consulate several times, but his secretary kept giving him the round around, because he was a nobody, until he decided to throw discretion away and say it was about Sue’s disappearance. After that, the secretary rushed to call him back to make an appointment.

Once he was, at last, at his magnificent (and maybe a bit pretentious) office, he got to study the guy. Bito Wladon was a handsome, well dressed and dark-haired man, with a fancily trimmed beard and almost as tall as Ralph himself. Obviously, that young lady was used to have only the finest in everything - clothes, jewels... and boyfriends.

"Mr. Dibny". He greeted, extending his hand to him; his English had a weird accent. "My secretary informed me that you want to talk about Susan Dearbon. I-I didn't know she was missing. I thought she was on a trip across Europe''.

Sue's parents had spread that excuse around for all the not-so-close friends, relatives and acquaintances for the sake of discretion. Starting a nationwide search when she could have just fled for her own will would have entailed a scandal for both the Dearbons and Sue herself.

"When was the last time you saw Miss Dearbon?"

"In July of last year, when we broke up. We went separate ways since then."

He sharpened his senses. Being dumped is a good motive for revenge.

"I know this could be a little personal to ask, but why did you break your relationship? Was it a mutual decision or...?”

Wladon seemed embarrassed but answered anyway.

"She did break up, but it was my fault. I... proposed to her, I think before she was ready. Maybe I scared her. She said she was sorry but didn't want to tie herself down to anyone."

"Sorry to hear it", Ralph tried to sound sympathetic.

"I knew she didn't believe in marriage, but I had to try. She is the most amazing woman in the world, and I would have been the luckiest man if she had accepted me. But I doubt there’s someone so lucky. She never got too attached to anyone. She’s a free spirit".

For some reason, Ralph started to feel uneasy.

"Do you know if she had enemies, anyone who would want to harm her for some reason..."

"I don't think she has enemies; she is the kind of person who everybody likes. But she might have gotten into trouble".

"Trouble?", Ralph raised his eyes from his notebook. "Could you explain that?"

"Well, she has a thing for detectives".

He blinked in confusion.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, she likes detective stories, mysteries. With passion. She has read all the books about mystery and crimes, and has watched every movie and show with detectives, especially the noir genre. Though her favorite are the ones of The Thin Man series."

"The Thin Man?"

"Yes. You know, the classic films with William Powell and Myrna Loy. They are her favorite movies."

"The Thin… all right". Ralph wrote the title on his notebook. He didn't know whether it would be useful but knowing his target's thoughts and preferences could help him to track her steps.

"She liked this detective thing so much that she liked to play it in the real life. She used to think her life as a mystery, adventurous story; and see herself as a detective amateur."

"Like Nancy Drew, you would say?", Ralph pointed out.

"Sort of", Wladon nodded with a smile. "She used to see hints for crimes or conspiracies everywhere and liked to follow the tracks she considered to be the most important, like it was an actual investigation", he recalled. "Her friends and I didn't mind that hobby of hers, it was one of her little eccentricities that made her so special. But now I think she might have run into something dangerous. Maybe, a real crime."

"I see", Ralph answered. "Do you remember something she could have said about those so-called 'investigations' of hers? Anything remarkable?"

"I don't know, she liked to follow up so many seeming clues... I remember once she told me she thought there was a dark, criminal organization wherein the highest echelons were involved. I didn't pay her much attention; she was always with those conspiracy theories. I'd wish I had listened to her so I could provide you with more details. I don't know whether she was right or wrong, but I couldn't forgive myself if something has happened to her."

Should he follow up on that "dark organization" track? Maybe he should gather more information from other sources. Until that, it seemed too vague for centering his investigation on it.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Thank you for your time, Mr. Wladon."

Ralph was quite sure that Bito Wladon was not responsible in Sue Dearbon's disappearance. Husbands, boyfriends (including former husbands or boyfriends) ... used to be the first suspects when a woman went missing, and usually not without a reason. Ralph's instincts didn't use to fail him. He used to know, just looking into the suspect's eyes, whether they were innocent or guilty. Many times, the husband or boyfriend was the culprit, like Regan Gimlin.

But that was not the case. Wladon's eyes didn't show guilt nor fear. He seemed to be ambitious and condescending, sure, and there was something in his eyes that Ralph didn't like, but he felt it had nothing to do with Sue. He seemed truly worried about her, maybe a bit more than worried. If he had to, Ralph would had bet that he was still in love with her.

Maybe he didn’t like him simply because he was a politician. Ralph had never liked politicians.

He turned to leave, but Wladon called him:

"Mr. Dibny?"

"Yes?" He turned again to him.

"Please find her and make sure she's safe".

"I will", he promised.

His suspicions were correct: Wladon still loved his ex-girlfriend and couldn’t cope with having lost her. Ralph couldn't blame him, though. He would have felt the same if he were in his place. Not that he would have the chance of knowing how it would be like, ever. He never was able to make work his relationships with regular girls, so a top-class one like Sue Dearbon would never even look at him.

That night, he looked again into the file of his case. He took a photo of his target and looked to it for a while. It was a pretty recent one, maybe from a couple of months before she went missing.

He had to admit she was quite attractive. No, she was gorgeous: her dark hair framed an angel face, and she had beautiful blue eyes and a cheerful, sweet smile. Her features were classy and somehow fragile, the kind that made you want to wrap her in your arms forever, to protect her. And something in her eyes was inviting and defying at the same time.

"A free spirit", Wladon had said.

The kind of girl who could drive any man crazy.

The kind of girl who could become any man's dream.

"She has a thing for detectives..."

He shook his head. What the heck was he thinking? Those thoughts were out of character for him. He was a professional, and she was his target. Nothing more.

He would have to be careful or would end up like the guy from that classic movie he watched ages ago... Laura, it was called. In that movie, a detective investigates the murder of a pretty, classy woman (not very different of Sue Dearbon), and he obsesses so much over her that he ends up falling in love with her memory...

(Later, it was revealed that she's alive, but that was not the point).

Sue Dearbon was not dead, he could feel it. She was alive somewhere, but she surely was in trouble, like Wladon said. Why else had she vanished with no trace, nor telling a thing to her worried parents.

She was alive somewhere, waiting to be found. Waiting to be rescued.

And he was the right person to do it.

"She likes detective stories"...

He searched for The Thin Man first movie and found it in one of those TV on demand channels. The main characters, played by Powell and Loy, were Nick and Nora Charles, a married couple who investigated mysteries together. The story was a little predictable and Ralph solved the crime much before the end of the movie, but he liked it. It was quite funny, and the Charles' relationship was couple goals.

But later, when he went to sleep, he had quite a weird dream. He was in The Thin Man universe, he was Nick Charles, and Sue Dearbon was Nora, his wife. And, just like the Charles, they lived an adventurous life, investigating mysteries together. And they were madly in love.

He woke up abruptly, sweating on his futon. Even more than usual.

"What the..." he muttered astonished. "Stop with this nonsense, Ralphie. Now", he ordered himself.

That dream was totally stupid, of course. But somehow it made appear a strange feeling of longing in Ralph's soul that didn't go away for a long time.

TRIVIA:

Bito Wladon, in DC comics, is the ruler of Modora and the villain Sonar. In The Elongated Man miniseries (1992) he's the main antagonist and in Justice League Europe issues #46 to #50 he even tries to steal Sue away from Ralph to make her his consort.

It is stated that Ralph and Sue Dibny characters are inspired in Nick and Nora Charles, from The Thin Man book (by Dashiell Hammett, 1934) and its subsequent film adaptations, starring William Powell and Myrna Loy.

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persuadedproject-blog · 8 years ago

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Chapter 11

Anne was interrupted from her light morning reading of The Yellow Wallpaper by a gentle tapping on the hotel door. Swinging the door open, she found Hazel, hair plopped on top of her head in a top knot, feet bare.

“I thought you might be up!” she stage whispered. “Do you want to go walk on the beach?” Anne decided that for a bit of friendship and the ocean, her reading could wait. Hazel curled up on the bed while Anne changed out of her pajamas.

“What are you doing up anyways,” she called in the direction of the bathroom. Anne’s head popped around the corner.

“Just geeky research stuff.” Hazel flopped back on the bed.

“I won’t do another second of it once I get out of college,” she groaned. “If I have to learn one more way to cite a source I’ll scream Right there in class, I’ll just stand on my desk and scream. They’ve already made me learn MLA, APA, And Turabian - there can’t be many more, can there? Oh, Anne. No! You can’t wear a cardigan.” Anne tugged at the offending sweater.

“Why not?” she asked, tilting her head in the mirror.

“First of all, it’s summer. The season of pumpkin spice lattes is a long ways away. Secondly, we’re at the beach. Thirdly, that’s a perfectly nice shirt you have under it, and Lauren Conrad says not to layer just for the sake of layering. Fourthly -”

“Cease and desist!” Anne was cracking up. “Look, I’m putting the cardigan away. Does that make you happy?”

Once they were padding through the hotel hallway, Anne asked quietly,

“What got you up this early? You normally need more rest than this.” This was a tactful way of saying that they never usually had a Hazel sighting until ten or eleven.

“I’ve just been thinking,” her usually carefree face drew into a small frown. Anne nodded wisely. Thinking could be a troublesome thing. “About Chuck and me,” Hazel clarified. “I think being around Ben and seeing him be so miserable after losing Faith, it made me wonder what would happen if Chuck - went away.” They were outside now, so they could talk at normal volumes (for Anne, still quiet, for Hazel sincere and a little loud). “If anything happened, Anne, I’d just die. Whatever Chuck and I have, it’s good, and I would be an idiot to let it go.” Anne smiled, glad to see that Hazel’s own ponderings had brought her around to this conclusion. Both Hazel and Louise stood a chance to grow into their parents; good, kind people with their heads screwed on straight. Once they were on the sand, the topic pivoted.

“I think the beach is good for everyone!” Hazel declared. “The sunshine, fresh air - even the salt water is good. If you’re sick, it helps you get well, and if you’re healthy, it only makes you better! I really think Doc Shirley should retire to the beach, sooner rather than later. His arthritis is only getting worse. He and Miz Shirley have spent their lives working and doing good, but it’s sort of depressing to think of them living out their last days in tiny Uppercross, isn’t it? We should suggest that they retire here. I just doubt we could convince him to stop work, but we really shouldn’t glorify the ‘work til you drop’ philosophy, should we? Chuck could do his job just as well, I bet. And he shouldn’t run himself ragged, that would just break Miz Shirley’s heart.” Anne just smiled and nodded, with an occasional,

“I think so,” or “Definitely.” It was clear Hazel needed to get her thoughts out in the open, and since it seemed to the advantage of everyone in question, Anne tried to be as encouraging as she could.

“I wish Mrs. Russell were around Uppercross. I’ve always heard she had great sway over everyone, and she’s able to convince anyone of anything! Of course, I’m a little afraid of her, because she’s so smart and so influential, but I respect her a lot. I wish we had a neighbor like her. She could convince Doc to retire.” Anne thought it was funny how the things that advance our plans suddenly become the best option for other people - and how anyone who can help bring the plan to reality became valuable. She only had time to say,

“She has been a wonderful neighbor,” before Hazel spotted Wentworth and Louise coming toward them. They had also decided to go for a walk before breakfast, but as soon as the four were all walking together, Louise remembered that she needed to buy something in Beaufort. They were all invited to go along, and they all did.

When they came up to the narrow wooden steps that ran up and over the dunes, a guy who had been planning to walk down at the same time politely stood aside, to let them come up. As they passed him, Anne’s face caught his eye and he looked at her with a sincere admiration she could not brush off. Anne was looking attractive; time outside had restored a bloom to her face, and her eyes had sprung back to life, as if reflecting the movement and energy of the water. It was clear that this stranger took notice, but not in an ogling way. Wentworth looked back at her immediately in a way that showed the stranger’s admiration had not gone unobserved. He gave her a quick glance, that seemed to say even he could see some of the old Anne Elliot again. Louise led the still somewhat sleepy band of people into town, and picked up her necessities at a gas station. Hazel and Anne had to wait outside, because of the faded ‘No shirt, no shoes, no service’ sign that was peeling on the door. After that, they meandered back to the hotel for a continental breakfast. Anne slipped upstairs to slip on some shoes, and nearly bumped into the stranger from the steps on her way off the elevator. She had wondered if they were staying in the same hotel. Once again, he seemed happy to see her, and to think of her - well, Anne could see that he thought she was beautiful. He apologized quickly, and when she tried to blame it on her absent-mindedness he would not allow any of the fault to be hers. He was about Anne’s age, maybe a little older. Although he was not strikingly handsome (certainly not a movie star in the making), he wasn’t an eyesore either. He carried himself well. When the elevator doors shut, and Anne was alone with the sleepy jazz music, she wished she had gotten his name for future stalking (when admirers are few and far between, you have to make the most of them).

Breakfast was the usual free hotel fare: burnt coffee and watery orange juice, stale bagels, cereal that had lost its crunch, thin yogurt, and waxy fruit for the health conscious. The company was what made breakfast nice, and from her past five years in and out of conference centers, Anne knew how to make the buffet offerings into a decent breakfast. Toasted bagels don’t taste nearly as old, especially when slathered with whatever butter substitute they are serving. Drink as much of the orange juice as you can stand, and eat a banana - at least the fake skin comes off of that. Since they were in the breakfast nook alone, they could spread out however they liked. The whole room was brought to the window when the owner of the beautiful red convertible parked by the window loaded his suitcase, and started up the engine.

“That’s a classic car, isn’t it?” and the purr of the engine was enough to bring Charles bounding over to the window, and Wentworth’s seemingly off-handed,

“Oh! That’s the exact same guy we passed this morning,” was enough to bring everyone else. He said it with a quick look at Anne, so she made sure to take her time walking over. The Musgrove girls agreed that it had to be him, and they all watched until he disappeared around the corner. They all returned to their seats and stale breakfasts. Soon enough a disinterested college student in an oversized uniform wandered over to the buffet to check on the stockpiles of food. As soon as he spotted him, Wentworth asked,

“Do you know who the man who just checked out was?”

“Since it’s only me on duty on this floor, yeah.”

“Just you? That’s rough.”

“I guess.”

“But who was he?”

“Um, a Sam Beckett? Wait, that wasn’t a breach of client confidentiality, was it?”

“Since you are neither a doctor nor lawyer, I don’t think so. Thanks!” Wentworth clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder, and the kid looked longingly at his desk.

“Sam Beckett?” Mary, usually the most clueless person in the room (or maybe the state), for some unfortunate reason remembered this name. “I thought I recognized his face! He was friends with our sister Liz. Anne, Charles, don’t you think it was him? He almost was going to take over the firm - did he say anything about Elliot Political Consulting?”

“No, but I think he’s planning to get a good job soon enough. Like, big money. He was talking about moving into a new house and getting new business cards made. His old card said something about waffles, I think?”

“That has to be him!” Mary said triumphantly. “How bizarre is it that we see him after all these years! I wish I had looked at him more closely, I was just looking at the car. How amazing!” The employee retreated to the safe haven of his desk as soon as Mary’s interrogation had finished.

“The chances of meeting an old friend in a town like this are small enough, it has to be predestined that you didn’t actually meet him.” Wentworth said amusedly. When she could finally wrangle Mary’s attention, Anne quietly tried to convince her that running into this particular Mr. Beckett would not be a good thing.

“Our dad hasn’t spoken to him since everything happened,” she informed her. “Not to mention Liz would be furious if we were friendly to him.”

“Well now she’s found her zen or whatever, surely she’s over it be now. It’s not like a breakup years ago is worth losing the connection. You’ll have to mention seeing him when you hear from the Hyannis crowd.” Anne did not respond - convincing Mary she was wrong at this point would be about like having a debate with a sand dune. While Mary was in the habit of sharing any and all information, Anne censored information to avoid irritation, conflict, and possible damage to the Hyannis Elliot’s ego. Mary never communicated with them herself, so it was up to Anne to keep up a sporadic and unsatisfactory talks with Liz.

Just as they were finishing up breakfast, the Harvilles and Ben Wick walked through the lazily sliding doors. They had gotten a babysitter, and were going to show the Uppercross contingent the sights. Thanks to a trolley-style bus, they could leave their cars behind and see the town mostly by foot. The plan was to see all the highlights, have a late lunch, and then get back to Uppercross. Wentworth had a meeting in D.C. the next morning, and Mary wanted to make sure Mrs. Musgrove was not feeding the boys all junk processed food. Once they started walking, Anne found Ben gravitating towards her. Much to her delight, their conversation the night before had not driven him away. She got to see the town with Ben at her side, comparing notes on Byron (interesting poetry, rather awful human). They walked by the house where Blackbeard the pirate had supposedly hung his wife and killed her lover on the stairs.

“They say the blood stain still seeps through the stairs, no matter how much they clean it, or what carpet they put over it,” Ben said, seeming to relish the macabre interest of it all. Most of the highlights of Beaufort were admittedly pirate related - the Maritime Museum (in an old ship builder’s shed) was centered around artifacts dredged up from his old ship, sunk just off the coast. In the church graveyard, surrounded by rough old stones and Spanish Moss, Ben provided more ghost stories. Most of the other sights involved food: legendary fudge, ice cream, and craft beer at The Queen Anne’s Revenge - local bar and sandwich shoppe.

When they were walking along the main street boardwalk, she found Ben replaced by Will.

“Anne,” he said quietly, “I can’t tell you how much good you’ve done Wick, getting him to talk that much. It can’t be good for him to be shut away here, I know, but what can we do? We have to stick together.”

“Time will give some distance to everything that will help,” Anne encouraged him. “He is still a young mourner. Give him more time, he’ll come around to himself if you give him the chance to. I understand you lost Faith last winter.”

“Last November,” Will nodded painfully. “And I didn’t have the heart to tell him. Plus he was...unavailable at the time, due to work. Wentworth was the only one who could get to him. He stayed with Ben for the week, flew home with him, and supported all of us through the funeral. I don’t know what his superiors thought, but we were all so busy with arranging - everything. It feels like Ben is the last part of Faith left. We loved him for his own sake of course, but you can imagine how important he is to us now.” He was clearly overwhelmed by the subject, and after abruptly clearing his throat he changed the subject. Anne went along the rabbit trail with him, and helped him by pointing out a boat inscribed with the name Thanks a Yacht.

After lunch they were all supposed to go their separate ways, but Will mentioned that there was one more sight to be seen, if they could find the time: Fort Macon. Mary and Charles were not sure if they had the time, but after hearing about the views, Louise became determined. And now once she was set on something, she was a force to be reckoned with.

“It won’t take long,” she argued. “We’ll just walk through the fort, take another quick walk on the beach, then we can go. We checked out this morning, so we can just leave straight from the fort.” The group agreed, and in half an hour they were all at the old Civil War fort. The fort was mostly brick and cement, with iron intertwined and an occasional well-groomed patch of grass. All of the old passages were open to the public. The hallways all connected in an off-kilter pentagon, kitchens led to mess halls, to bedrooms that would have been packed with bunks, to long stables. The Uppercross tourists and their hosts spread out into pairs, some taking in everything in at a glance, others wandering slowly and reading the plaques. Anne found herself bringing up the rear with Ben. Considering the location, where you could see the ocean and flyers for the Marlin Festival were everywhere, The Old Man and the Sea simply had to be discussed. Anne was glad to have his company, and gave him her full attention. She told him about dusting off work on her thesis, and his eyes lit up. He offered to review it, once she was finished.

“Not that I could teach you anything, obviously,” he added quickly. “But if you want another set of eyes on it.”

After they had climbed fifty shallow steps to the lookout, they soaked in the sun and wind for as long as practical time constraints would allow, when they filed back down. Everyone else was happy to walk quietly, except for Louise. Spotting Wentworth solidly on the ground, she said,

“Look out, Captain!” and jumped the rest of the way down. Thinking quickly, Wentworth caught her outstretched arms and swung her safely to the fort’s brick floor. They were in the habit of exchanging playful, affectionate contact, so this did not surprise anyone in the group. Anne wondered if he could feel the eye roll she wanted to release. Louise thought this little thrill was fun, and to show her admiration for the catcher, ran back up the stairs, stopping higher than before.

“That’s too high, Louise,” he said offhandedly. “You can’t even jump that far, much less have me catch you. Louise just gave him a cocky grin and said,

“I’m determined, so I will!” and launched herself off the steps. A second too late, he started after her, arms outstretched again. Her jump had been thrown off by catching her foot on the step. With a thud that reverberated off the walls of the fort, her head hit the bottom step. Her body went limp, her eyes closed as her head lolled to the side. For a split second, they all stood still and silent, trying to process the horrible sight. Then all was movement and noise. Wentworth, who was closest, gathered her up, trying to wake her up, searching her suddenly pale face for signs of life.

“She is dead! She is dead!” Mary wailed. Hazel panicked, and would have tripped herself on the steps if Anne and Ben had not caught her between them, and lowered her to sit.

“Just stay put,” Anne instructed with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder.

“Can no one help me?” Wentworth burst forth desperately. Ben and Anne rushed down the steps, and Charles disentangled himself from his panicking wife. Fearful of too many cooks in the kitchen, Anne stood on the periphery, calling out prompts to help take care of Louise.

“Is she breathing?” Anne asked.

“Yes, very shallowly.”

“Just - keep her head very still.” Anne whipped out her phone and with trembling hands dialed 911. While it rang, Anne caught Ben’s eye.

“See if they have a medic on call at the visitor’s center. Or ask around for a nurse, anyone with medical training.” He went sprinting across the grounds and over the drawbridge. Seconds were flying by. Of the three rational forces there, it was hard to tell who was the most distressed: Anne, Wentworth, or Charles, who was really a loving brother, hanging over his sister’s face, rogue tears running down his ruddy face. Anne was trying to quiet Mary, comfort Hazel, and rack her brain for anything they could do.

“Anne, what next? What next?” Charles asked brokenly. Wentworth, in a daze, also looked to her.

“Check gently for other wounds than that one on her forehead, and try to get a read on her pulse. We can’t move her, but try to elevate her head just a little.”

By the time the ambulance showed up, a small group of concerned onlookers had gathered. With dread they retraced their steps of just an hour ago, Louise on a stretcher, Anne and Wentworth on either side. Charles rode with her in the ambulance and the rest of them followed in the entourage. They were all resigned to the waiting room to sit and hope for the best. After the sun and warmth all day, the blasting AC felt frigid. It was difficult to keep track of time - ER waiting rooms have their own logic and time, florescent lights flickering, and nurses in all matching scrubs passing - how could they stand short sleeves? The TV looped local news over and over again. During one of the commercial breaks, Wentworth came over and sat beside Anne.

“Someone needs to call her parents,” he said in a hushed voice that excluded all of the other waiters from their conversation.

“We shouldn’t call anyone until we’ve seen the doctor, and know more about what is going on - what good could calling them with no conclusions and a passed out daughter do?”

“We can’t keep it from them.”

“Just not now. If we haven’t talked to anyone in another half hour, one of us can call Mr. Musgrove. He’ll know the best way to break it to her mom.” Wentworth nodded, and Charles poked his head out of the swinging door, waving to them.

“Anne! Wentworth!” They walked over, leaving the rest with a reassuring thumbs-up from Charles. “She came back to, but hasn’t talked much since. The doctor seems to be hopeful.”

“She has a small fracture in her skull,” the doctor said, pointing to a small line on the X-ray. “Fortunately, her brain is mostly untouched. There is a small concussion, but no bleeding.” Wentworth leaned against the door frame, as if all the energy he had been using to keep himself together had just left him. “We will need to monitor her carefully for several days, and keep her for a week, just to make sure she doesn’t show any signs that will make me rethink the diagnosis.”

“And after that?” Anne asked.

“She’ll be recovering for six to twelve months. The worst of it will be in the first weeks, after that she’ll just have to be careful.”

The anxious group waiting in the emergency room stood up when Anne reappeared, then flopped back on the chairs in relief. All of their worst fears - permanent damage, hours to live, paralysis, all of them were quelled. The Harvilles had rounded up food from a nearby McDonald’s, and the whole group inhaled it in the parking lot, heat radiating from the pavement. Emergencies have a tendency to steal your appetite, then eventually make you ravenous. The pressure had been released, and they could start working out the logistics. Louise obviously had to stay put. Charles refused to leave Beaufort - they had barely been able to drag him away from the hospital bed for food. Wentworth positively had to go back to Washington for the mandatory meeting. Hazel was, in her own words, virtually useless. She couldn’t stand still in the hospital room, and the sight of her still sister made her nervous. Anne accidentally walked into the pow-wow happening behind Charles’ car.

“So I will take Hazel home,” Wentworth was saying, “And Mary - I assume she’s wanting to get back to CJ and Walter now. If anyone’s going to stay and help you look after Louise, it should be Anne. No one could take care of someone like her. She’s capable, and has a good mind for it.” Anne stumbled to a halt at the trunk, trying to process his words and the emotions that came with them. Then she rounded the corner, and Wentworth immediately turned and said,

“You would stay, I know. Will you stay and help Charles take care of her?” His tone was urgent but gentle, in a way that can only be understood with years of relationship groundwork. She felt blood rush to her face, and he seemed to remember the situation and take a step back.

“Of course, I am happy to be here as long as I need to be,” she said, noticing the relief and a flicker of admiration in his eyes. It all seemed to be arranged. Suitcases were shuffled to the correct car, hotel reservations made. Wentworth’s car made a coughing, sputtery sound when he tried to start it, and no degree of coaxing or jumper cables would get the engine to start. Anne offered her car, and after another game of musical chairs with the luggage, everything seemed finished until Mary got wind of the plan. All of the created peace was thrown to the wind.

“Why on earth would Anne stay?” she demanded, tears pooling in her already red eyes. “Anne is nothing to Louise, and I am her sister. It’s not fair! I can be just as useful as her, probably more because of all my medical research.” Anne could not be sure, but she thought she heard a snort from Ben’s direction. Maybe it was just a cough. Mary carried on her torrent of words for as long as Charles could stand, then her husband caved. Anne had never yielded more reluctantly to the insistent bad plans of her sister, but there was nothing to be done. Everyone was saying their goodbyes while Wentworth drove the car off to fill it with gas. Anne stuck her hand out to Ben,

“Goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye for now,” he repeated. “You should know that I will find you on Facebook. I expect lots of vague posts about wrestling with that thesis.”

“You can count on it.”

Hazel wanted to be in the back seat, to try and sleep, which left Anne hopping in the passenger side with a bewildered and obviously dismayed Wentworth.

“I - thought Mary was going back,” he spluttered, trying to politely filter his thoughts and explain his almost horrified expression.

“Mary wanted to stay,” Anne explained simply.

“And what Mary wants, Mary gets,” he added in frustration. This cool reception was humiliating to Anne. Apparently she was only valuable when useful to Louise. Anne tried to bring her mind, whirling at a thousand thoughts per minute, in check. She needed to be fair. Everyone was under a great deal of pressure. Then again, his job was being under pressure all the time. Anne could not help but wonder if he was rethinking the opinion that a decided will was some great universal good. Like all other things, ti could turn into a monster if it was not balanced out. It could not escape him that a flexible will is sometimes more conducive to happiness than an iron one.

They both set themselves looking straight ahead, and this was the way they left Beaufort, with all of their emotions turned inside, eyes focused on the road. Anne was not sure how four hours on the road would go, but it was surprisingly natural. Both of them were focused on taking care of Hazel, whose eyes had not returned from the hundred yard stare since Louise’s head made contact with the ground. Whenever Wentworth talked, it was with the goal of making her feel better. After recovering from the jolt of Anne joining them in the car, his voice was even, quiet. Everything was set in order to keep Hazel from working herself back up. Only once she had been snoring quietly for a long time did Anne venture to quietly say,

“I wish we had never gone to that fort -”

“Please don’t talk about it!” Hazel startled, and he lowered his voice again. “If only I had not given in to her that one split second. If I had done what was right - but she looked at me, so eager, this sweet look in her eyes -” his hands tightened on the steering wheel.

“We all agreed to go,” Anne reminded him. “And I’m not sure you could dissuade Louise from doing anything right now, whether it’s putting her hair in braids, or - well, you know.” Soft classical music filled in the silence that hung in the car. He revved the engine, and the car pulled away from the ocean and towards Uppercross, hugging the curves of the winding back roads and pulling California stops at all the stop signs until they pulled into the Great House driveway.

When they crawled up the driveway, Hazel was still fast asleep, her hoodie pulled over her face.

“I have been thinking about what would be best for us to do. She shouldn’t hear the long term risks, at least not tonight, but I don’t want her to wake up alone and get confused. Will you wait with her, while i go in and talk to the musgroves? Does that sound like an okay plan?”

“Affirmative,” she said, a half smile tugging at her mouth. He started to get out of the car, looked back at her like he wanted to say something, then changing his mind quietly shut the door. The question made her happy, as a sign of friendship- but even better, a respect for her thoughts. It became a proof she hung onto that the old respect was still there, even if the love was not. Once the parents were brought up to speed and pulled back together, Hazel was brought in and put to bed. With everything settled, Wentworth drove to D.C. in one of the musgrove’s cars, which he would return to them in Beaufort as soon as the morning meetings were over.

Chapter 12 : http://bit.ly/2uEfqy5

#persuadedproject #persuasion #janeausten

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