Apparently standing up to an evil island general could work up an appetite.  My stomach began growling as I walked away from the building where I had left the pinch lipped Eggleston.  I adjusted my direction and trotted off towards one place that was becoming a sanctuary.  Appetizing smells wafted out the kitchen door.  Pierre was already cooking.

"Hello?  Pierre?" I called out for the messy haired cook.

"Yes?" I heard him respond, although I had not been expecting it.

"Could I get lunch?" I wondered out loud.

Pierre nodded his mop of curly black hair and then set to work.  I watched him and soon I had a plate of beef stir fry and noodles on the table before me. 

I dug in and he kept moving around the kitchen.  He was very efficient in his movements and everything he did seemed methodical and purposeful.  I watched him while I ate.  He was wearing a baggy t-shirt and tropical shorts and they both looked wrinkled.  I wondered how he got along with Eggleston.  Surely she in all her priggish perfection, would loath his rumpled appearance. 

I would have bet a heck of lot that it was Michael who had hired him, not her.  She would have hired some starchy chef with placid features and a straight nose.  He probably would have fed me dried bread crusts on Eggleston's orders.

"So how long have you been here on the island?" I asked Pierre, making a stab at conversation.

He did not turn around, but he did answer, "Ten years."  I wondered how old he was, but I decided not to ask.

"Did Michael bring you here?"

"Yes."

"Why?  To cook?"

"Yes."

I shrugged to myself.  Pierre's back was still turned towards me.  Perhaps he was shy, but to a crippling extent.  Perhaps Michael had turned him as well and he had went mad, but in a different way than Alicia.  Just because he never referred to blood and I had never seen him drinking it did not mean he still normal.  Perhaps he was as uncomfortable as I was about the whole, unsanitary ordeal.

I finished up my last bite and took my dishes over to the sink.  Pierre took the dishes.  "Thanks for lunch."

"You're welcome," I thought I heard him respond as I made my way out of the building.

I went back to my room and tried not to be impatient while waiting for the evening to arrive.  I wished I had thought to ask what time Michael would actually speak to me, but I was certainly not going back to ask Eggleston anything else.

I changed into jeans and a shirt.  I sat on my bed and read to make the time pass faster, but I could not help but keep glancing at the clock repeatedly.  I was anxious to talk to Michael. It was not that I wanted to see him I assured myself.

Finally it was late enough to justify going to eat supper.  I walked over to the kitchen, and found it empty.  I helped myself to some soup which was on top of the stove.  I ate slowly, hoping Pierre might show up and help relieve my impatience.  I nursed my soup, but he never returned.  I finally gave up and went back to my room.

After another unsuccessful hour of reading, finally there was a knock at my door.  I quickly closed the book and put it down; I figured I might as well start from the beginning later for all the progress I had made.  I opened the door.

"Hello, little girl," Michael said, "Did you miss me?"  There was a grin on his face, perhaps in anticipation of my response.  I decided not to give him one.

"No, actually I thought of something I need to talk to you about." 

I was having trouble saying what I wanted.  Now that the moment had come, it seemed like such a foolish thing to have bothered Michael about.  In that moment I considered lying, but the thought of everything I had worked so hard for tossed carelessly in a dumpster was too horrible of a thought to entertain.

"Something important?" he prompted.

"It is to me," I said.

"Why don't we go for a walk while you tell me?" Michael suggested.  "I'm in the mood to be outside, or is it something so important that you have to tell me in secret?"

"No, it's not."

"Grab your shoes then, and let's go.  You won't get lost if you're with me."

I ignored the barb and put on my shoes.  I walked with him downstairs and followed him outside.  The sky was still light, but I could tell it would soon start getting dark. I supposed I no longer had to worry about that.

We walked down the roads leading off into the forest.  I suspected we were heading exactly where I had managed to get lost.  Was this another attempt to get a rise out of me? 

I glanced at his face but he looked serious.  It had not escaped my notice that Michael usually wore an annoying grin when he was annoying me for his own entertainment.  I decided he was probably not baiting me this time and I relaxed.

We walked for about ten minutes in silence.  It was a bit uncomfortable, but I was in no rush to say what I wanted to say.

"So, what is it?" he asked me.  I glanced at him.  Now that I had is attention, I could direct it to the problem of my possessions.  I did not know why I was stalling, probably because it would probably seem like such an insignificant thing to him and I dreaded his mockery.  But why did I care what he thought?  He was watching the trail in front of us; he was not even looking at me.  I decided to just blurt it out.

And then I felt my foot catch on something and I was pitching forward.  I instinctively tried to break my fall with my hands and I landed on the ground.

For a few seconds, there was nothing but the embarrassment that I had fallen again.  I guess my brain was just trying to register what had happened.  Then it caught up, because my pointer finger started to hurt.  Badly.  I moaned and wrapped my relatively uninjured right hand around my throbbing left.

"Are you hurt?" Michael asked in a mild tone.  He crouched down beside me.

"No, I'm just wonderful," I muttered.  I squirmed into a sitting position, still clutching my fingers.  I glared at him, daring him to make fun of me.

"Let me see it," he said.

"No."  It hurt more when I let go of it.

"Yes."

"Go away," I said.  Let me suffer for my clumsiness in peace.

"It will hurt more if you make me pry your hand off your injury," he threatened.

I let go.  The throbbing was getting worse.  "I'll be fine.  Just go."

"Don't be ridiculous," he told me while he took my hand in his.

"I'm not being ridiculous.  I just want to be alone."  He turned my hand to take a better look.

He chuckled.  "Same thing, little girl."

"Stop calling me that!" I snarled and tried to withdraw my hand.  He did not let go and I only hurt myself doing it.  I scowled.

"I will when you stop acting like a bratty child, little girl."  He emphasized the last two words.

"I'm not acting like a bratty child, you, you..." I could not think of an insult worthy of his behavior.

"You what?" he asked as he moved my fingers.  I felt a huge throb.

"Stop that, it hurts, old geezer!"

"Old geezer?" he repeated and then laughed.  "More than you know, little girl.  Now, sit back and let me help you rather than fighting me.  Can you move all your fingers?  Try each one."

I tried.  I found I could move them all, but my pointer finger was stiff and throbbing, my middle and ring were not fairing much better.

"I think it's just a sprain," he told me and then released my hand.  "You'll heal.  We'll go back and get you some ice to keep the swelling down.  Keep it up high."  He stood up and offered me a hand.

I ignored his hand and struggled up to my feet.  I clutched my hurt hand to my chest with the other.

"Can you walk?" Michael asked me.

"Of course!" I snapped.  It was my finger hurting, not my legs.

"That's a nice change," he agreed as we started walking.  I fumed at the comment.  "However, perhaps this time you might watch where you are going.  Even if we are on the road, there are still cracks and rocks and fallen branches.  I don't think you're in Kansas anymore, Toto."

I glared at him, imagining all sorts of satisfying actions I could perform if only my hand was not hurting.

I almost lost my footing again, but this time Michael grabbed me by the arm, which pulled my hand which was holding my injury.  It throbbed and I winced.  "That hurt!"

"Then watch where you are walking," he said, his voice heavy with irritation.  "I just told you to.  How are you so accident prone?"

I wanted to snap at him again, but I knew this time he was right, so I said nothing.  We walked in silence some more.  I paid attention to the road and tried to ignore the pain in my hand.

"So what was it you wanted?" Michael asked me.

I decided to just get it over with.  "I need to get my things."

"Your things?"

"Yes, my things.  You know, back home?" I reiterated.

"That's what this is about?" he asked, sounding mildly surprised.  "I'll buy you some new ones."

I was kind of annoyed with his response, though it was hardly surprising.  "I don't want new ones.  I worked hard for them.  I don't want them just thrown away.  They're mine," I said stubbornly.

I saw him shrug out of the corner of my eye.  "Fine.  If you care that much, I'll have them put in storage."

"Thank you," I said, feeling grateful he had not made a big issue of it.

I saw him look over at me.  "They won't last, little girl."

"What won't?"

"Your things.  They'll age and corrode and fall to disrepair.  Everything does.  Eventually you're going to have to learn to let go."

I did not have a good response, so I said nothing.

We walked back to the house.  "Go to your room.  I'll come by shortly," Michael told me.  I did as he said.

I kicked off my shoes before sat down on my bed.   I threw myself back on my pillow and looked up at the ceiling while I waited, holding my swollen hand.  Twenty minutes later there was a knock at the door and Michael stepped inside without waiting for my response.  He was carrying an ice pack in one hand and a cup in the other.

"Here, use this," Michael said as he handed me the ice pack.  I put my left hand on the cold pack.  "Sit up," Michael instructed.  I sat up.  He held out the cup.  I took it, even though I had a fairly good idea what it was.

Sure enough, it was full of sloshing red liquid.  I sighed, but did not fight him.  I took a drink.

"Alex will come by later—"

"But I'm already drinking this!" I interrupted, not waiting for him to suggest I reattempt that awkward thing that happened on the beach.  Anything but that, I thought desperately.

I heard a slight edge of annoyance in Michael's voice.  I assumed it was because I had interrupted him and apparently only Alicia could get away with that.  He continued, "Not to feed you, to bring you more ice.  It won't last long even with the air conditioning."

"Oh."  Well, now I felt stupid.

"It is good that you are drinking without fighting, now," Michael said.  I was irritated at myself for feeling pleased from his words.  He was only being nice to me because I was doing what he wanted, just like my father.

Ignoring my thoughts, I gestured to my hurting finger and grumbled, "How did this happen, anyway?  Didn't you say I was immortal now?"

Michael chuckled, "If you listened, you would have heard me say you're not invulnerable.  I never said you couldn't maim yourself.  But you will heal faster than you used to when you were human, especially if you drink that more often."  He directed my attention back to the cup.  I scowled and took another drink.

"I'm going now.  As I said, Alex will be by later with ice for you.  Now get some rest."

Michael left, closing the door.  I finished off the cup and then set it on the side table.  I crawled under the covers and curled up without taking off my clothing. 

I was almost asleep, with my mind drifting aimlessly from one thought to the next, when I hit on something that gave me and unpleasant surge of shock. 

I was turning into a perfect little underling of Michael.  I pushed myself up.  Unthinkingly, I used my injured hand which caused pain to surge through my fingers. 

I clutched my hand and hunched over.  I had gone to Michael and requested a favor as if I was some poor vassal pleading for a boon from my ruler.  As if he were King Michael, Lord of all he Surveyed, His Almighty Highness!  The thought made me really angry.  He had scattered all my hard won independence to the four winds and now I was reduced to begging him for favors.

I tried to assure myself that it was not a favor.  No, it was something owed to me!  I had to remember just why it I needed anything from him in the first place.  It was he who had changed me and dragged me out of my safe little life and threw me into this mess.

The most disturbing part was despite the fact I could recite a detailed list of all that Michael had done to me, I still had believed Michael would deal with my problem.  I had believed he would help me even if he thought it was foolish.  Worse he said he would he had said he would have my stuff put into storage and I believed he would do what he said he would do. 

The humidity on Michael's island was clearly rotting my brain.  Without meaning to, I was starting to trust Michael.  Was I insane?

I lay back down and tried to sleep but it eluded me.  Finally I gave up and retrieved the book I had abandoned earlier and tried to lose myself in another world again.

I was still awake and reading and my ice pack was hardly cold when I heard a knock at my door.  The door opened tentatively and I saw Alex enter the room.  My first thought was to fake sleep, but he had probably already seen my eyes were open.  I set my book aside.

"I hope I'm not disturbing you," he apologized.  I felt embarrassment flood through me in an instant.  Was he sharing in my unease?

I shook my head.  "I'm having trouble sleeping," I explained.  I felt like I should apologize, too.

"Here, Mister Thompson told me to bring you another ice pack," he said, handing it to me.

"Thanks," I said as I took the pack.  "You have good timing; this one is almost warm."

"I heard that you sprained your finger," he commented.

"Well, that's what Michael thinks," I agreed begrudgingly.

"Does it hurt badly?" he asked.  Alex was such a kind person.

"It throbs, but only hurts really badly when I move it."

"Can I take a look?"

"Sure."  Why not?  Even my flaming embarrassment was dying down slightly.  Alex took my hand and looked at it.

"Can you move all your fingers?" he asked.

"Yes, but it hurts."  I demonstrated.

Alex nodded.  "Yeah, probably a sprain.  I could wrap it, if you want."

I shrugged.

"I'm surprised that you get hurt so easily."

"Michael tells me I'm immortal, not invulnerable."

"He says you're immortal?  I knew there was something different about him."  Alex seemed surprised.  I suddenly realized it might be wise not to let down my guard about my new nature with anyone who was not like me.

"I think he's crazy," I amended.  It was not even completely a lie because there had been times when I wondered if I had been drawn into his delusions.

"He must be teasing you.  Such a thing is out of the realm of possibility," Alex mused.  The thought seemed to comfort him so I did not challenge him.  I was becoming quite adept at recognizing when Michael was out to annoy me and when he was being serious.  He was serious, but perhaps it was better Alex not know that.

"Thanks for the ice," I said to him.

"No problem," Alex said, sounding like he meant just that.  "Bye."

"Bye, Alex," I said as the door closed behind him.  I turned off the light and then finally went to sleep.

I woke up late.  The ice pack in my hand was cold; someone must have replaced it while I slept.  My fingers still throbbed, but not quite as insistently.  They had turned a funny purplish color.  I got up and got ready to take a shower.  I turned the water on and got in.  I showered as quickly as I could with one hand and picked a white and orange sundress out of the closet because it looked like the easiest thing to put on.

Once I was dressed, I slipped my feet into flip flops and walked out to the kitchen.  Pierre was there and I greeted him.

"How's your hand?" he asked.  Frankly, I was shocked he had said three consecutive words.

"It's getting a bit better," I replied.  I wondered if everyone on the island now knew what a clumsy idiot I was.

"Here," he said, setting a plate on the table in the corner.  I thanked him and sat down.

I glanced at him as he went back to the stove then at my plate.  It was piled with precut grilled chicken, mashed potatoes and vegetables.  I started eating.  It was as good as I had come to expect and that in turn put me in a good mood.  Even my fingers felt better.  Maybe Pierre's food had healing properties, I thought jokingly.

I was so focused on my meal that I did not realize someone had arrived in the kitchen until I heard the clipped, proper tones.

"Pierre, please come with me," Eggleston ordered in the form of a suggestion.  I did not bother looking at her.  My mood was pretty good, no need to spoil it with a nasty dose of Elizabeth.

I heard Pierre respond to Eggleston, but I could not make out his words.

"Your supplies came in, but they don't match what the order form says.  We—"

Michael's voice cut off Eggleston's voice to my ears as he came over to where I was sitting.  "Oh, there you are, little girl.  Alex asked me where you were."  Apparently he had come in at the same time as Eggleston.

"I was just eating," I said unnecessarily.

"As we can clearly see," Eggleston said frostily.  It seemed she was still angry at me.  Too bad for her I did not care.

"Oh, come on, Elizabeth, don't be like that," Michael said cajolingly.  "There's no reason to be angry at Dylan, she had a perfectly good reason to want to talk to me yesterday.  Now, when you're finished, Dylan, go back to your room so Alex can find you.  He's got a little chore involving you."

Eggleston's face looked as pinched as it had the previous day.  It was quite obvious she did not agree with Michael's assessment of the situation.  "May I get back to the business at hand, Mister Thompson?" she asked frostily.

"By all means, Elizabeth," he replied, looking amused.

She turned decisively in the direction of Pierre.  His back was still towards her.  "Pierre, there are a number of items in the order which are not on the tracking sheet.  The administrator thought perhaps they were the lost items from the last order," Eggleston explained, every syllable dripping with displeasure at the display of disorganization in the order of things.  I probably qualified under that, too.

"Yes," Pierre agreed as he followed Eggleston out.

Michael paused before following.  "Do wait for Alex finds you," he said, and then left the building.

I finished up and left to go back to my room to wait.  Some more.