Author's Note:

Dear Readers,

I generally don't like expositionally heavy chapters but this one, I think, needed it. Besides, I liked it (though I just wrote it tonight). casuallllfollower, remember when I told you about "the friendship"? Well, this is one side of the story! I hope you enjoy it!

sarahlet2999

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▪ Chapter 9 ▪

Boredom. Since when did he experience boredom? The hotel room, stereotypically adorned with abstract art and natural colored walls, kept him awake for hours on end while his mission denied him internet access. No one can trace me.

His fancily tailored suit itched his back and relentlessly tickled the sunken sections of his stomach. Fidgeting, he stood up and braced himself for the mirror in his bathroom, assuring himself that the skin mask still fit his face perfectly. When his golden eyes locked into his skeletal figure in the mirror, he visibly flinched, revolted at the sight of himself.

"I'm hideous even with this contraption." He only wore the mask for missions, not enjoying the way the rubber played across his skin or trapped moisture beneath it. The makeup, required to keep it looking realistic, had smudged a tad and he carefully fixed it. Smoothing back his hair to keep a collected look of gentility, he picked up the phone and called for the cab he had previously ordered to be waiting for him at the hotel door. His fedora set on his head, he only waited a moment to gather himself and left.

Burning in his coat pocket, the lasso waited, anxious to meet his next victim.

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"Tell me about yourself." Christine asked, spreading her napkin across her lap, Dalir, sitting opposite her at the fanciest restaurant in town. Elegant but miniature chandeliers hung from the ceilings, shedding light over every shadow they could find. Candles burned in strategic areas, lighting those dark places the chandeliers missed with a romantic glow and leaving the pretty fire-shadow against the wallpaper. The quiet scent of sandalwood wafted through the rooms, quietly humming with lovers and families.

Vine decorated archways connected portioned-off rooms, dotted with booths and a few free-standing redwood tables and chairs. Black cushions, edged in redwood, adorned the booths while the same black leather upholstered the chairs. The room spoke of regal elegance, discomforting Christine. Despite dressed in her finest dress, a black shift accented with her white boots and some silver jewelry, she felt underdressed in a place with ladies adorned with diamonds and wearing five-hundred-dollar evening dresses.

"There isn't much to tell." He replied, picking up the leather bound and gold filigree embossed menus. "Your childhood sounded far more interesting from our conversation at McKee's last week."

"Oh no, I'm sure mine is perfectly boring in comparison to you. Surely you at least have tales about the police force?" She answered, gingerly flipping the menu open to skim words she barely recognized.

"I suppose I do have some from here. And, I did grow up in France, if you care to hear about that." Her instantly perked up and she completely ignored the menu for moments as her crystalline blue eyes latched onto the dark-skinned man.

"France? You must tell me about your years there."

"First let us order. The story is a long one. Anything catch your eye?"

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People. I hate them. He thought to himself as the cab rolled to a stop in front of the bustling party, many of the guests still loitering near the driveway, models draped over their arms, plying them with expensive liquor. His goal waited within though, he surmised after briefly scanning the crowd under the appearance of searching for an acquaintance.

Flashing his forged invitation, he swept past the servant, into the main entryway of the house, filled with a dozen servants bearing trays of delicacies and champagne. Gliding by them, he rejected their offers without a word, searching for the main room where the host would wait. In his search, he passed by a quieter part of the party where a couple had lost themselves in their partner.

Blocking out the sounds of the impassioned embrace, he finally found the center of the part where a middle-aged man, a perfectly fit model of masculinity, occupied multiple women fawning over him. Confident he had found the host, he moved on to identifying the members of the party, picking out a frowning red-headed woman in a tight black dress. Their eyes locked across the sea of people and she subtly winked her left eye then her right at him.

He returned the gesture and a smile spread across her face.

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"Now we've ordered, tell me everything about your time in France. I've always wanted to go." Christine inquired, ignoring her manners and leaning her elbows on the table to get comfortable for his story.

"Well, I didn't always live in France. I was born Nadir Khan in Persia. When my mother died soon after birth, my father packed up things and left Persia for good and set his eyes on France. I never learned why but I loved it so much I never asked." He leaned back and ran through his memories for a long while before continuing. "When I was four, my father took a second wife, a widow who wanted a family so badly that she was willing to raise a dead woman's child. She doted on me and became the mother I never knew. Those summers I spent with her exploring the French countryside while I was still in single digits still are some of my favorite memories.

"But, my favorite had to be the seasons of my tenth and eleventh years. We had moved into a new house and my step-mother was expecting her sixth child and, was, unlike the others, expected to carry it to term. Because Father's work would keep him away for weeks, he and Mother opted to keep me at home and hire a tutor rather than to send me to the school in Rouen." He laughed quietly and sipped on his water, adorned with an ignored lemon.

"I only studied for a few hours every day so the rest I spent roaming, mostly by myself because mother refused to leave the house for risk of losing her sixth child. One day, I wandered several miles afield and found a small house, covered in vines and appearing almost unhabituated. Being the curious ten-year-old that I was, I went to it and poked around, discovering, much to my shock, that a woman and her son lived there." His smile faded from his face as he appeared lost in memories.

"I'll never forget that boy, so shy to speak to me, so intent on covering his face from my sight. For several days, I would slip away from my studies and go talk to him through the window slats of his room, which he wasn't allowed out of. But, when I mentioned I had found this wonderful tree for climbing, he offered to escape so we could go play with it together.

"That evening it was too late for us but, we promised to meet in the bushes outside of his house the next day because his mother would be gone to Rouen for her weekly shopping. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. He was so nimble, climbing the tree before I could scale the first branch..."

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As he had thought, the man soon desired to take one of the girls outside the room and into a more private place in the garden. After overhearing the waiting place, he disappeared from the room and found the bench, overhung with an ancient weeping willow. Scampering into the branches, he slid the lasso from his pocket and perched on one of the limbs, waiting for the host to arrive at the meeting spot.

He didn't delay long, his intentions towards the woman encouraging speed.

As he paced beneath the tree, Erik poised, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He received it when he paused beneath the branch and glanced about, hesitating for a second, allowing Erik to spring on him like a panther from the branch above.

▪▪▪▪▪

"That day we played many of the games that normal children play but he hadn't ever heard of. Now, I know what to call him, I know the names for the abuse he suffered but then, he was just an ignorant boy I had to teach. I didn't think beyond 'how odd' when he said he didn't know how to play hide-and-go-seek." Christine reach over the table and patted his hand, her heart going out to the boy who she only knew through the stories of her friend.

"He didn't have a name, or didn't know it, so I named him Ami, French for friend because he was my friend. From that day, we were nearly inseparable. I introduced him to books and he devoured them. I brought him home multiple times and my mother adored him. When she met him, she had miscarried her sixth child and the doctor told her to never try to have another because neither her nor the child would live through it. So, she adopted him, in a way. We were close enough friends to be brothers and my mother wanted another child so badly..." He trailed off, a haunted look taking over his emerald eyes.

"What happened to him?" Christine asked, feeling pain ended his story instead of happiness.

"That is sad story."

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The lasso slithered off the dead man's snapped neck and found its back into his pocket, it's job complete. The corpse lay, head bent at a terrible angle and eyes wide open, set in purple flesh. Disgusted with the creature before him, he moved to walk away when a scream filled the air. Not remaining to see who it was, he ran for the shadows, disappearing from the party as quickly as he had come.

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"If you don't want to tell me that's okay."

"No, it's fine. When I was eleven, Ami's mother found out about us and beat him to a pulp and threw him out of the house calling him unrepeatable names for daring to make a friend. I took him back to my mother who had, I know, wanted secretly for him to run away and come live with us. She took him in instantly, bathed him, bandaged his wounds and adopted him as her second child.

"A month later, I went with Father into town and left them together, nothing new. When I came back, Mother was in her room sobbing and terrified and Ami was gone. I never saw him again and I never found out what happened. My mother never recovered and died a year later. Father got involved in the underworld and I left, changing my name to escape him and his friends. I've searched for Ami but, I had nothing to go on. Not even a name or a birthdate."

Christine's eyes dampened with tears, one crystal drop falling down her cheek only to be quickly dashed away by a hand.

"I am so sorry. To lose a friend like that has to be the worst thing." Her heart went out to both. "And, then your parents on top of it all." She found quickly she had nothing to say and instead, moved from her seat to his side and gently hugged him, patting his back.

"Those were hard years." He replied, slipping one arm around her waist before giving her a partial smile, "But, I got through and went to the academy and made new friends. But, I'll never forget him. maybe one day we'll meet. I can only hope he has done as well as me."

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He packed his bags in record time, Beauty's picture staring at him from his phone urging him to hurry back to his home. A week had been too long parted from her, though he doubted in that moment if she really had even noticed his absence now she had another "friend."

A bag crinkled in the bottom of his suitcase and he grinned.

A white cashmere shawl, a perfect gift for Beauty. An honest use of blood money.