The Raven Conspiracy

Chapter 38 - A Chat With Art

A/N: Firstly, I'm dedicating this chapter to Kirky :) Thank you for all the support, especially for reccommending TRC.

Secondly, I won't be updating until after 23 September 2013. I have two hell weeks of exams and other commitments that take priority. 

Thank you for reading :)

~Hikari

Chapter 38 – A Chat With Art

For one of the few times in my life, I had nothing to do. I fiddled about in the kitchen for a while, arranging the sparse contents of the cupboards to relax. Keeping my hands busy gave me time to think, while simultaneously distracting me enough from worry.  With nothing else to do, I busied myself making some lunch. I found packet of pasta and some tinned products that I could use for a sauce. I didn’t know how long Kairo would be gone, but I was getting hungry and I thought he would probably want something to eat when he returned.

I left the sauce to simmer and the pasta to boil while I tidied up. The dishes from breakfast were still sitting in the sink. As I cleaned them, I thought about what my mother’s reaction would be if she walked into the flat and saw unwashed plates and cups. Never mind the fact that I’d been part of a kidnapping and got hit by a car, I’d have to wash every single one of those dishes before she’d even speak to me. The thought made me smile.

Over the hissing of the tap and the swishing of the water as I worked, I heard a faint sound behind me. I casually dried my hands on my shirt, grabbed the dagger Kairo gave me and whirled around suddenly.

My heart-rate dropped. There was no-one there. I turned off the stoves and glanced over to Art. He wasn’t there.

“Sh*t,” I swore. I was supposed to be watching him and he had disappeared.

“Art?” I called. There was no response, so, holding the weapon close to me, I moved carefully to where he was supposed to me. There was another sound, only muffled. I frowned; unless I was mistaken, it was the sound of someone crying.

I found Art sitting under a table, his head rested on arms folded over pulled-up legs. His face was turned to the wall. The sound had come from him.

“Art? Are you okay?”

I touched his shoulder. He pulled back suddenly, turned his head and gave me a death-glare. I automatically held up the knife, but lowered it when I noticed that his eyes were red – agitated by crying silently, I realised.

“I’m...I’m not going to hurt you, Art. You can tell me what’s wrong.”

I sat down, cross-legged, in front of him, put the weapon in my lap and held up my hands. I knew I was taking a massive risk, but compassion got the better of me.

He shook his head and buried his face in his arms again. I reached out my hand again, slower.

“Don’t touch Art.”

“Okay. I won’t touch you. Now, why were you crying?” I asked. I made my voice as gentle as possible, softening the tone and volume.

He didn’t give an answer. I didn’t expect one immediately.

“It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me. Look, I saw that you didn’t eat anything. I made some lunch – come and sit with me. I won’t force you to have anything either, but please come.”

I turned my hand around so that my palm faced up. Tentatively, he brushed my palm with his fingertips and withdrew his hand.

I held it there for a few more moments as he made up his mind. He seemed to reach a compromise; he didn’t take my hand but stood up and went to sit at the kitchen table, blinking expectantly. I bustled about the stove and the cupboards, dishing up two plates of pasta. The rich, tomato-acidic aroma of the food wafted from the pots and made my mouth water. I placed one in front of him and dug into my own. He picked up his fork, hesitated, and dipped it into the food. I smiled to my pasta; the smell of hot food to a hungry stomach easily swayed the mind.