Tidbit Compilation

Indebted

My eyes fluttered gently at first, hazy and confused, when I realized that I wasn't dead. They shot open immediately, but became blinded by sudden daylight. While I adjusted to the light, my other senses kicked in. It was quiet, except for the sounds of singing birds outside and a source of cool air breezing past my face. One thing I had already figured out was that I wasn't in the city anymore. The lack of zooming cars and street dialogue was unfamiliar to me. I took a deep breath, inhaling the aroma of lavender and freshly-brewed honeybush vanilla tea. I was in a warm bed with the blankets tucked up to my shoulders, but still something wasn't right. I felt too luxurious. When my fingers gently fumbled for my pocket to grasp my compass and instead found silk pajamas, I finally realized that I wasn't in my own clothes anymore.

I inhaled sharply, and with my eyes finally tolerant of the light, took a look at my environment. I was in a small room with medical equipment, but the furniture and overall coziness of the room told me that I wasn't in a hospital. I couldn't see much, because the next thing I saw was a person. A man. My jaw almost dropped. He was a very handsome man.

"You're awake!" he exclaimed with a smoky voice, "I was beginning to worry."

He began to approach me, and out of instinct, I sat up to properly deliver a punch to his rounded jaw. Lucky for him, I was still drained of energy, and almost passed out the moment I was sitting up straight. My head crashed right back into the pillow, which only brought this strange man to me faster. I closed my eyes half-heartedly and groaned in pain.

"Careful! You're still recovering. Someone in your line of work should know how to pace themselves," he lectured, "We were lucky to get you medical attention before it was too late."

I hadn't known this man for a minute, and already I was beginning to dislike him. What right did he have to tell me how to do my job? If he had seen my record, not being able to pace myself for a split second wouldn't seem like such a fuss. Then again, he had just saved me from a consequence that should have killed me. I owed him my life. The least I could do was stay down and tolerate him.

He continued, "I must admit, though, I'm rather impressed with how well you put up against Viola. You must have very quick reflexes and a sharp mind."

"Yeah," I croaked. I hadn't realized until then just how dry my throat was. I took a dry swallow, suddenly desperate for a drink.

As if he anticipated my need, he handed me a tall, skinny glass that was sitting on the bedside table. I thanked him and downed it in the blink of an eye. When I had finished, I set it back down in its original spot, and he sat in a chair beside the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I've been punched in the gut by death," I responded, a little quicker than what may have been polite.

At least he laughed, so I didn't feel like I was being a complete jerk. He took a pitcher from the dresser and refilled my glass, which was drained by me almost immediately.

"Thanks for saving my life. My name is..."

"Coralline Benear," he finished, "According to your identification."

He knew who I was. So much for using a fake name. If he had seen my identification, however, he must also have seen my clothes, my bag, and possibly even my compass. I just hoped none of my things had floated away when I nearly drowned after falling off of that boat.

"Where are my clothes?" I asked abruptly.

My question must have caught him off guard. After a small thought process, he responded, "The nurse had to undress and redress you in order for your recovery to speed up. She's currently washing your clothes and drying out your belongings."

I wanted information, and I wanted it immediately. Who was he? Where was I? Why had he saved me? As long as this guy was talking, I figured I might as well ask questions.

"Where am I and who are you?"

"You're in the Lobell Mansion. I'm Chandler."

Chandler Lobell, top philanthropist of the City of Portston, owner of the Lobell Medical Foundation, and a flying colors graduate of one of the most challenging schools known to mankind, was sitting next to me concerned about my health. I should have recognized him.

"Oh wow," I blurted, "I'm an idiot."

"Not at all," he assured me, "You're injured and dazed."

If that wasn't fairly obvious, I don't know what was. I was completely out of my element in my condition.

"Right. So, why is the head of the Lobell Estate saving my life, exactly?"

Chandler looked at me as if it were obvious. "Because it needed to be done."

He wasn't fooling me. There was something that he wanted in return from me, but he was playing a game of debt. He saves my life, I ask what I can do in return, and he tells me what he wants, then calls it "even." I knew this kind of trick, and I wasn't going to let it get past me. Men like Chandler weren't made of generosity.

"Don't lie to me, Mister Lobell. No one who works like you do is 100% goody-two-shoes. You want something from me in exchange for my rescue, so why don't you just tell me what it is and we'll consider ourselves 'even'?"

Caught in the act, Chandler sighed and let his eyes drift to the ceiling. "I won't lie, there is something I would like you to do, but the fact remains that you were in need of rescue. I'm not all about personal gain." He put on a more serious face and made direct eye contact. Not as if to intimidate, however, but more as if to plead. "You have a very select set of skills for a historical detective. I need you to get rid of the one thing that stains this town's fair name: Viola."