Killing Tink

Ch 32

Morning light filtered through the side living room window and John watched the shadows on the walls as they traveled. It had been a long night of turmoil and restless energy. He stared at Alice for hours memorizing her face, the curve of her neck, and the way her nose turned up at the tip.  Her feet rested in his lap as he searched for a way to make sense of the new meanings behind his frustration.

It had been hours since she died and she was already less than she had been. Even locked up and in a feral state she had been bursting with an energy. Most of the time it was defiance and rage but it had been magnificent.  Now she was relaxed, and perhaps even more beautiful, but without the sparks she often threw it was as if she were a fragment that he couldn't quite wrap his head around.  She was his, but not the ferocious beast that he longed to tame, now she was a pliable doll whose expression wouldn't change no matter what he did. It was disheartening. 

He shuffled his way to the kitchen and made himself some coffee while he watched the monitor. Hope lay relaxed on the bed, almost casual and without signs of distress or feelings of distrust. Perhaps he'd misjudged her. His right hand trembled as he lifted the steaming coffee to his lips. Where was her spark? Her determination? 

Women who were content to be caged infuriated him. He remembered when he was a boy hearing the sounds of his father's fists against his mothers soft skin through the paper thin walls. Each time waiting for the moment she rebelled to arrive, each time swallowing the nausea when she stayed still and silent.   He hated his father for not being in control of his temper, but the hatred he had for his weak silent mother was like fire traveling through his veins.

The day of his father's funeral john remembered breaking the lock on his father's liquor cabinet and taking his first drink and his second, visions of living a quiet life with a mother capable and finally free to be herself filled him with pride and courage.

It took three days for his happiness to blossom into anger. Her sniveling and crying for the loss of her husband had ended by then, but only to be replaced with an indecisive passive mother whose mousy demeanor lasted until she found another brute to take her dead husbands place.

John watched the monitor as he thought about the past. The way he had thrown himself into his studies so ferociously that when he left home for college he had earned himself a full scholarship and vowed to never looked back to his mother no matter what life handed him.  On the day he left his mother had given him an envelope of cash from his father's insurance claim and a letter stating that when he graduated she would spend her days with him and finally be happy. John gulped his cooling coffee as he remembered carrying that letter for six full years. The day he burned it, the letter was almost transparent, its creases and lines so deep from his wallet that the ashes floated around the air.

He rinsed and washed his cup and walked to the closet to find clothes.  Today he would go to work late. There was much to be done and the highest priority of the day was Hope. She was the painting waiting to be framed and like every blank canvas, it would take time for the picture to swim into focus. The first stroke was always the most important, and that would be today.

He chose a light purple collard shirt and casual beige pants. Today's impression must say casual yet still give the presence of authority. He combed his hair and brushed his teeth getting rid of the old taste of coffee. His heart beat quicker and he took it as a sign of excitement. Starting a new project was always fascinating. The direction of her future, and his was based on every interaction and he wouldn't repeat the mistakes he'd made with Alice.

After pacing the hallway a few times to get his blood flowing and mind ready, he opened the outer door. It was shocking to be greeted with the smell of cleaner instead of waste and he relaxed his muscles realizing Alice wasn't in the cage, no hissing spitting or aggression would have to be dodged.

Hope sat up on the bed, her expression the same as it had been in the hospital, completely flat.  Her hands wrapped themselves around her knees, a protective posture that gave John a good feeling. Somewhere she still had instinct to protect herself and a sense to question his coming into the room.

"Good morning Hope. Did you sleep?" He kept
His voice void of emotion as he unlocked the front of the cell and took a chair in.

"I did. Did you reach my parents?  Am I going home today?"

John fought the anger that bloomed. Why were people always so quick to throw away formality and jump into their own needs. He took a deep breath, Hope had been raised by an animal, she needed time. He reminded himself that it was something else he could teach her, an opportunity.

"Usually when someone gives you a greeting you follow it with a greeting of your own. Hello, for instance. If someone says hello Hope, you'd say hello first, and then begin your own conversation. It makes the beginning of a conversation pleasant."

He watched as her eyebrows creased down in thought and the slight cock of her head as she processed what he had said.

"Hello John. I'm sorry. I'm just mixed up from the move and when you rescued me and said you were going to bring me home it was like everything else was a blur."

Her skin flushed and she dropped her feet to the floor. She was relaxed and perhaps hopeful about the future. It was a good sign.

"It seems your family has moved Hope. But my secretary Alice is searching for them and with today's electronic trails it shouldn't take long at all. But I think we should do a little work first, don't you?" 

He watched as her shoulders drooped and her feet stopped swaying. A flicker of a spark crossed her eyes and quickly disappeared as she shifted her gaze to the floor. He'd spent years of his practice watching body language. It was pertinent to ones survival when working with the sick to know when aggressions as building. But this wasn't aggression, sadness maybe.

"Hope?"

"They moved away?"

Dejection. Sadness. It was beautiful to see. No doubt she'd spent hundreds of hours dreaming of a reunion that involved her sliding back into the same life she'd had before she left. It was time for her to realize that this was an impossibility.

"People move Hope. There are hundreds of reasons- money troubles, memories causing pain, job relocation, the list is endless. But instead of focusing on the reason, let's get you to the place where you can be healthy wherever your location, can we do that?"

He pulled the chair closer to the small bed where she sat. So close that her knees almost touched his. He could feel the sting of her resolve as she slowly nodded.

"Very good. It's great to have a goal isn't it?  I'm going to get you some breakfast in a few minutes, but first, let's take a single step."

He felt his mouth go dry as he leaned forward and placed his hands on her thighs. The muscles in her legs tightened but she didn't pull away.

"It's time to work Hope. Tell me about the first night you realized the man who captured you wasn't a hero."

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What do you think of that question?  Is it prophetic or calculated? Or is John just pushing the edge of the past? 
The complex nature of John is really keeping me on my toes, I know what he has planned for Tink and I can barely believe it. Seriously even I wonder if it's going to go the way he's planning.
Stay tuned and Merry Christmas everyone. ❤🌲💕