Her Silence

Chapter Ten

"She had a heart – how shall I say? – too soon made glad, too easily impressed; she liked whate'er she looked on, and her looks went everywhere." Robert Browning

James's POV

"Do you understand what we are dealing with here?" I ask in exasperation.

"Yeah of course I-"

"No, I don't think you do." I cut one of the officers off, not yet sure of his name. "I don't think any of you do." The light flickers, and resentful shadows appear over the faces of those in the room. Many of the members on this team I have going on here are said to 'specialise in circumstances involving covert threats', but I don't see anyone here understanding the urgency of finding Rosie's Mother. "The victim cannot talk. If she finds herself in a predicament, she is not going to be able to make anyone aware, and we don't know what her Mother is capable of." The thought of that alone makes my blood run cold.

"So, what do we do? Keep a man on her and at the bar at all times? And at the same time have men check the camera operating over the bar, outside of Tidy, as well as checking the CCTV that films in a logical perimeter near Tidy and Rosie's place? It's only unrealistic James. Our department can barely afford that and you know it." That was Freddie. Annoying as he could be when it comes to shooting down what I deem a rational plan, he keeps everyone's heads screwed on and maintains the consistency within our group.

"No one is needed to be with Rosie, I've sorted that part out. We need to maintain the small normality that surrounds her, as this is the only way she will stay sane." My phone pings, and I know my time in this meeting is over. It's already eight thirty in the evening. "I need to get going now. Freddie, I'm leaving this with you until I come back tomorrow afternoon – any plan worth trying will be appreciated. As for everyone else, expose yourself to empathy and make yourself useful. Prove to me that you deserve to be here." Everyone in the room disperses and I make my way to my car. Before leaving I check my phone, reading a message from Rosie, asking if we need any milk. I smile, the thought of her being in my company making me feel something that I haven't felt before. I knew asking Rosie whether she wanted to move into my spare room was a risk as it could have come across as too personal, but she took it well and understood that I simply want her to be somewhere safe. I knew she would prefer it to a stranger moving in. The frown that formed on her face when she was deciding whether she would move in or not was an expression I can only describe as extraordinary – she's visually encapsulating and you can almost see the cogs turning in her mind as she makes decisions. Seeing her sign that yes, she would move in, gave me the greatest feelings of relief; I didn't want to have to start making excuses to see her. There's something about Rosie that doesn't make sense to me and it drives me mad – how can someone be so delicate and fierce at the same time? The passion that flares across her face when she's mad with me, or explaining something to me, or arguing with me, almost makes me ignore whatever she may be telling me. It articulates everything, even when there is little need. She's a force on this earth that you could look at and simply become lost within – I am sure that Rosie is a fine definition as a cause for the fall of man. The fall of myself, even. The day she fainted in the office and was asleep for a good while was the only time I have ever seen her at peace with the world. No longer was there the intruding crease between her brow, nor the reoccurring flash of fear across her face. It became apparent to me that sleep is her only form of peace, and from that moment I vowed I would make sure that one day she can experience it when she is awake.

Pulling onto my driveway I can see a pile of black hair floating around the kitchen – the slight frame of Rosie makes everything seem graceful, and I already know she is dancing to a song that she will likely know every word to. She is never discreet about that and is certainly not shy about her obsession with music – not only will she mouth every word with precision, but she will throw her hands around to emphasise the most meaningful of lyrics. Or so she says. I tell her she's crazy, which only encourages her to be even more dramatic, providing me with the most heartfelt performances. I bloody love it. She explained loosely that music provides the words that she cannot speak. The girl has a switch in her head that flicks on and off, controlling every emotion and it keeps me on my toes. She feels everything so, so deeply, but it draws me in even more. I want to find out more about her and understand what mysteries whirl around in that gorgeous head of hers. As I walk into the kitchen, I pretend to gasp in disgust at the 'mess' she has made. Of course, it's minimal, but I love winding her up. She turns to me with her cheeks flaring red and sticks her tongue out, baring her teeth and winking at me simultaneously. I role my eyes laughing and dump my bags on the countertop, taking a seat. She leans over and grabs one of my fingers, making me look up. She looks embarrassed. She begins to sign odd words, until she throws a legitimate strop and frankly signs exactly what's on her mind.

"James I'm bored. I want to go back to work." I feel for her, completely understanding the entrapment she must be feeling right now. I begin fiddling with her own fingers, twirling her ring around her right index finger.

"I know you do Rosie, and if I was one hundred percent sure it was safe, you know you'd be able to go back to Tidy in the blink of an eye, but I swear to God if that woman so much as-"

"It's okay, get it." She replies, looking glum. I pull her round the counter and place my hands on her hips, resting my lips on her forehead. Even when I'm sitting on the stools, I'm still taller than her. She sighs.

"I will make sure this is over as soon as possible," she nods, "and afterwards you can work as many hours and days as you like until your heart is content." She hits my chest, smirking at me. Her grey eyes are seas of discontent, and I only want to make her happy for the rest of the time she spends with me. I grab her hand. "Go upstairs and wrap up warm, I'll be in the car waiting." Her eyes then light up and I know this short adventure will distract her. She begins bobbing up and down in excitement.

"Where are we going?" I was going to keep it a surprise, but I simply can't keep things from her. She has always spoken about places she wishes she could visit, believing her childhood was cut short of such things.

"We are going to the coast." Small arms wrap around me, and then a very happy human runs up the stairs in glee.

*****

There we have it... your eyes have now been opened to the thought process of our dearest James. I hope you enjoyed this chapter!

I knew I wanted to incorporate James's point of view into this story, as I feel like a refreshing stance of what Rosie is like has been needed.

Maybe his perspective will return again in the future... 

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