Cliffhanger
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WpMetadataReadOngoing<5 mins
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Mon, Jun 22, 2015
"Where are you?" He would ask "God, please tell me where you are!" How was he going to complete this impossible task? He had the friendliest of faces that I'd ever seen. With his half moon shaped glasses, short brunette hair and an odd yet endearing enthusiasm for the Crime-Thriller genre, he'd seem like your average 'local library' librarian. I always talked to him about the things that one wouldn't normally confide into a librarian, and he would sit there,with an observant expression on his face and listen to it all. He knows so much. But instead of his reassuring smile, I now see the scrunched up faces of the curious reporters. I see the faces of a mourning family trying to keep it all together. I see the blinding lights of the cameras. I see people whispering to each other, wondering what it is that had happened to the 'nice old librarian chap'. I have his half moon glasses, coated with blood, The Secret Seven books with pages torn at unusual places, and a mysterious statement given in the newspaper, with me in order to save the day. Jonathan Stewart's story is a story left unwritten on a very unnatural Cliffhanger, and I, as a reader, will find out what had happened.
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#877
cliffhanger
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Jasper stiffens in his seat as I press the metal of the blade against his back. "Don't say a word. Come with me, right now." Of course, he doesn't listen. I had hoped a dagger to the kidney would be incentive enough, but even the threat of death doesn't graze a Devereaux ego. He turns toward me to argue, facing away from the goon that's been eyeing him across the bar. I doubt he even noticed. The man whispers something to his sketchy friend, pointing at Jasper. No time for discussion. I grab his arm and press the tip of the knife harder, just barely breaking the skin. He winces, realizing I mean business, and gets up. The idiot prince seems to finally get the memo, running alongside me until we're a safe distance away. "What the hell was that about?" his ragged breaths take the sting out of his words. I've never seen him like this before. Cheeks red, chest heaving, hunched over himself on the stump of a tree. For once, he looks like an authentic person. Of course, this is merely an illusion. Jasper Devereaux is an arrogant, entitled dirtbag, nothing more. I can't believe I just jeopardized my favorite trade spot for him. He demands to know why I pulled a knife on him instead of just telling him he was in danger. I explain to him that the reason for the dagger was glaringly obvious if you consider the way he acted when I did use it. If he was willing to argue with a blade against his skin, there is no way he'd have left that place in good hands if I hadn't forced him to. I can't help but laugh at the audacity of him to be angry with me for how I chose to save his life. "You really haven't changed." His head snaps up at this, and I see his eyes searching my face. Of course he doesn't recognize me. For me, it was super traumatic. For him, it was just another day. "What are you going on about?" "This isn't the kingdom, Jasper, these peasants aren't at your mercy." I see the blood drain from his face, and recognition clicks in his eyes.

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