Chapter Two: Protecting What's Right.

The plumes of steam were rolling around in the air of the small bathroom. Shutting off the water, Bren was finishing his shower and pushing the curtain back and wondering how in the hell he planned on surviving these next few weeks back in this town. Carefully he stepped out of the shower, every muscle in his body contracting with pain and protesting against any real movement. He pushed his hand through his slick wet hair then wrapped the fluffed white towel around his v-shaped waist line. Then he stepped in front of the mirror and heaved a sigh, watching the scar on his chest move up and back down.

Fingers trailing over the crest, he thought, I did what was right; I did what had to be done. Quickly he resisted the searing agony of the memory that tried to invite itself into his thought. That’s not something to play with, or jostle, the little box in the back of his mind. It was kept there for a very specific reason, to keep all that should never be thought about again, just that, never thought about. Reluctantly, he entertained the idea that maybe it was time to clean out that little chest reservoir he had inside his head. A sarcastic cackle broke the soundless, stale air and he shook his head. “Yeah, right…” He said aloud.

When he was finally dressed, he shook out his hair and walked back into the room where Madeline lay fast asleep. He patted down his hair, picked up his shoes from the side of his bed and tried to be as mute as possible. Walking out the front door, he simultaneously put on his shoes, a trick unique to Bren.

The cool movements, set pace, and way he walked spoke volumes about him. Without even knowing his name " you knew he had a tainted history. A discerning past, that if you heard him speak about it you would almost feel as if you are intruding on some intimate moment. Constantly walking as if, at any given moment, he could start to sprint away and no one could catch him.

Coming up to the main cabin where the front desk was located, he slowed and with his constraining walk, glided up the steps and in through the door.

“Anyone in here?” He called out, then walked over to the bell on the desk and gave it a light tap, “Hello?” he asked once more.

A few moments of silence ensued and then a small, rounded man came out of a door from behind the desk and gave Bren the up down. “Can I help you, mister?” he asked in a dangerously low voice, not something you would expect from such a small man like his self.

“Yes, you can. I was wondering if you could extended our stay in the room that we have. We might be staying an extra week or two here.” Bren asked in his polite, cut off manner.

“Ah, enjoying the scenery around here, are ya?” The stout, troll like man asked.

Bren chucked. “Not exactly. I grew up here actually, so I’ve seen it all already. Just some business to tend to. Anyway, I’m Bren Athen.”

The odd little man pushed his glasses back up onto his face with his pointer finger then started to clack at his key in front of his computer.

“Hm… Let me see if I’ve got any reservations placed in there after you two...” His eyes scanned the screen then a face of shock contorted his features. “Sir,” he began his question, “You’re rooming with a Miss. Madeline Vic?”

Bren turned his head from looking out the window until his eyes were square with the man at the front desk. “Yes, I am. Why do you ask?”

“I was… Well, I was just wondering if that was the same Madeline Vic, as in the daughter of Richard Vic? The Richard Vic?”

“How do you know of Richard Vic?” Bren’s eyes penetrated into the small man’s, forcing his small plump lips to run dry. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know anyone from around this town that don’t know the story of that man. And his death recently, tragic. So tragic. They never did find out the exact cause of that fire, did they? Hm, no I don’t believe they did. Now his daughter is in town, in my motel! She must be here to go through what’s left, am I right? Right? Do you think I might be able to speak with her?” A plethora of words, spewed from his mouth like an unhinged fire hydrant. Bren tried to follow along but found himself all caught up in the commotion, until he heard the last question that little man asked.

“No.” His word was final. “Not if your only intention is to pester her about her late father. I wouldn’t suggest it.”

“Now, now young man,” the stubby fellow walked around the desk and came face to chest with Bren. “I don’t believe you are her father then, or her boss, or her care taker for that matter. She’s a big girl now, as I do re-call. I think she can speak to me on her own.”

In a blinding movement, without any hesitation, Bren had the man pinned against the desk. Hands grappled around his chunky arm, holding tight and he lowered his face to the small porker. “Listen. You will not bother Ms. Vic, are we understood? In fact, if you happen to see her in here, or pass her out in the street you will act as if you have not a clue whom she is. You won’t say two words to her. And if I happen to find out that you did, I can assure you that the consequences of that action will not go un-asserted.” He let go and stepped back, brushing off the shoulder of the small man, “Now sir, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to her. The money is on the desk, I expect you to take care of and extend our reservations. Thank you.”

Bren proceeded to walk toward the door, and the stout, short man shook himself of the nerves that were crawling through his body. Checking his self to make sure he didn’t piss in his pants, he tried to angle his face so it didn’t look so horror stricken when Bren looked back at him.

“By the way, I don’t think I caught your name.” Bren mentioned.

“It’s Hermit. Hermit Petigrew.”

Author's Note

This chapter, or section is just a little short, sorry. I felt it needed to be wrapped up or it would have dragged on without a smooth transition into the next part. I needed to split the ideas. Plus I don't like making it too too long, don't want to lose the interest of my readers this early in. Hope you enjoyed.