Post by Sixteen on Jul 10, 2011 19:43:40 GMT -5
Chapter 3: Ships In The Night
BSam thanked the cashier as he left the store. Armed with enough groceries for the household, he made his way to his car. He and the other 667ers had been living together for almost a month now. Settling into the driver’s seat, he remembered their first night in the house.
“This is very worrying news,” Libitina said.
“There’s no need to over-react,” Emma said, placing a hand on Libby’s shoulder. “This is an old estate. The binoculars could have been left there accidentally by the previous owners.”
“But that doesn’t explain the gap in the railings, or the shuffling noises that caught my attention in the first place,” Willis countered. Emma furrowed her brow.
“Who cares if somebody was spying on us?” Trikip said, breaking the silence that had descended. “It’s an old town. The people that live here are likely to be a tight-knit community. When a group of eight strangers move into the big house on the hill it’s bound to cause some rumours. They probably think we’re some sort of cult.”
“You can’t blame them, really,” Fancy said. “Apart from you and Libitina, none of us are even related. Whatever they’ve heard about us will be blown out of proportion through gossip and hearsay.” Trikip nodded in agreement. Shelly and Emma shared a nervous glance.
“That doesn’t give them the right to trespass and vandalise our property!” Libitina cried.
“Of course not,” Tragedy said. “But for now it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll introduce ourselves over the next few days and set the record straight. Maybe it’s best not to mention the site. That really would make us sound like some kind of cult.”
The sound of sirens snapped BSam out of his flashback reverie. He saw a cop car in his rear-view mirror and pulled over to the side of the road. He wondered what the problem could be as the officer stepped out and approached. BSam lowered his window.
“Licence and registration, please,” the officer said with an accent.
“Yes, sir,” BSam said, hesitantly. “What was the problem, exactly?” The cop raised his eyebrows and removed his sunglasses. He took BSam’s licence and a faint smile crossed his face.
“Ah, I see. You’re Australian. Now it makes sense.” BSam wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended by this statement. “You see, in America we drive on the right side of the road.” Realisation dawned upon the Australian as he realised his mistake. While his brain was devoting so much time to revisiting memories, it had forgotten to account for the rules of the American road.
“I can’t believe I did that, he said, embarrassed. “You see, I’ve only been here a few weeks and I – “
“Don’t worry about it,” the officer laughed, handing back BSam’s papers. “I used to do it all the time when I moved here. It takes a while to adjust.”
“Thanks. If you drove on the left too you must be English?”
“Irish, actually. I moved to this town a few months back and took on the job as police officer. To be honest, though it’s not what I really wanted. I’ve always dreamed of being a crime reporter for a newspaper.”
“You shouldn’t give up on your dreams,” Bsam said. “After all, that’s what brought us here, isn’t it?” The cop smiled at this thought.
“You must be living up on the hill, right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” BSam replied. “Number 667.” The two men grinned at an inside joke that neither realised they shared.
“Take care of it,” the officer said. “And stick to the right lane on your way home.”
“Will do, sir. Best of luck with the reporting job!”
With that BSam drove home, groceries in tow. Officer Sixteen returned to his car, unaware of whom he had just pulled over and how much trouble he and his friends would cause in the future.
BSam thanked the cashier as he left the store. Armed with enough groceries for the household, he made his way to his car. He and the other 667ers had been living together for almost a month now. Settling into the driver’s seat, he remembered their first night in the house.
“This is very worrying news,” Libitina said.
“There’s no need to over-react,” Emma said, placing a hand on Libby’s shoulder. “This is an old estate. The binoculars could have been left there accidentally by the previous owners.”
“But that doesn’t explain the gap in the railings, or the shuffling noises that caught my attention in the first place,” Willis countered. Emma furrowed her brow.
“Who cares if somebody was spying on us?” Trikip said, breaking the silence that had descended. “It’s an old town. The people that live here are likely to be a tight-knit community. When a group of eight strangers move into the big house on the hill it’s bound to cause some rumours. They probably think we’re some sort of cult.”
“You can’t blame them, really,” Fancy said. “Apart from you and Libitina, none of us are even related. Whatever they’ve heard about us will be blown out of proportion through gossip and hearsay.” Trikip nodded in agreement. Shelly and Emma shared a nervous glance.
“That doesn’t give them the right to trespass and vandalise our property!” Libitina cried.
“Of course not,” Tragedy said. “But for now it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll introduce ourselves over the next few days and set the record straight. Maybe it’s best not to mention the site. That really would make us sound like some kind of cult.”
The sound of sirens snapped BSam out of his flashback reverie. He saw a cop car in his rear-view mirror and pulled over to the side of the road. He wondered what the problem could be as the officer stepped out and approached. BSam lowered his window.
“Licence and registration, please,” the officer said with an accent.
“Yes, sir,” BSam said, hesitantly. “What was the problem, exactly?” The cop raised his eyebrows and removed his sunglasses. He took BSam’s licence and a faint smile crossed his face.
“Ah, I see. You’re Australian. Now it makes sense.” BSam wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended by this statement. “You see, in America we drive on the right side of the road.” Realisation dawned upon the Australian as he realised his mistake. While his brain was devoting so much time to revisiting memories, it had forgotten to account for the rules of the American road.
“I can’t believe I did that, he said, embarrassed. “You see, I’ve only been here a few weeks and I – “
“Don’t worry about it,” the officer laughed, handing back BSam’s papers. “I used to do it all the time when I moved here. It takes a while to adjust.”
“Thanks. If you drove on the left too you must be English?”
“Irish, actually. I moved to this town a few months back and took on the job as police officer. To be honest, though it’s not what I really wanted. I’ve always dreamed of being a crime reporter for a newspaper.”
“You shouldn’t give up on your dreams,” Bsam said. “After all, that’s what brought us here, isn’t it?” The cop smiled at this thought.
“You must be living up on the hill, right?” he asked.
“Yeah,” BSam replied. “Number 667.” The two men grinned at an inside joke that neither realised they shared.
“Take care of it,” the officer said. “And stick to the right lane on your way home.”
“Will do, sir. Best of luck with the reporting job!”
With that BSam drove home, groceries in tow. Officer Sixteen returned to his car, unaware of whom he had just pulled over and how much trouble he and his friends would cause in the future.