Missouri Police Precinct, Gladstone.

Recorded.

Unsub Interview.

Name: Emile Frau.

Age: 40's

Crime: Unlawful seizure of minors. Unlawful imprisonment of minors. Resisting Arrest. Lying to law enforcement(multiple counts). Forgery of adoption papers. Two counts child endangerment and abuse.

********************

Questioning Officer: Marlena Crawford

Through her career she'd seen it all. She always thought this unsub, this brutalized person, this was the worst it could get.

But never, never could she have been prepared for Emile Frau.

By all accounts he didn't grasp it.

Even now, within formalities of interviews that were more to iron out the details of sentencing than anything else.

Emile Frau didn't seem to comprehend kidnapping two children.

So, they'd run a psych eval. as is the requirement.

Only to find that he was completely, frighteningly sane and lucid.

Lucid enough to either lie his ass off or, just built that way in some deviating amalgamation of 'normal.'

Whatever the answer, insanity defense wouldn't work.

Marlena, could not dismiss the machinations of this man and the dark shroud he's now left to mental incompetence or dysfunction.

"So you do confess? I remind you--"

"Of course Madam, anything I can and do say will be used against me in a court of law," Frau said lightly, sitting cross legged in his chair. "I appreciate that I do, just as I appreciate his parents pay your superiors and not you."

She made no minor effort in disregarding that.

The supposed sympathy sparkling in this man's eyes.

"Then confirm for me, on March 9th at 2:14 a.m. you took Abel Rossilini from his bed, from your employer, without neither their knowledge nor consent at the time."

"I suppose," he said now gazing distantly to the window at the side again, "yes. You could see it as 'taking.'"

"I see it as a pre-meditated, passionate attempt at long-term imprisonment of a minor."

"Well then I suppose that would depend on the minor wouldn't it?" he challenged, and for the rise of a dark, chilling tinge in his figure, Emile Frau retained a kindly disposition.

"Abel repeatedly tried to leave you."

"He did and he didn't. As I've said repeatedly, he's a clever one and call it unorthodox but I had to stimulate him somehow," Frau shrugged, "it was a game we played and he understood that. I have never lied."

And she could believe him. From his gesturing, to his gaze, right down to his flippant attitude... this man was no seasoned, meticulous liar. For all the world, he was in fact playing games and 'saving' children.

This man, the abductor, loves Abel Rossilini.

"Well, then I suppose all that's left of the matter is why."

"Pardon." He snapped to stare her right in the eyes when she sat down.

Marlena cringed at being unable to keep the pain in her temples at bay.

This man certainly had a soothing nature to him. Having interviewed him for hours on end and going in circles before he'd "taken pity on her for so much sincere effort," and that burned. It gave her vital data in how he'd been able to keep those children's wits on a tether.

"Why do it? The whole thing, the Japanese would call it 'playing house.'"

Albeit a more twisted version.

"Well now you couldn't have asked that first?" her suspect tsked.

She plowed on, "from the start the victims were allowed access to weapons, amenities, all manner of lockpicking tools and magicians tricks, you took them on excursions and by their own accounts they were not threatened with violence or isolation, not starvation, or beratement. You trusted them to prep meals, be with you while you would sleep and move about the house freely... none of that quite says kidnapper. Despite the otherwise impeccable job you did of disappearing."

"Well yes and no. Abel, Abel was my first so maybe I gave him more leeway than someone in place would have. There was always a special place in my heart just for him." And without fanfare, without middle ground... Frau changed. Expression now cold and words an acidic spit, "besides, he wasn't being cared for properly. Not in the least."

June 1st.

Interview File: 2

Emile Frau: Initial Statements.

"That night, there was no struggle involved. You expect me to believe the child slept through all that, well until you came to the highway."

"Simply amazing isn't it? How the body innately trusts those it knows protects it? Though I wouldn't blame you, Abby puts up such walls but he really is a sweet boy."

***********************

Such a sweet boy. Sleeping so soundly in his arms.

Perfect black hair, still neat despite two hours of deep sleep.

He never dreams he claims. Supposes his thoughts are more organized, his mind more efficient so as to not bother him with such things.

He couldn't wait.

To see when he opened deep, calculating eyes.

Though for now he seated him in the car, head lolling as he did his seatbelt.

It was on the 4I highway that he opened his eyes and so quickly realized he wasn't in bed.

"Emile?" he asked.

"Heya kiddo," the man chirped, looking into those azure eyes through the mirror.

"What have you done?"

"Don't worry about it. It is late, so you should just put your head back and go to sleep."

"I was, but you insisted on such an impromptu road trip. Where are we going?"

How good of Abel to still trust him. It was a relief he wouldn't have to see him afraid. When his intentions were the furthest thing from.

"A lovely ranch I've purchased a couple of towns along. Amazing area too, so cozy and remote. A slice of a fairytale, better yet, away from all this urban noise and pollution." And no offense to Abel's fascination, but Emile did wrinkle his nose. Always a sour smell in the air.

"Towns over?" Abel asked, a sharpness to his query.

Hopefully proper love would undo that.

"Yes."

"Yet you didn't tie me up or silence me?"

"Now why would I do something like that?!"

"Because I have all my senses and while I don't pretend to consider jumping, once you stop I could walk or scream."

"Smart ideas except you can't stay awake forever, you're barefoot sooo, actually it poses the question," though he waved off the tangent just as fast. No sequiturs had was one of the first rules Abel had imposed on him once upon a time. "Anyway I got tinted windows, so no one could be the wiser either way."

"But of course, we can talk about new windows with some time and I'm sure you and I can come to some kind of livable arrangement. Deal? Deal?"

Say deal. say deal.

Say we can make this work.

Sleep.

Rest. Getting away and what Emile had assumed Abel wouldn't even deign to think about. Despite correctly situating that he did not care.

Two towns. An absolute lie.

Emile was so at ease with all this. Even knowing the Hell Father would put up.

Otherwise these actions would make no sense. Two towns was nowhere near far enough. So, he was lying.

So, there was no telling what there could be to fairly expect anymore.

"Dozed off?"

"No, considering the shot of adrenaline currently pumping in my veins."

Emile just laughed. Nothing sick or demented. Just a man amused at a boy.

"I was just thinking," he continued just as glib, "we could make a game out of this escape business. Keep you on your toes."

The former butler sounded completely serious. As much as he could be anyway and Abel could concede, that was the most unnerving of all.

"No I-- that's fine," Abel said, voice carefully controlled, cadence perfectly even with =out a flaw to be seen. No indicator that he was anything but nonplussed.

Abel sprawled on the seat, much as the seatbelt would allow.

"And so you never did intentional harm to the child?" Marlena posed, tone shrewd and displeasure within her stare and in the bite of her lip.

"Who would do something so awful!" Emile gasped, aghast at the very idea.

*************************

Kids needed quite a lot of sleep.

And Abel, more than any other child his age, would need his strengths.

So, he slept the last meager hours of evening away.

He went back when the sky was still a foggy, cautious light shot with raspberry lemonade pink.

Sunrise was coming earlier and earlier. By the hot glare now upon his cheek Abel could estimate it had to be two, perhaps three hours out. Enough to broil the air and for the seats to absorb into a scalding rise of temperature.

Sitting up he sure enough found the roads were utterly different than he knew.

He could remember jolts and traffic lights. The rumble of large rigs that seemed to inordinately follow.

Emile had not made all the many abrupt turns from what he could guess.

There was no map obvious, so, he mostly knew where he was going.

"Abby! Finally, I was worried I'd have to wake you. Can't have you missing breakfast."

"Breakfast?"

"Well yes, of course. I wouldn't be a responsible caretaker if I let you skip meals."

Abel raised his brow, "how?"

Any sense of unease stricken from his thoughts.

Emile would take him out all the time.

Seldom with approval and always for the most inane reasons to "treat him," for breakfast or lunch, or brunch, or desserts.

This was just another one of those times.

They were just an upper class child and his help.

"Well a gas station of course Abby, that is how cars run," he joked. "No, no I'm kidding."

"Oh then I will go. I need the restroom."

Emile then winced, remorse now obvious on his face. "Gee I'm sorry," and he sure did sound it, "look if you can just hold it for a couple more stops."

"I-- I suppose?"

"Look I don't want you doing something brash and running away from me. I mean you a little kid at a gas station out in nowhere." He then shook his head, sighting the facilities, well separated from the business. "I'm sorry, I just don't think it would be safe right this second."

Abel said nothing, simply putting his forehead to warm glass.

"I won't be long," he assured. "Be good."

He shut the car completely to its mechanical sleep. One last sigh of the engine.

With the click of the lock Emile was gone.

Abel kept close eye, until he could be for absolutely certain that Emile could not see out the window.

Technically he could not confirm if Abel remained still, he had not told him to, then again from the entire encounter it was well implied.

And once it was locked into place, he positioned himself by his back and kicked out his feet.

Putting a litany of force toward each strike, trying and trying and trying and trying... and failing to get the door to give.

He moved to his elbow against the glass. The blows coming weak within that tender line to contact.

It neither would give. Not even to the force of his entire right side.

Until it was his upper back that made a cracking noise.

In fact, his entire body was throbbing. Each pulse growing stronger and more harried as he breathed hard, suffocating in slowly condensing heat. Slowly turning sticky and smothering across his face.

Obviously, the problem lay in his bare feet. That click would not resound, without the added force. Of something with equal durability and hardness instead of soft flesh.

The glove compartment between the front seats was somewhat high.

Abel could notice he was beginning to sweat through his shirt.

A heavy object would have to serve his purposes.

It took a bit of a climb to plop himself atop it. Hmm, not too different to a cat.

And, within that vein it was on all fours that he made to where another opening flap was in the car. Right at the fingertips of a front passenger.

However, he checked the more obtrusive first. Grappling his hands soon stumbled onto the gap, allowing it to POP open.

Simply normal amenities. Plastic spoons and forks, napkins. Some straws, and a map. He could tear it up, but, better he leave things as they were. He put it back, closing the compartment to move on to the next.

Where he found half-melted candies Emile often had on hand. Just for him.

Abel was beginning to taste a slow rise of bile. Swiping the candy aside then, Abel grabbed a paperback car manual. Thick and coming to over six hundred pages of sheer weight.

Surely, surely if he hit it hard enough the window would give. And if nothing else, the few drivers filling their pumps, paying for the gas, would hear the commotion. Ask questions.

Same as Abel had to ask, just what was taking his captor so long?

Maybe better he didn't question it too much.

With everything he had left, wincing only a little as his shirt clung wet and humid on his back, Abel gave it one go then two then three and four and five.

Furiously and with vigor each time.

Until he was breathing hard.

Until he had tried the spine or the other side, the other windows.

His mouth had turned dry.

Tongue chapped and he could feel ragged as sandpaper.

He tried striking at the handles or the crevice.

A good idea in theory to operate the use of a fulcrum...

Or... was it the burn?

A horrible throb pulsated and pushed upon the sides of his head.

His labored gasps came with a horrid rasping sound at his throat.

Dizziness was beginning to take hold.

His hands hardly found the handle again to put the book back.

Abel knew... Abel, Abel, Ab-e-l--

One blink and two.

A dazed heave to take himself over back to his own side.

So Emile didn't suspect.

Emi-- his captor-- hadn't done this. He couldn't dare, right?

No. Not on--

BDUMP!

BDMMP!

What did the cartoon say? The one with the talking dog. He'd liked that one. Liked that particular one very much, teaching him words.

"Try laying on the floor."

He found the sticky air a little less thick.

"It's cooler down there."

"Good girl."

Objective: Failure.

When he woke up it was with a shiver.

Head pounding Abel couldn't help but stare on stupid and happy to see him again. Moreso when he'd guided a cold cherry red drink to his lips. To which Abel took greedily into his own hands.

Even so, Emile still apologized profusely for the whole incident.

"I swear I didn't mean to, God you could have gone into shock or had an actual stroke. Abel I am so sorry," he mourned speaking over the AC turned onto full blast.

"Yes, I realize," he mused, looking down to his Caesar's salad. It was all too likely the heatstroke was a methodical move. Even now, two hours later and skin covered in goosebumps the mental fog still lingered.

"I just-- I know how you can be about your food and I know gas station stuff isn't one of your first choices or, appreciated. I wanted to make sure to get something you liked."

In that alone he was not wrong.

But such details were unimportant.

Turning over such a thing in his head it was simply ludicrous.

Would Emile prefer him weak considering the circumstances? Absolutely. It was only the logical course to take.

However to purposely harm Abel, that-- Emile wasn't capable of that. Was he?

Not emotionally surely.

There was no answer. Just as before, there is no longer an answer, no pattern of behavior to draw a rational conclusion from.

On an unending stretch of road, a vast open horizon of nothing farmland Emile picked out a shabby, unmarked rest stop.

Briefly allowing Abel to "do his business."

There was a police cruiser and yet Emile looked wholly unbothered. Simply wishing him luck and to "not stir trouble."

Yet, once inside, he could not conceive simply taking a dash through the otherwise barren field stalks.

As his guardian and being Emile's charge, he had full license to get him back when found.

"Thank you," he said back in the car, hands washed and still a bit wet.

Emile blinked. Untroubled at how glaringly he wiped said hands onto his seats. "Okay. But Abel, you never have to thank me for the absolute basics. Alright?"

Such a smile.

He wasn't entirely sure what his impression had been to first see the man.

Had it been that smile? The one that Emile turned into a silent promise: that no matter who paid him, Abel was the priority. The one to please even if that meant acting silly and hardly worth being called an adult much less aide.

Had it been almost three years ago?

****************************

Night had fallen and Emile informed him it was hardly an hour away now.

He looked much more excited than Abel did in that moment.

All the same, he'd not kept too idle. Granted, he may not get another chance to memorize the turns and road signs but there were other matters to attend with.

Such as a few small tests. Just what could Abel feasibly get away with? It would be best to establish the boundaries as soon as possible.

"Emile, I am hungry," he pointed out.

"Yes I expect you are," Emile agreed graciously enough.

"Bored too."

"I know, I know. Just a few--"

He struggled with the map.

"You don't have any books. Not even a game off a newspaper."

Abel slid down, emulating a petulant surrender.

Letting Emile believed he'd gone quiet for the moment.

The first kick jolted Emile harder than he had actually intended.

There were road markers for fast food and yet more gas stations. Steadily growing more scarce.

At some intervals he whined to stop. Just pick up a burger, anything he didn't care.

For the first kick Emile had only laughed. "Okay message received really. Please don't be too angry. I know you're smart so you know why."

Abel started up again and again.

Then for a third time.

Emile put down the map again, not bothering to fold it. "Abel," he said in a much sterner voice, one he had never made before.

"There is a bookstore and Goodwill just over there."

"I feel I shouldn't be rewarding this. What you're doing is childish and some kind of plan, which I doubt will work by the way even if you did get out of this car."

"By now I am aware of that. I want something to pass the time."

"There are books at home. I promise."

"Though I want one for now. Just one please."

"You... did say please." Emile made the turn, otherwise still questioning whether to formally park in the lot. Looking over he found Abel's expression unchanged. Unless what he supposed was a stony "business" expression counted.

"Now you really, really just want to read, in the dark?"

Abel nodded.

"You promise me Abby."

"I promise."

With a sigh Emile acquiesced. Fondness in his look all the same. "Okay, let's get you a book."

Choosing well-worn(loved) secondhand books there was a disappointing lack of selection. Many authors he did not recognize and by the few that caught his eye, were the kinds of stories perhaps a touch too abstract he would not be too proud to admit. Besides, the majority were paperbacks.

Theoretically, Abel could find a book hard and heavy enough to bash Emile's head in and run. Consequences be damned. If by chance he were caught by a car on the road--

Doyle.

Mostly battered he found the pages of The Hound of the Baskervilles mostly in tact.

Emile still inches away, watching religiously.

Perusing the lower shelf he found another name; Michael Connelly. Hardback and no dust jacket to indicate which of his stories it was. Plenty of force.

Emile kneeled beside him. "Find something fun? Not too graphic I hope, not sure how you read a lot of those to be honest."

Besides a slight startle Emile simply nodded, showing both books in a neat bundle.

"Okay then, come on."

Emile coaxed for him to take his hand, which he did.

Running furiously he waited with bated breath for Emile to stop. Per usual he tried to inch away like he did.

Only for Emile to giggle and pull with all his strength. Quite serious and holding too tight.

A checkout line slowly coming to view.

Clutching his finds tight, Abel yanked out of his grip and without a moment to waste ran.

He didn't dare look back, skirting around the divider for the line. Toward the exit sliding doors.

Unruly child, stolen items, and besides some learned tics he and Emile didn't look alike. Surely all three would raise a ruckus.

Until he was held by the small of his back from moving. The black man had meaty hands but were no less gentle, careful not to accidentally bruise him.

Abel squirmed, hurriedly glancing, to see Emile walking along with an affable smile on his face.

Grateful to the personnel who found his son.

"I'm sorry he gets so excited sometimes. Ah he just loves books, pity some of his other guardians never indulged him. I'll never understand why."

"Then you're currently taking care of him?" the guard asked.

"Yes Mr. Waylem," Emile read off, "just adopted. We'd just left dinner and I wanted to pick him out a gift. Again, I apologize for the confusion."

To his credit the guard did appear to be considering the story. Tipping his hat over to scratch at his head. By the looks of it he was certainly old enough to sympathize. Have kids of his own maybe.

"Sweetie please, the nice guard just wanted to make sure you didn't hurt yourself. You don't need to be so skittish," his eyes filled with sympathy. "Foster parents," and shook his head.

"I see, well then you both have a good night."

And left back to his post.

Emile keeping his hand on his shoulder, close as if in a show of hugging.

At the back of the line Emile tsked. "I'm gonna have to be real sharp to contend with you won't I? You're quick Abby, but I'm quick too," he crowed with a mischievous wink.

He never had liked such a childish nickname.

Keeping his voice low Emile giggled a bit. "Come on now, won't be much of a game if I don't take you seriously."

Abel had said that so long ago. Disinterested beyond measure to parlay with someone else who incorrectly assumed he had 'ego,' or too full of himself to take a loss.

Emile chatted up the girl on register once their turn came. Diverting often to Abel, to look and share stories. Thoughts.

Emile was wholly confident.

And made quite clear that outright saying the truth wasn't going to work. Not when 'the truth...'

"is quite troubled. Not that I blame him! Never."

Abel silently pressed upon this woman his current distress and dare he say; anxiety. This man was not his parent, he was not good and trustworthy. Abel was not here so far from his parents and his fine life by choice.

"Uh, three eighty is your change," she said faltering just slightly.

Biting her lip as the bills and coins were placed into his hand. "Take care of that well big man."

Nodding as the pair left.

Abel stared at the money, admittedly daring Emile, anticipating his swatting it away or nabbing it from his hands.

Neither happened. He was allowed to pocket it all.

"Consider it a bit extra. With some time and once you've grasped the ground rules we can talk about rewarding the chores with an allowance," Emile turned playfully sly again, "don't tell though okay."

"What would it matter if I did?"

"Besides the stares I would get from other parents and grown-ups you mean?" he asked, playing toward scandalized. "Just gives me heebie-jeebies."

"No one I can tell," he figured blandly.

"True. I think you scared her by the way."

Emile turned the key. "Poor girl couldn't exactly do much. Hardly a mandated reporter." More amused than anything. Truly playing a game.

It hadn't been too long that he spent reading.

Pretty soon all he'd be doing is harming his eyes.

Plus, the roads had started to become uneven, crunching much more prominently. Rugged, dirt roads that jostled their car unpleasantly.

Last he knew, some splotch of pure darkness preceded that. And that was the last time the road had been smooth. Not to mention quite lonely despite the fact. An important clue.

Though with little fanfare but great care did he park the car at the desolate road, Abel happy to shrug off a reluctant sleep.

The ranch house wasn't bad. As Emile had promised the property possessed a serene ambiance.

If the delicate baby blue coat and homey wraparound porch weren't proof enough a rooster dawdled along with complete reign to do as it pleased.

He explained all the rules and that for now Abel was confined to the second floor. But he did get a spacious, fully furnished room all to himself.

"Now you understand I'll need an eety, beety bit of time to trust you," he said two fingers near touching. "Detached as you are this is a big change for you but I swear, you won't have reason not to feel safe and happy and loved with me."

Emile hugged Abel.

"Okay. Agreed."

Escape then, would have to be saved for return of these theoretical privileges. Considering the now forced nature of his captive's smile he could hold no illusion of being allowed privacy either.

"Though I must warn you even I have my limits to being told to sit in stagnation."

"All figured out! You'll be helping around with some chores and for the time being I won't be far off."

"I see," Abel took in with a nod, "if I may it's been a long day. I want to change clothes."

With a kiss Emile shut the door clicking the lock.

Abel began to poke around the things chosen for him. Quality essentials for one, with a clear theme of dark blue tones. Which included some hardback journals all new and all blank. There was also no shortage of books, puzzles, board games, and some colorful model airplanes displayed on the shelves. Also present was a miner's cap.

That when tested was obviously plastic but nevertheless could do some damage and shield his head; whichever way he decided to lean. As well as the light being real.

However one thing was notably absent. A pair of shoes.

One) by now Mother could have discovered what people label hysteria. Father is in a word, furious beyond all belief. "Emotional distress." Illegal and often destructive or violent decisions made in a state of heightened anxiety and often physical overstimulation, therefore, apt to receive lesser sentencing or complete absolution of criminal charges.

Two) emotionally distressed people don't make decisions the way they should. The way that often led to the best conclusion for everyone. They'd waste their time on the publicity and rage part of things. Refusing to realize that within two days Emile could and had taken Abel beyond state lines.

Father had often made complaints on how "jurisdiction" made things harder to prosecute.

Was Emile a citizen of this state they were in? What of his standing in the community?

Abel supposed he would find that out with time. Better to let things lay for now and satisfy his still suspicious captor.

That meant remaining docile.

Though that was last week.

To two weeks: his feet hurt.

It had taken two weeks to be allowed back outside.

They were a dot on vast fields of fresh wheat stalk. Often sloping into hillsides.

Some ways off he could spot what looked like a mill. Those were meant to store grain if he remembered right.

Abel had been made aware they theoretically had neighbors. In the sense that the other ranch properties that provided provisions like milk, eggs, bread the way they would were dotted on and around the road. But still a five minute drive each.

Within their own gardens, hen house-- the backyard-- Abel found uneven ground forcing him to stumble every morning that he fed the chickens and hosed pests off the veggies.

Emile supervised at first, but quickly went in to prepare a breakfast for them both. Always something exquisite and personal.

Parfaits from the fresh grown fruit. Homemade loaves of cinnamon bread or French toast with powdered sugar and pecans. Yogurt, cheese and ham sandwich squares.

And so the days fell to routine.

Wake up, humor Emile at breakfast chatting idle about whatever topic popped to his head that day; often about who or where provided ingredients, the town and its quaint, homeliness where all the people knew each other and all the people loved children.

"I know you'll love it. When the time comes we'll make a day of it." He often ruffled his hair or kissed his forehead. "I can't wait to show you off Abby."

Then to do his chores, be lifted back inside where there'd always be a hot water basin waiting to soak his red feet, and then stew in his room. Left to his own devices to do what he pleased before mealtimes.

Often reading and taking notes.

His bedroom window was too high to jump from.

And besides, along the white morning glories and tulips a rose bush had been planted. Just a singular bush.

Baby gates had been imposed on the top and bottom of the stairwell with Emile possessing the key. Already searched for and coming up empty. The only other viable conclusion being something non-negotiable on his person.

At nearly all hours Emile was nearby, practically glued to his side. Not unlike when he'd been under his Father's employ.

His primary task back then too had been to entertain him and make sure he was clean and presentable for public each day.

And that presence didn't unnerve him per se. No less and no more than before.

These days there was much the same kind of interaction. Meals were eaten behind the closed door of Abel's bedroom.

Emile took apt advantage of doing his hair for him.

Nothing ridiculous, but he did fondly joke with girl's hairclips or Halloween novelty ones.

He would insist on time to simply sit together in the living room. There was an old TV that played a few channels.

Some cartoons, which were always the pick for this bonding time.

Others Emile watched on his own time, and Abel could hear a laugh track from upstairs.

Whatever the case, whatever the contexts he knew better than to comment.

Still, it was a harsh way to shatter the facade his captor so wanted.

No matter what, Abel would remain firm in these facts he did have. Irrefutable and inflexible.

Emile was his captor.

Emile was an opposition.

He imposed his time and his presence.

He imposed some kind of ideal/excuse-- something-- over onto Abel himself or his own to justify his act.

Emile never does knock.

Emile always lifted Abel to his arms each morning despite what he may say. How he may react to such touch at the moment.

No matter how sore he was, he could walk onto the smooth cement stoop.

Abel knew, sometimes, Emile would watch him as he fell to sleep. Never going inside, but never being settled either. Simply standing at the threshold letting light flood in.

Behind his kind smile Emile violated one of the basic freedoms Abel was allowed.

Still, it truly was growing hard not to smile back.

His logical mind, the one trained by Father, kicked and screamed quite unprofessionally. Most likely a result of the kid raised by Emile.

Emile his captor. He is the bad guy, but he isn't a bad guy.

Abel was trusted with finer, longer tasks. Mostly still the meandering jobs only meant to gobble up the morning and work up a healthy appetite, which Emile touted as crucial in his development.

"Lemme teach you how to peel an apple!"

Emile slowly guided his hands. Making sure Abel had the peeler in a proper grip, taking him through each step. "Keep it away from your hands. And no, it won't hurt you-hurt you, it still wouldn't be good to cut yourself."

He'd been given a big hug as a reward. Emile's praise was always too easy and too much.

Mew.

"Oh hello."

Toeing just shy of his bare foot, rubbing on the chapped, aggravated skin was a demure black little kitten with white blotches.

Putting down his load Abel took a tentative hand towards it.

Being licked by a warm, scratchy tongue.

The animal fit just so in his singular palm.

It had a collar on.

Abel let it rest on his shoulder, making way inside. Though quickly realizing just how crucial both hands had been to keep the egg basket balanced.

Either way he managed.

Presenting the cat Emile predictably squealed in delight.

"Oh did you make a new friend? Did he, did he," was turned toward the cat. Apathetically yawning and craning its neck with a deep, disgruntled mewl.

With a laugh, he continued to coy the cat out of its defenses. Primarily with a bottle of milk-- and where and why had he gotten the baby bottles-- then called the owners.

Briefly informing Abel with a vital hint of information. The house before they'd moved in had been an abandoned property and had needed renovation. Kids were discouraged from going inside back then.

"One still did of course and only one as I remember."

*******************************

Abel did eventually dare try the stairs.

The gates, estimated to be strictly identical for the moment, measured just below his head.

Theoretically they were no permanent obstacle.

There should be pillows on the steps proper.

On the chance he didn't land at some sort of crouch or stable footing broken legs or arms would set him back whole months. The concussion one or two weeks.

But at the absolute worst, no. Abel rubbed at his nape.

The tentative attempt had him hoist one leg over.

Silent, even his breathing stilled to better catch the meandering tune of Emile's hum and bubble of the boiling water for that day's dinner.

The bigger problem soon presented itself.

And that being, the railing designed gate with it's curving frame and slim width had too little supports and hand holds.

So that his second foot had nowhere to latch on. Flailing in the air so as to not be caught.

Overall a failure.

Preparing dinner so far, was the biggest distraction to count on. Presenting the longest uninterrupted portion of time to experiment and later implement a formal escape.

Then again, who knew when that was liable to change. His captor had guaranteed it would. Not simply contingent on his complacent passing of the daily activities.

There was more trials to conduct, tests to be done.

To have any kind of likelihood toward success: collect everything, the data, the variables, understand everything. And then apply that information with sensible scrutiny.

Explore his surroundings.

The second floor had four total doors.

His own room and at the right end a door to Emile's own bedroom. The house's 'Master Room.'

At the surface it has all the regular aesthetic and details of an adult's room. Purely functional and tidy. Though Emile chose much more personal touches and even some select books of his own.

About children or for children.

A cramped, tiny little door revealed extra blankets and towels neatly folded on a single ream of steel.

And at the left end of the single corridor, was a locked door.

At the start Emile had passed it over while explaining everything else. It was unused. For the moment. And that was all the explanation he would get, so don't even try had been cheerfully chided. Per usual, with no anger or even demand. Simply a friendly or perhaps, teasing, suggestion.

Possibly, his window was the most viable option.

Being the only one on the top floor and the mining helmet still made of a sturdy, resilient material to hopefully catch some of the impact.

Possible.

Explore other options before attempting, leave avenues open to keep the riskiest as the last resort.

A month or so has gone by now. Abel met one of the neighbors.

A shy, skittish sort of girl, who owned a cat. Living over the hill, the only visible feature being their silo.

Emile couldn't drive her away. If he did Abel could 'accidentally' slip as well.

So he had to allow them to speak when Violet wandered by on her walks.

******************************

Abel discovered her skulking around the thick wood fence.

Following her track, for a moment they locked eyes. Causing her to quickly duck in cover. Now completely obscured.

While he held the hose streaming a steady rain.

Fingers at the nozzle he concentrated the water into a stronger, much more aggressive spew.

Despite yowling at the cold she didn't leave or get mad. Most people would.

"Oh I'm sorry, I meant to shoot--" he'd pointed to a spot just beside where she'd been standing.

"My name is Violet. You returned my cat, let's talk."

Kids called each other all manner of things without meaning any of it.

However this girl was as touchy and liable to squawk as the poor hens.

"I see," he replied, careful of his face, making certain that no measure of suspicion did scare her off. "But get to the point quickly. This is about my being an unfamiliar face."

"I know all the faces here, and-- umm do you have to just stare? At? Me?" posing a finger to her own face. Which was slowly scrunching as she looked a bit more teary eyed.

"It is good manners," Abel got just a little closer, scrutinizing, not seeing something he was sure. Moreover, just how someone who knew everyone, could be an advantage in this situation.

In high society it was hardly a question.

Everyone had their use, everyone had the roles they fit into and what they could and could not accomplish with whatever ambitions suited their fancy.

Violet knew everyone here.

But as her bouts of silence proved she had no connections and no leeway within her village.

"Kids must not like you all that much."

Which really was too bad.

Violet was good company. Soft spoken and reserved, there was actually thought put into what she said... Most of the time. And she could admit herself to be a little stupid and lacking in places.

Among important, influential social circles there were always masks and nuance to work around. But rather, Violet in a town that "adored children" was simple.

Simple, he could work circles around.

***************************

Abel swung the axe high.

WHACK

Metal digging into a single thick log.

The unpleasant stirrings in his gut weren't exactly a novel sensation.

At first he hadn't had a clue what to pin the sensation on.

THUNK

THUNK

This work made an ample distraction.

CRRRK

Abel never did leave home.

He'd had no reason to feel...

WHACK

Homesick.

Then again, THUNK, there were things to miss about home.

THUNK

The feel of each cavernous room.

Raise.

The tender care of the maids.

THUNK

The familiarity of his own bed.

THUNK

THUNK

Having a say in when and when not to be touched.

CRRRRK

Knowing there was nothing looking on in the night to impede his rest.

Abel slouched, axe hung down and into the lawn for brief rest.

Wiping his brow, Abel let his bare toes wriggle.

If he were to... cut them off.

Then Emile would have no choice then to take him to the hospital.

Unless he truly would, so selfishly, gamble his precious son's life. No, Emile-- his captor-- wouldn't do that.

It would break all the promises, the very foundation that this entire endeavor is built upon.

And so, Abel could alert his doctors-- first responders-- to the situation.

Which there were set codes and procedures. To all manners from the medical emergency itself, endangering of minors. To armed threat and even bombs! Not that either would come into play too seriously.

It would hurt.

In his grip and thoughtful query the axe ground across the dirt with a rough scraping noise. Scabbing a moist, rich brown trail.

The body, had it's limits to prevent someone from doing this.

Shock would set in, perhaps too quickly for him to even scream.

That was possible and it was a possibility he had to consider. Consider everything.

If Abel were to try anything, he would have to be logical about it. Leave as little room for error as possible.

Such a ridiculous idea-- his hand shook in the grip-- such a gruesome, visceral idea could not be coming from a place of rational or even any manner of thought.

He was starting to gravitate towards impulse and emotional urges.

Fist tight to his chest Abel focused his curved angle of sight to something forward.

Took in deep, cleansing breaths, completely rooted to one spot.

And straightened himself up to continue the rounds.

Abel placed another log, raised the axe, and shifted his foot for a better cut.

THUNK.

The blade burrowed the last few inches.

CRRRRK

A figure stalked down the fence.

Today, Abel had decided to set his work in a fairly secluded portion of the property.

Though Emile had since allowed Abel the fairly unsupervised time. Keeping behind the kitchen window still an unmoving, unblinking eye.

Right at it's edges where their pruned pasture met the wilder, sprawling hill. Just where the silo peeked out.

Maybe that's where Violet had come from today.

"Do you want to see? I wouldn't recommend you tried though," he told her small huddled figure.

Who stood up, abashed and stubbornly refusing eye contact as usual.

Violet hopped up, delicately perched as if for a darling photo shoot, on the timber.

"That is pretty cool," she began.

Patient as he continued. Carrying silence, save for the steady rhythm of cutting logs inch by inch until they finally split.

Which tormented her, swaying and flailing her feet.

"You're barefoot. Why?"

CRRRK

Each piece thunked to the ground.

"Dunno just am."

"It isn't safe," Violet argued weakly, "does, he know that? Or is the guy stupid-- as you--" she rushed, "or... not. Nice?"

Abel didn't much lie. He left very little out and made no effort for excuses on what they both knew was not normal.

All in all, Violet's tensing posture and careful watch of the area proved she'd gotten the seeds he was planting.

A slow doubt, a... slight guilt to act. To say the word.

"That's a good question," he accepted. "I guess. Then again, I'd have to lie if that were the case. Wouldn't I?"

Just because most his age were stupid, didn't mean that the one who wasn't couldn't also be anyone.

"So he isn't. Isn't treating you right."

"No he is. I love him very much."

"Where do you come from?"

"You don't look alike."

"And you have very few social skills."

Violet frowned. "Foster families never hit you in the mouth."

"That's crass."

"Maybe... shouwuve."

Mumbling the retort so quietly he struggled to even parse it as words.

And she left as quick as she had come before he could ask for clarity.

Three months.

And here and there, there had been some attempts made.

Emile did have a landline in lieu of his usual cell. Hidden in plain sight, looking something of an antique behind normally locked glass.

However glass, is much easier to break into.

And a back door can be locked quickly. Once the procedure is locked to the muscles and memory both.

No fumble. No body beating at the door when he'd insisted on some company from the silence.

Only to run under his knees, head reared and bucking-- a bit higher than what he would have considered ideal-- but enough to tumble a larger, sturdier obstacle than a wiry child with no physical merits.

He had shattered the glass, taking out the phone onto his lap.

Failing since one) the cord for a landline only went so far before disconnecting, and two) unaccustomed to the frankly dim and tiny little box called a screen.

By then, he was found in a mess of broken glass, having shimmied back inside through a window. Of course. The windows as well. And two in this very living room.

Abel was scooped up, away from danger, and checked him over for shards of glass or blood.

Perhaps he should have grabbed a piece to wave around.

Then again, he could have cut his own eye out just as easily.

Emile unlocked the baby gate promptly at eight. The hour Abel would be expected to get up out of bed and do the morning chores while breakfast was made.

Mostly he meant to merely shove Emile out of the way as he dove for the stairwell.

Ideally, he could use the man's body to catapult down and with his head kept in his hands, protect from doing more than disorientating his captor.

Violence would be better avoided. If backed into a corner there was no guarantee Emile would not snap or otherwise decide-- no matter how much he may despise so-- that more overt means of restraint would be required.

Better to react in ways that did not take his few privileges away.

And admittedly, the morning had not been the most plausible or effective.

He was quickly caught. And scolded about shoving or how dangerous it would be if one or both fell.

Breakfast was confined to his room that day and he was not allowed outside for the chores either.

In three months, he'd celebrated his birthday.

He'd considered this execution better, if not simple and inelegant.

Emile had gotten a truly splendid vanilla ice cream cake. Perhaps enough to feed eight times more people than there were. Ergo, himself and Abel.

He blew out the candles, dug his face into one of the corners, for all the world, perfectly compliant and perfectly content doing so.

He placed the knife a distance away from either of their hands.

Throwing his hand onto the center of the cake to fling the sticky frosting and dripping ice cream at his head.

Sliding the entire thing onto the floor between Emile and more importantly, himself and the front door.

Abel fled, ran for absolute heaven and hot coals of bare gravel feet already swollen and teeming with crusted scabs.

He made it as far as the end of the dirt path, where a paved road lay.

Abel swallowed back a dry heave and would have marched on.

If not for the beacon headlights of Emile's tinted windows car, stopping slowly on the walk with a crunch.

"My gosh Abel, I do get it but still, you scare me to death you know that," his captor scolded. "Aww but you're okay," he tentatively looked down, "as can be. Come on."

Emile carried him by his back this time around.

"Honestly the most disappointing is that wonderful cake, we'll get another, but you won't be tasting it for awhile, and Abel I think you know I have to do this to you which is too bad, you were doing well."

Abel kept silent. Simply nodding. Showing nothing per usual.

"Can you, Abel can you look at me?" Emile tried, "so I at least know you aren't terrified, right now. Because I did say-- it's a game."

Both said that fact in unison.

"Back to full house arrest. Three weeks, and we clean up that mess before going to bed. No birthday activities I'm afraid."

**************************

It took half a year but he'd done it. He'd earned Emile's full trust and he said as much with a package one Sunday.

"Can I come in?" Emile asked needlessly.

"By all means," he humored eyes not leaving his book.

"Hey now I've got a surprise for you."

Positively ecstatic, he shook a bag at him.

Abel found a shoebox and sure enough...

A pair of simple denim blue and black checkered high tops.

What he did next was wrong. It was wrong, it was illogical and conveyed a terrifying message.

He cried. Not tears of despair or defeat, he dismissed those things like Father did the staff.

No, Abel cried in gratitude.

Of course, Emile jumped to dispel the distress.

"I know, I know, it got frustrating for a bit didn't it?"

Abel nodded, wiping his face.

"Yeah, but you taught me to be super, absolutely sure," he booped his nose which had stopped feeling inappropriate. Though for now too much else was going on to stifle a giggle. "Though, I never doubted for a second that you couldn't do this."

Abel wholly believed him.

Emile eventually broke their tender embrace.

Smiling soft with considerable levels of care, "no more tears alright. We'll celebrate," he decided giving one last slap to his shoulder.

Abel pulled on the shoes.

"How about ice cream or candy? Oh no, you don't like that do you? Oh I'm craving something sweet, yeah so we'll make a quick stop. Or, or, to the community center they're doing an escape room."

Only the last sounded remotely appealing. However there was one activity that had popped to mind. One that they had done together as butler and charge.

"The library?" Abel requested.

It took some seconds as he likely had the same thought, until his face lit up.

Great idea, you'll love it, a two floor rustic sort of place and their novelty fairytales are beautiful. And historically accurate."

Emile drove onward on the dirt path that grew then curved into an isolated road.

With a moment's consideration he turned right onto a smoother one clearly meant for cars. The reach and girth of the intertwining branches turned the mass of green into it's own little grotto.

Imposing onto Abel just how much time had passed.

But beyond that point he focused more on the turns and street markers.

Emile tried to coax him into conversation. He engaged as much as he was able, better averting any reason for his captor to be cautious.

"Have you enjoyed the reading material I've gotten you so far?"

"Yes, it's quite fascinating," he affirmed.

"That's good."

"I quite like the history ones you've chosen," Abel continued to elaborate, slowly herding and taking control of the conversation.

A mile marker for the wider town. Ads beginning to crop for some of the historically preserved buildings, doubling as some authentic businesses.

About time he did briefly at least, touch on the topic of allowance for his chores. Or, just what "outside" would mean.

It was at the crest of an incline that the town suddenly sprawled to life.

The buildings had a homely, picturesque charm to them. Perfectly replicating the photographs of small town, tight knit hospitality and the fruit vendor out in open sun from the one "general store."

Emile parked his car on a rounded section, above most where only a few strong, sturdy trees were allowed to grow and benches lining the edge permitting a truly beautiful view of a city hall made up in New English architecture, deep, bellowing church bells within a steeple, and small, rickety shops.

With a smile his captor so presented the town. "Welcome to Winterset. Quite the sight."

With a cursory look he unlocked the car, coming out from his own side and opening the door for Abel who took the obliged hand.

"Candy store is right over," he looked right down on the railing, "ah, right there."

He pointed just past the sloping pedestrian walkway to the general store building with wooden floorboard and awning thatched roof.

"And then the library is," his gaze wandered, acting turned around and spinning.

"Not on this street?" Abel asked, not truly a question. Else Emile would have just pointed it out.

"Yup," he replied cheerily. "It's down the avenue, and toward city hall, at least, the one near the school is." and made a showy wink. Ah. Obviously. Close to children, much more reason to appeal for children.

"I see then, okay," Abel murmured quietly, heading for the stairway.

"Ah remember Abby--" he never had liked that nickname. And yet never did Emile stop, even under their pretense. "--By me at all times. Don't want you getting lost."

Plenty of people were out at the hour, often with cloth grocery bags overflowing with either produce or the peeking out summer sausages and cheese.

And they all cooed over a new child. Despite a sundry look and all too proper, dark colored clothing.

"How sweet and oh, oh he holds so tight."

"Yes, I know. Well to be honest I sort of have to," Emile admitted with a bashful smile, remorse in his honey gaze.

"A foster child, now he has his issues, poor kids of his kind often do. Especially gifted ones."

Women tried to pinch his cheeks.

And Emile thankfully pulled him away from that.

At the general store there was a man. Tall and lean, not too imposing and a scraggle of greyish-white for a beard down to his chest.

"Ahh nice to see you here again Frau, and with the foster you couldn't stop raving over," he greeted grandly.

"Yes hello, Mr. Haley," he chirped.

Haley General Store.

The man quickly caught on to Abel's unmoving stare, acknowledging him indulgently.

"A piece of candy? On the house for you child."

He opened his mouth, intending perhaps to agree. A lemon jawbreaker wouldn't go unappreciated. And he could ingratiate himself with one adult. Who did not speak at overwhelming volume and unacceptably trite and horning tone.

"No I'm sorry," Emile replied, voice now absent of joviality, "it's a kind offer really but he is grounded at the moment."

"Oh and what for?"

"Please, I'd rather not get too into it, but well just, I believe he wasn't fed or some manner of issue. Before assuming of course--" and then whispered to the owner, "kleptomania."

"Hmm hmm, okay I see. But bring him around some other time, I insist Emile. Let me indulge the child a bit."

Abel shuddered at the idea of being throttled lovingly by yet another stranger, only to find the owner to be quite practiced at gentle head pats.

It felt nice. Overall.

Emile did not leave Abel an inch to work with on his own through the old, creaking floors of the store and their old fashioned shelving and paper labels system.

The trip turned out quite brief and Emile indulging Abby for some sour jawbreakers.

Laughing and petting all the while as he pointed them out for the scoop.

"There you go, say I'll pay and-- just come back quick," he jutted his head subtly towards a section of little toys. Matchbox cars and the like.

Abel wouldn't miss the opportunity, nodding though somewhat slow in releasing the hand holding his. Until he was absolutely certain his captor truly had parted. "Thank you Emile."

"Okay just have fun. But don't be too long!"

The cars were really of little interest and no value of any kind. His Mother had once rewarded his test marks one year with a racetrack. But then he had advanced further from force, friction, and wind resistance.

There were packs of jacks and marbles. And while he's seldom been downstairs all that much they could prove essential.

Only it certainly wasn't wise.

No. Taking up a toy in hand, a toy he would never want otherwise-- it would only lend credibility to these little lies.

Kleptomaniac. Stealing from an emotional desire inexplicable and often heeded to suppress that very desire. Often accompanied by shame and guilt after the fact. So stolen items were often returned.

Though there lay some doubt that such a small village worries or harps about such nuance. It was-- a bit revealing to see they knew what the word meant.

He returned to Emile when there were just one person in front.

Jawbreaker stuffed in his right cheek.

"Don't be so mad," Emile prodded. "Wouldn't be too much of a game if I didn't pull some tricks too."

"You mean lying and speaking of me and in ill terms?" A searing accusation heavy in my tone.

"Yes, utter and horrible lies. Which I don't believe and I know better than think you'd fall for."

"You would be right at that at least."

Boo Radley came to mind from his literature studies that spring.

"Hey, don't blame others too much okay. I mean I am a grown-up you gotta admit which isn't all fair at all," he pouted.

"Grown ups do lie a lot more," Abel reluctantly acquiesced to this unexpected astuteness, "especially for what they want."

And somehow, the shoe is always on the other foot. About Abel being the unfairly deceitful.

****************************

The library was a two-floored and rounded structure, walls painted with large tree leaves and a plastic tree realistically textured blooming off the floor.

On the balcony above them were shelves of books but with small enclaves carved out for pillows and beanbag spaces.

Where the children read or had their parents do so.

"I'll go find us a place. Have fun Abby."

And like that he was left to the first floor.

Rows upon rows of books. And one stand, near a reading area clearly meant for group reading or other shows of fairytales like the Magnificent Marlon or Magic Beanstalk.

Swiveling forward, he came among a squirming gaggle of kids all endeavoring to get the best look, it gave him some odd type of feeling. People his age who could appreciate a good book.

So perhaps they could be polite about it, and allow him a good look.

For curiosity's sake. Entirely so.

"E-- excuse me," he said, and while struck by the meandering stutter let it flow away like water down his shoulders.

As all eyes had turned towards him.

Mostly common brown of dark shades and matching hair types. Only two had either grey eyes or an intriguing meld of green and hazel.

"Who are you?"

"Yeah!"

"You look kinda weird."

"Looks all weird too."

"Standing there!" And so they laughed together.

"Hello my name is Abel," he said, "the book," pointing a finger outright.

"You like fairytales?" asked the one who had first inquired. An odd kind of light flashing in his eye.

"Uhm, yes. Yes. I suppose I do."

"Hahah! You talk really funny," the boy chided casually.

And then took his hand straight out of nowhere.

"Lucky you're new, new guy else you'd have to wait a turn till we were done."

He could now see there was a singular girl, with a bob cut, nose up in the air who nodded.

She appeared extraordinarily proud for someone in pink glitter everything. And a unicorn prancing across on her shirt.

"Heya so where is your Mommy?" asked another, head down opposite Abel himself now. He did not need the stool provided on the stand.

He'd been solely concentrated on the delicate brush clearly used, the heavy feel of the pages, and such beautiful illustrations. Taking slow, thoughtful care of the Cinderella story they weaved. Where here the Princess had a bejeweled coif of ember black hair.

So that when he jerked it was much more sudden then could be considered polite. And the question striking completely uncalled for. Unnerving. Unanswerable.

What was this heavy thing?

Homesickness was bile in your stomach, a constant heavy rock protruding from your navel area.

This, this thing lodged right into his throat.

"My Mother, Mother and Father--"

"Yeah! Where are they? You gotta have a grown-up!"

As if that were the most obvious, most dumbest notion to not simply know.

"Are you alone?"

"Woah, do you get to walk to here all by yourself?"

"No, well not allowing," he began. Lie. Lying was the right answer.

"Haha! That's so cool!"

"You're the coolest."

"Yes, thank-- thank you. Thank you." He nodded, and with a stern conviction jerked back for the pages.

Intending to simply graze, see if this were a Grimm version. Would they draw the birds as doves? Or ravens or crows?

Turning and turning he turned to the end.

Each time a suck of warm breath and the whispers of his audience.

For some reason just as taken of what he was doing.

"Thank you," he said, excusing himself.

"Huh uhh okay. You read fast."

"I know."

"Abby!" trilled another voice. Just as eager and at ease. Emile. "Who are they? Hello there, are you all having a good time together? Well we can read here then if you like?"

"I'm sorry no, I don't know them," Abel responded.

"Mr. Abel's Dad?" the leader boy again inquired first.

"Huh." And then his stupefied look became a soft, tittering laugh. Which he had grown so used to hearing. "No, no, well he wouldn't say yet."

And yet this boy had turned completely red, his bob-haired partner pouted, and hackles raised among the rest of the group.

"I gotta go back to my Mommy," decided the one having asked before about Mothers.

Slowly some nodded. Leaving.

"I just don't wanna be here now," and then the leader gave him one last once over. "Bye Abel."

And like that scampered off fast as his sneakers would run.

"They sure are a laugh," Emile mused on, "smart too to be fair. Did they-- say something? You look... sickly."

Abel pointed to a shelf of books.

"Go on, and I've gotten this folklore book. It has all types of monsters. Not real though don't worry."

"You would be scared silly if that were the case."

Emile seemed to break into hives at all things ugly.

"You know me. Like a book."

And clearly he expected some manner of response. A laugh or a pity hum.

Rather he fixed a strong dry glower, face ever set in disinterest and formalities. "Okay."

Abel luckily was right to assume fairytales, he easily found Aladdin, the Prince and the Pauper, Anastasia, any and all books that included a thief character or street child with street smarts. Also in his find was a book of magic tricks, clearly left disorganized, perhaps by the very same group oggling the older aesthetically placed Cinderella.

Not that he would know.

And such minor things were not for him to care.

With a pat Emile proudly led Abel up the stairs into one of the circular reading spaces, privy holes smashed in at random intervals or the beanbags and pillows simply strewn about either way. In a frenzied mess.

He could not imagine anyone in his house being too pleased to see such a thing. Abel was sure not even the head housekeepers or elder maids would hide the disapproval. As Father permitted staff to scold foolery. Including Abel's own if ever need be.

Per usual Emile insisted Abel close. Pressed into a warm, such overwhelmingly large figure. Arms effectively locking him in place to stare up at his head as he began to read.

By page two Abel had begun working on the jawbreakers. Occasionally deciding to taste some of the worms Emile had gotten too.

"Tinker Bell huffed and sniffed with a shudder when Wendy and Peter hugged close to fly."

"Both her brothers were awestruck, grinning as they looped and danced in the sky."

Never?! You've never been with kids and just, played? Not even a brother or the carpenter's son

That-- that's so sad

Am I something of a big brother then? Since you don't-- have one of the little ones Abby?

"Would you have liked one?" asked among one of the many days they spent staring blankly at the night sky on his ceiling, Emile dropped such out of pocket, completely outrageous questions. "A little brother I mean. So cute and fun and you know, they'd adore you. Adore you for being you and being his family, nice to it as you are to me."

_______________________

Hook had tricked Tinker Bell and she was beginning to fade.

And he was slowly creeping for Peter Pan.

Abel couldn't help, as he meandered on such ludicrous, baseless questions, take that arm across his chest and hide himself, just a little bit.

Taking in a sweetly, heavy sort of scent.

In the city people were no bigger than gnats from up in a high-rise penthouse. His room, he knew, bigger than most housing layouts for the typical nine to fiver.

Abel had always been aware he was a cut above. In many ways better than most and with privileges.

Not always, necessarily told.

A trait often appreciated in the presence of their parents' circle.

Many times among the decided upon holidays or hands-on days did he get to sit in on another monolith of metal and glass. Father's company soared upon the city and watched the entire sprawl below. From the very top office in a fine, professional atmosphere and very large and soft chair.

Father, like his tutors, imparted his lessons.

Standing straight and with an impassive expression toward the window.

Abel copied him.

Always receiving the same short, stinted humm of approval. "Do you realize why you are here? Here with me rather than at home or at your mother's lap?"

Abel made eye contact. And then thought but could not come up with a satisfactory answer. None at all.

"It is because you are a cut above the rest Abel. You are a prodigy and that is something you must never forget."

"I see and why? Is it so important?"

Father had never disapproved questions.

Never. Not of any kind.

"You have been afforded a gift, a gift neither I nor your Mother gave you, it is all your own so you may rise higher than I've ever been capable of."

It was a fact of life.

As his Father's son, Abel would inherit the company to do with as his brilliant mind decided was best.

____________________________

"Magic tricks, lock picking too," Emile said once they left. "You're so smart Abby, but no."

He'd have to rip out the respective pages then.

Abel breathed a bit deeper than normal.

Easily written off, when he would throw the vandalized books to his captor's face.

The locked door.

It would make a nice starting point to practice.