Everything He Knows

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.