Just+so+cliche.

“Hmph” I grunted as I dragged my legs down the sturdy wooden steps to the cellar. I hated this part of my chores; it was horrible and always made me feel like a complete criminal. It was kind of against the law to kidnap people, but I wasn’t going to be the one to tell my dad that, not after last time. As I walked into the room I gasped. It wasn’t the usual old man in a suit behind the glass wall, it was a boy about the same age as me, pacing the room with his fists clenched and his face pulled into a scowl. He was wearing a white t-shirt and black jeans which had brown mud stains on them. His feet were bare. He didn’t notice me until I was up against the glass and had knocked on it gently. He turned around and his expression changed in the space of a couple of seconds from frustration to surprise to wonder and then finally to anger. He glared at me as I put the tray of food down and slipped the key from my pocket into the keyhole on the little window at the bottom of the door and turned it. I picked the tray up again and slid it through the gap. He glared at me all the while I was doing this, which unnerved me a bit, but also made me want to laugh because of how he was holding the expression for so long. I smiled at him timidly and his glare softened slightly. “I’m sorry for all this. If it was up to me this room wouldn’t even exist. But it’s not up to me, it’s up to Malcolm's seeing as he’s the ‘leader’ and all.” I apologized awkwardly. “If you say so” His glare returned in full force. “I mean it.” I replied as genuinely as I could. “Sure you do” He replied sarcastically. It stung and I had no idea why. I glared back and closed the window with a snap. I locked it quickly and walked out with my fists clenched, as his had been when I walked in. I closed the door at the top with a bang and locked it. Then turned and stalked up to my room on the top floor and slammed the door, filled with anger at the comment with no idea why.
 * __Chapter 1__**

-

__Chapter 2__ I lay on my bed, thinking about him. Thinking of how his fiery green eyes had glared at me. Why? What had I done? It was probably the fact that I was one of the kidnappers. But I wasn’t really; it was my dad and his ‘friends’ who had kidnapped him; I hated that Malcolm thought it was necessary to bring kidnapping into whatever he does to keep his not so legal business alive. I didn’t even know why the boy was there; I was just the person who had to bring him his food. I couldn’t get to sleep that night, so I got up and dragged my quilt and pillows with my clock tucked under my arm downstairs into my living room. I curled up on the sofa and started to drift off to the sounds of Gladiator, the film I watched whenever I couldn’t sleep. I fast forwarded towards the end where the Maximus dies because I love the music: it lulls me to sleep when I’m suffering from insomnia. It suits the mood at the end and makes me cry for reasons I have yet to understand. Not that I don’t get sad when people die, it’s just when you’re surrounded by death, I guess you just learn to accept it as an everyday thing. If you don’t then you will be filled with the pain of seeing others hurt. Nevertheless, that was exactly what I felt while thinking of what Dad might do to the boy in the cellar. At the thought of him in pain or – I shivered at the thought- dying. I groaned. What’s wrong with me? We haven’t even had a proper conversation! I could hear Malcolm calling me from downstairs, I glanced at the clock and was surprised to see that it already said 6:30 am, so I pulled myself together and hastened down the three staircases, my hand slipping on the polished wood and my feet sinking into the carpet as I stepped out onto the first floor landing where my dad had called me from. “Yes?” I asked uncertainly. “Ah Amy, There you are. I wanted to talk to you about the new prisoner.” He said in a business like tone. I felt slightly apprehensive of what he was going to say about him. It must have shown in my face, because he said; “Don’t worry, you won’t have to go anywhere near him. In fact, that’s what I was going to say. You are not allowed to speak to him when you give him his food. Is that understood?” I just nodded once and tried to look less worried, but clearly failed miserably. “There’s no need to be scared of him, he’s not like the others. He’s only around your age.” Malcolm said in his rarely used gentle voice. I nodded once. “Shouldn’t you be doing your chores by now?” He asked. “Of course, I’ll start now, I was just-“ “Now, now, no excuses just get started.” He replied sternly. I nodded silently again and as I walked towards the kitchen door I couldn’t help looking at the cellar door, right next to it.

I carried the food down on a tray and placed it on the floor in front of the little window. I opened it pushed the food through and was about to close it when he spoke. “What, no attempts to try and convince me of your innocent and of how you have absolutely nothing to do with me being kidnapped?” he said his velvety voice slightly sarcastic. It was my turn to do the glaring today. He chuckled gently, making my knees wobble. “I wasn’t trying to convince you of anything, I was telling you how I feel about you being in here.” I replied in a harsh voice, made even harsher because of the gentleness of his reply. “I’m sorry” I gasped faintly and I felt all my anger at him disappear, my eyebrows raising and my mouth opening ever so slightly. “What for?” I asked hopefully. “For being incredibly rude yesterday.” He answered smoothly, his voice courteous. “I shouldn’t have just ignored you, even if I don’t believe you.” “But it’s true!” I replied, my anger and temperature rising. “If you say so.” He answered in a sceptical voice “I do” I countered in a hard voice. I put the tray through the window and slammed it shut. I locked it and stormed out. I got to the top of the stairs and realized that I had tears in my eyes. How could this boy, this mere prisoner effect me so. I was so confused.

-

__Chapter 3__

The next day I woke up at seven o’clock like usual and just lay there in my warm, snug bed thinking. Thinking about the school day to come, thinking about my Dad, but mostly about the boy in the cellar.

In the end I had to get up, so got changed and went downstairs to have breakfast. While I was eating my coco pops, I was still distracted thinking about the boy. Why was he there? Why did Dad choose him? Is he going to let him go when he gets whatever he is being held for, or will he ask for more? There were no answers I could think of that didn’t involve the boy being involved in the same sort of gangs as my dad. At quarter to eight I grabbed my bag which I had packed the night before, and left the house. As I was walking to school I was still deep in thought and it wasn’t until I got to my form room and Mr. Jones was calling my name on the register that I came out of my trance.

“What’s up with you today Amy?” my friend Sarah asked distractedly. “Dunno, just thinking …..” was my vague reply. “About?” Sarah prompted. “Stuff.” Yet another wonderfully detailed reply. Sarah just looked at me and turned back to her R.E. homework she was doing quickly before lessons. “Shouldn’t you have done that at home Sar?” I asked trying to get the limelight off me. “Yeah, but I didn’t, you know me. No big deal though, it’s just some random thing on wars.” She replied in a bored and uninterested tone. “Ha ha” was my eloquent response.

She was about to reply with a supposedly witty come-back when the bell went. The first two lessons past slowly up until break where Jack decided it would be fun to squirt people (me and Sarah) with his water bottle until our clothes were so wet we were literally dripping. We knew we would get a huge row if we walked into class late, but we also knew we had I.T. next and we wouldn’t be allowed into the classroom, never mind on the computers if we were this wet, so we dashed quickly to the toilets to try to dry ourselves off as best and quickly as possible. We were both trying to use the decrepit hand dryer on the wall, when two girls came in, to do reapply their orange make-up.

They both gave us funny looks as we fought over the useless hand dryer, but once they each were in front of a mirror they started gossiping about some random tid bits of information they had. I just tuned it out until I heard one of them say: “Now, in all seriousness, have you seen that boy who’s been kidnapped?” the taller of the two oranges asked with a serious look on her face. “Don’t you think he’s fit?”

“Yeah, but, I’m not really into the ginger hotties, I much prefer them blonde and muscley.” “He doesn’t have ginger hair! It’s bronze” she sighed dozily and over defensively for someone she had never met.

We left the toilets quickly before we were late for class. But as we were walking Alice asked “Are you ok Bella? Or are you thinking about the ‘fit, ginger haired hotty’?” she teased. “Huh?” was my confused reply.

It took me a minute to realise what she was saying and when I did it was a bit late to explain as we were walking along the I.T. corridor and had just come to where our class was lined up outside the door. I said that I’d tell her later.

We came out of I.T. laughing after Tom showed his power point about trees. It consisted of three slides: one with the title and Tom’s name, the second with pictures of trees and the third with names of trees. The funny part was the backgrounds Tom had found and Mr. Stevens’ face as he saw each one. His eyes bulged and his mouth popped open and on the third slide his tongue fell out of his mouth. Tom got a month’s worth of detention, but Tom’s argument against that was the Mr. Stevens had asked for interesting backgrounds and anyway, he’d covered up the rude parts with smileys.

“So” Said Alice looking at me expectantly.

“What?” I answered bewildered. “What were you thinking about earlier?” “Oh, um... what would you do if you were kidnapped and put in a chocolate cell?” I answered, trying to start a random conversation that would hide my unease by making up such a random question, knowing that Alice is allergic to chocolate.

“Hmm” She hmmed, looking pensive.

The rest of the day passed by quickly enough and I was on the bus home before I remembered the boy in the cellar and started worrying: was he still there? Had dad decided what he was going to do with him?

When I got in I rushed in to the kitchen and made a sandwich as an excuse to see him and rushed down into the cellar. He was still there, sitting in the corner closest to me with his back to the door. I took a deep breath and walked forward.

-

__Chapter 4__

He stood swiftly and then turned slowly, his eyes angry, but when he saw that it was me, they became surprised, before changing swiftly to suspicious. He walked slowly forward with his arms crossed over his chest, as if he expected me to attack him. I walked forward nervously, self-conscious, and opened the little door, not looking at him. I slid the food through the little hole on to the small table that stood there. I took a step back and waited. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, for him to speak, for him to move, any sign of reaction from him.

There was nothing for a couple of minutes, but then he sighed softly and relaxed a little. “I suppose you think I’m being harsh on you.” His voice as soft and as beautiful as I remembered, “What with you not being part of this whole business” he waved his arms to indicated that he meant his current situation. “Kind of.” I muttered, but before he could say anything else I added, “but I can see where your coming from with the whole ‘I hate you because you’re here’ thing.” He looked at me surprised. “Really? I expected you to remain stubborn and say that I was being unjust or something and give me a whole speech, with arm waving and facts and figures and the like.” I narrowed my eyes. “No offense” he added, as if that stopped it from offending me. “Oh well that’s alright then, if you mean ‘no offense’, because that stops //everything// from being offending.” I responded in a burst of aggravated, sarcastic confidence. He looked at me curiously and then smiled gently, one side of his mouth pulling up higher than the other. “I apologies for upsetting you.” He said courteously in a quiet voice with a hint of amusement, hidden behind his regretful tone, but which shone gently from his eyes. I lowered my eyes to my scruffy boots, examining my toes poking out of the holes at the front. I could feel his eyes on me, which set me off blushing. I heard him chuckle again at my red cheeks which made me frown and lift my eyes of my wrecked Uggs and onto the irritatingly stunning person in front of me.

“Why are you laughing at me?” I said, without as much conviction and frustration in my tone as I would have liked. It would have passed as an irritated question if it wasn’t for the little smile that had appeared on my face when he chuckled. He grinned that stupid crooked grin and said “You know, I usually don’t go into the whole angry teenager lark, I’m usually quite mild tempered.” completely ignoring my question. There was something about the way he said it though, that made me think that he was actually sorry and not just saying it so I wouldn’t put cyanide in his food.

I voiced my last thought aloud and he laughed quietly, but stared into my eyes cautiously, making sure I was joking about the cyanide. I smiled at him to reassure him and looked down embarrassed when he grinned back and laughed again. Even though I suspected he was laughing at me, I wanted to hear him laugh again. I wasn’t sure what to say so I just stood there, staring and he did exactly the same. We were still standing there staring at each other, lost in thought, when I heard my dad shouting at someone in the hallway just outside the kitchen. I closed and locked the little door quickly and dashed up the stairs, swiftly shutting the door and skidding across the kitchen to turn the kettle on and then flop down in a chair. I heard the door open behind me, but I pretended to be lost in the book I had grabbed out of my bag earlier.

My heart was racing, scared that my dad would know that I had been down into the cell room and had spoken to the prisoner. It occurred to me while my head was spinning with worry that I had yet to ask the boy his name. I made a mental note to do so next time I could make an excuse to go down there.

- __Chapter 5__ “What are you doing here?” He said, more of a statement than a question, in a resigned tone. “I felt like I needed to apologize properly and explain what I can. And besides, you’re probably lonely. I thought you could do with the company” I answered in calm, measured voice. “Thank you, but I’d rather //stay// on my own.” He answered unconvincingly. “Sure you would.” I teased gently; glad he was finally talking with out as much malice as before. His lips twitched before reforming that hard line like always. “I wouldn’t.” He answered; a tone in his voice which made me think he wanted to tease me back but was restraining himself. I giggle gently and silently to myself, averting my eyes from him. He grinned as I looked up and something about the grin made me feel that I had seen it before. “So, how’s life?” He asked casually. “How’s life? That’s a bit of a strange thing to ask someone when you’re being kept in a glass cell in a cellar.” I answered, an eyebrow raised. “Yeah, well it didn’t seem like you were going to say anything.” He grinned. “I was getting there.” I said, hoping I wasn’t a bright red beacon. “If you say so.” He answered smiling. “What’s your name?” I asked, suddenly curious to know everything I could about this beautiful stranger. “You don’t know?” He asked, surprised. “No, I’ve been told to keep away from you and to say absolutely nothing to you actually, which is an order I am purposefully disregarding.” I said matter of factly. “Why? Surely I’m not that interesting.” He asked scornfully. “You are actually. You’re the first person who’s not a hairless middle aged idiot in charge of some massive operation which went wrong.” I explained. “No, I’m a hairy young genius who was in charge of some massive operation which and went wrong.” He said, his teasing tone hiding the bitterness. “//You// were in charge of an operation?” I asked incredulously. “Yes.” He answered indignantly “I was given a lot of responsibility and control and I was determined not to show my father up.” “Your father?” I asked my eyebrows rising. “I-.” He stuttered, realising what he had said. “I mean, um, er, what do I mean?” I laughed good naturedly at his confusion. “It’s ok. I won’t tell anyone.” I swore, understanding his problem. If I told Charlie he would probably not give the boy back to the group he worked for. He gave me an insecure smile. “I should go. I have chores.” I said, sensing that he didn’t want to continue talking in case anything else came out. “Okay then.” He said quietly. I reached behind me and pulled the door open, still looking at the boy. I turned and stepped through the door. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” I said, mesmerised by his eyes. So green, so beautiful. He nodded ever so slightly. I closed the door, turned the key in the lock. --- Sarah came in late in school the next day. Sarah is never late; she says lateness is a sign of rudeness to everybody present, even teachers, and that if you’re late it’s a sign of bad upbringing. She was in school uniform like always, but she didn’t have all the extra buttons she had sewn on and the badges she had bought online and the bracelets she wore to ‘spite authority. She had her skirt at the length it was meant to be and it was sitting just above her hips like everyone else and not cinched up to her waist with a ‘Jazzy’ belt. Her shoes were not the usual pumps she wore with pink ribbons she had added on, the only similarity to those were that her shoes were flat, but they were the sensible nurse’s shoes she so despised and that her mom had forced her to wear on the first day before they went ‘missing.’ She had been deSarahfied. She was silent and studious all the way through the remains of second period. She didn’t make any amusing comments on anything the teacher said, she didn’t even raise her hand to whip it back down and pretend she was scratching her head when the teacher asked what she wanted. Either Sarah was sick, dying or grieving. She had never acted like this before and I had known her for 6 years since the start of 7th grade when we were puny little 11 year olds. She didn’t talk to me even at break when we usually went to the quad and sat on the blue metal bench under a tree and watch the little people or ‘freshman’ as everyone else called them. We didn’t do it to be cruel, but to make ourselves, but mainly Sarah, feel better about being so short. She went straight to the bathroom without even coming to speak to me. I followed her through the mangy wooden door in to the dirty bathroom make sure everything was ok. “Sarah?” I asked tentatively, knocking gently on the pattern blue door of the stall. “Go away.” She said her voice muffled through the door and what wounded like tears. “Like that’s actually going to happen.” I said scornfully, my voice still gentle. I heard a sniffle, but no small laugh and I doubted she was even smiling faintly. “Come on Sar, its induction day, we could go and look at the little versions of the little people.” I said hopefully, hoping she would be willing to leave the bathroom. “No.” She didn’t put any emotion behind it, but I could hear the pain in it nevertheless. “Okay, I’ll just set up camp by the door then and tell you how tiny they are.” I hoped to gauge a reaction from this but she didn’t reply. “Sar?” I asked, deeply worried for my friend. “Do you want me to get a teacher or the nurse or something?” “No, I’m fine, just go and mock the shorties for me.” She said, attempting to act normal. I didn’t know what to do, so I followed her wishes. I walked outside slowly, thinking about what to do, but the answer came to me in the form of Mr. Evans. He saw me walking out of the bathroom and asked me if I was ok. I explained that I was fine but Sarah was upset about something. He asked me to bring her to his room and he would talk to her. I went back in to the bathroom and Sarah had come out of the stall and was by the sinks in front of the mirror. “Sarah.” I asked hesitantly. Her head snapped up to look at me before she ducked down and shielded her eyes with her hair, but nor before I had seen that she had been crying. “Mr. Evans wants to speak to you.” I told her gently. “He wants to see you in his room.” I waited for her to say anything, but she didn’t, she just walked around me and out the door. I followed her to Mr. Evans’ room and waited outside while she went in. I waited to one side of the door and turned my head away so as not to listen to what they were saying, but I could still hear most of it. “Sarah, it’ll be alright.” I could hear Mr. Evans say. “He’ll be found.” His voice was tender. “How do you know?”Sarah replied angrily. “You’re just a teacher.” The scorn in her voice was obvious. “Yes, but I went to school with your father, I knew him well and I remember him well enough to know that he will not take this lying down.” “But he has so far, he hasn’t done anything about finding him.” She said, her voice bordering on desperate. “He’s made sure he isn’t going to find his own way home before spending money on finding him that he doesn’t have.” Mr. Evans’ voice was defiant, but still calm. “But-“Sarah began. “But nothing Sarah, he will find him. Your brother will be safe home in no time.” The floor seemed to drop from beneath me when I heard that. Sarah’s brother was missing. I dashed to the end of the corridor and back in to the bathroom. They wouldn’t be too happy if they found out I had been eaves dropping, no matter if it was unintentional. I knew I should wait for Sarah, but I knew that I had heard something I shouldn’t have and if she found out she would be angry at me. The last thing I wanted was for anger to be added to the list of emotions Sarah was being troubled with at the moment. Poor Sarah.

-

__Chapter 6__

I spent the whole of Saturday flopped in front of the TV in my room, well aware that I should be doing something productive like homework or washing the dishes I would get a grounding for not doing. I only came out for meals, remembering to take something down to the boy. He was curled up in the corner of his cell the first time, asleep I think, but the second time I came down, carrying soup and bread he was sitting with his arms around his legs, his back to the thick transparent wall, staring at the floor. He looked up as I opened the door and stepped inside, his eyes flicking to the tray curiously. I set the tray on the floor in between us and sat down, mirroring him with my back up against the wall. I picked up a bowl of soup and one of the two spoons I had and set it in front of me. “Hi there.” I said quietly, looking at him staring at me. “Uh, hi.” He said confused. “So I got really bored on my own and I need to talk to you anyway so I thought I’d have lunch with you.” I stated matter of factly. “Okay.” He said slowly, still looking really confused. I started eating, sipping the hot soup from the spoon, but he didn’t touch the bowl, he just sat looking suspiciously at the food I was eating. I tore a chunk of bread and dipped it in to the bowl. “It’s not poisoned you know.” I said, raising my eyebrows, slightly irritated by his mistrust. “How do I know that you’re not lying and you’re here to make sure I die properly?” He asked mistrustfully. “Because I- Hang on,” I asked just realising what he had actually said “How do you ‘die properly’? I didn’t think there was a method to it.” My voice had taken on the slight teasing tone I used on Sarah sometimes. “What?” He enquired perplexed. “You just said I was here to make sure you die properly and I asked if there is a proper way to die like with guidelines or something and a chance to do it again in case you don’t die properly.” “What? No- I was just saying that you were probably told to make sure I eat everything.” He said his voice irritated, but trying to calm down. “If you’re so worried about being poisoned then I’ll switch bowls with you.” I retorted somewhat sharply “And spoons” I added, slightly more friendly, raising my eyebrows daringly. “Hmm ok” He said reluctantly. “But only if the spoons get swapped” he joked. “You drive a hard bargain my friend.” I said, handing over the bowl with the spoon resting on the edge. He grinned, more relaxed than I had seen him, his mouth lifting slightly at the edges even when he wasn’t smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners slightly, the lines in his forehead were gone. I noticed that he was still in the muddy clothes he had worn when I first saw him. I wondered if my dad would let me get him some more. Then I pushed that ridiculous thought out of my head before it developed into a full on plan of action as to how I would go about asking Malcolm such a thing. He was looking at me, waiting. I realised that he hadn’t been entirely joking about the poison. I took a sip. He smile and lifted his spoon. “Why did you wait for me to eat from this bowl if you saw me eating from that one?” I asked curiously. “I don’t know; I just did.” He answered nonchalantly, looking down into his bowl. We ate in silence for a couple of minutes before he asked “What did you want to ask anyway?” “Huh?” I answered, coming out of my stupor. “You said that you wanted to say something to me.” He responded. “Oh, yeah.” I remembered what I was going to say with a jolt. I had decided to ask him if Sarah actually was his sister and prove to myself I wasn’t a mad overly suspicious lunatic while lounging in front of the TV, not watching reruns that played themselves in front of my eyes, in my living room which sits directly above Malcolm’s study. “I was wondering” I began hesitantly, weighing each word as I said them. I was not looking at him, but instead staring at the wall behind his unruly hair. “I was wondering” I said again in a more confident voice “if your last name is Collins.” His expression became fearful “and a sister called Sarah.” I finished, forcing myself to meet his shocked eyes. He didn’t say anything for a long while, just stared at me fearfully. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, then opened his mouth to speak before closing it tightly. “I’m not going to tell Malcolm about it you know.” I said gently, attempting to console “I’m not that bad.” His eyes softened but his mouth was still a hard thin line. “I’m only asking because I care.” I stated. “I care if Malcolm hurts her to get to you, I care if he hurts to get to your father, and I care if he hurts her for the sake of it.” I broke eye contact and looked at my hands which had balled themselves into fists. “I care if he hurts you as well.” “Yes.” He whispered. I looked up into his bright eyes, now displaying such trust as I had never imagined they would have whilst looking at me. Relief that I was not nuts rushed into me and I was filled with a warm glow of satisfaction and tenderness towards to boy who trusted me.

-

__Chapter 7__ I sat in the cellar with the boy until it had gone dark outside and the automatic lights came flickering on outside the cell. I excused myself eventually and walked up the bare wooden stairs into the cosy little yellow kitchen. Malcolm was sitting at the table.

I froze, but he was sitting with his back to me facing a man who was sitting straight backed in a chair opposite him. They both seemed to be deep in conversation about something. I took a step back onto the wooden top step and closed the door, leaving enough of a gap for me to peek through, also making sure I could still hear what they were saying. “We can’t just leave him Malcolm, surely you understand.” The man was saying, a frown crossing his strong brow. “Of course I know this,” Malcolm answered, quickly “but he’s just a boy.” His tone was a sad, unhappy one with a tinge of something I couldn’t recognise as I realised they were talking about the boy in the cellar, my eyes wide with fear for him. “No.” The man replied sharply “He’s not a boy, Malcolm, he’s a weapon; a weapon that could destabilise everything that we have worked so hard to build up. Don’t go all soft on me now; I need everyone I can get on my side.” I instantly felt a strong bond of hatred for this man. “Yessir.” Malcolm replied, solider like. “So you know what you have to do?” The man demanded rather than asked. “Yessir.” Malcolm repeated. “Good. Then I shall see you again when this is done.” The man rose steadily, shook hands with Malcolm and turned towards the door and walked swiftly and smartly out of it. Malcolm slumped in his chair; his head flopped onto his hand. I pushed the door open slightly, hoping not to disturb him from his contemplation. Then my mind started working right again; if Malcolm knew that I knew he was going to harm the boy in some way he would either get me to help or get me to do it. I took a step back on to the stair below and made a great noise as I pushed the door open banging the tray as I did so. Malcolm shot up in his chair with surprise, banging his knee against the underside of the table. “You okay dad?” I asked only slightly concerned, the rest was just acting. “What were you doing?” He asked in a stern voice. “Taking food down for the boy.” I answered as casually as possible. “I thought I told you not to do that” He replied angrily. “No, you told me not to talk to him, not to leave him to starve.” I replied, well aware that my bored, know-it-all tone would aggravate him. “Look!” he shouted. “I meant for you to leave him alone and not to spend hours in there becoming best of friends with a traitorous piece of shit!” I was taken aback by Malcolm’s sudden response and his use of language; the man must have frightened him more than I thought. “Okay. I understand, it’s just if I don’t give him food then no-one will.” I answered calmly, scared of how Malcolm might react. “What? But I have people for this kind of thing!” His voice had been made friendlier but only by the tone of surprise in it. “No. You have cooks for you and your guests, servants for you and your guests, but I make my own food and I’ve always been responsible for feeding your prisoners.” I stated in a bored tone that hid my fear of my father. “I know that, it’s just I was sure I had told someone to take care of the prisoner.” His brow furrowed and his gaze slid to his shoes. “Maybe they misunderstood what you meant and thought that ‘taking care’ meant getting rid of.” I suggested, wishing I was anywhere but here. “Well if so they have done nothing to act upon it.” He mumbled to himself, then in a louder voice aimed at me; “You may continue feeding the boy- I mean prisoner, but still no talking to him! He will be gone soon anyway.” “What do you mean? Are you going to kill him?” I asked incredulously. “What? No” malcolm was getting increasingly distracted the more we talked. “Don’t you have homework or something? Or friends to talk to?” “You won’t let me have a phone in my room.” I reminded him. “But you have a mobile don’t you? Go amuse yourself.” His mind was clearly somewhere else by now. “Yes Dad.” I rushed out of the kitchen, stopping only to grab my school bag which I had dropped there earlier on in the afternoon which had swiftly become evening. ---