"Unknown Knowns", part 1/?

[March Hare]

So I wanted to write a proper fantasy/suspense story with lots of Our Kinda Fun thrown in, but turns out all this little yarn wanted to be was a Harlequin-OurKindaFun-Romance-pr0n™. OH WELL!

There’s no plot to speak of because I couldn’t be arsed to think it out properly, it’s badly edited and I have no idea where it’s going. Buuuuut there’s plenty of sneezing, so… enjoy?

(Also, if I said glaringly stupid things about budgies, feel free to point them out. I live to be educated.)

 

This story is dedicated to Garnet and Nova, who have set my panties on fire and inspired my dirty mind.

 

~~~

 

“Rianne? Mr. Davis is here.”

 

“Thanks, Lin. I’m ready.”

 

The door opened and a tall man walked in. Rianne looked up casually, then stared.

 

His hair was long and looked unkempt, but perfectly clean. She took in the rest of his appearance as he entered her office: his body all angles and bones and height under perfectly ordinary but perfectly fitting clothes, cheeks red and nose redder from being outside, oddly light eyes under darkish eyebrows. Disquieting. Shaking off the momentary glitch in her equilibrium, she got up and walked around the desk to meet him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Davis.”

 

“Good afternoon, Ms. Lenstra,” he said. “I’d shake your hand, but I’ve got a bad cold and no tissues, so… well...”

 

She gave what she devoutly hoped was a sympathetic smile, and pointed to the box on her desk. “I quite understand. By all means help yourself. ‘Tis the season, by all accounts.” She did not say, You sure sound like it. She did not say Boy, that’s going to be distracting. She just motioned him to the chair in front of the desk, sat down herself, and pretended not to notice how quietly yet vigorously he proceeded to blow his nose, or the little breathy cough he gave, the kind that signals an irritation of the nose rather than the throat. She clenched her fingertips around the pen and waited.

 

“Sorry about that,” he said in a voice that was only slightly less stuffy than before. “But thanks.” He sat down, dropping the used tissue into the wastebasket next to the desk. Rianne pulled herself together and looked at his face.

 

“What have you come here for today, Mr. Davis?”

 

“Your website said you try to help people who have lost,” he said slowly. “Something or someone. I’m not quite clear on one thing though - does your help aim at finding what is lost, or at getting your client to deal with loss? Are you a detective, or a grief counselor?”

 

“I’m a consultant,” she replied. “I provide people with what they need, be it in the form of grief counseling or referral to a good private investigator, if the lost person or object is at all retrievable. But I am quoting directly from my website here, Mr. Davis, so you must have read it yourself. You don’t strike me as the type of person who doesn’t do his research.”

 

“That’s cold reading,” he said, with a lopsided smile. “An obvious shot in the dark. Not bad, though.”

 

“Am I to conclude that you have come here today to criticise my methods of work?” she returned, raising her eyebrows.

 

The smile stayed. It did nice things to the corners of his eyes. “I apologize. Just trying to get a read on you, which must seem like grabbing the pack from the dealer at the baccarat table. I would like you to help me find something, but I’m willing to bet you good money it’s not in your usual line.”

 

“I’m interested,” she said.

 

“I haven’t given you any information, and you’re interested?” Now it was he who raised his eyebrows. He did it well.

 

“Mainly in your reason for choosing me as the one before whom to put your case - or not, as may be. I suddenly feel as though I’ve been auditioning for you this whole time. Will you tell me about your case?”

 

He opened his mouth to answer, then frowned and closed it again, reaching for the tissue box. “May I?”

 

“Go ahead.”

 

He took a tissue and buried his nose in it, and before she could even properly register what was going on he took what sounded like a perfectly normal breath and immediately sneezed three times in rapid succession “HhtCHSST-KSCHTT-MPFSSCH! ...ehh.” He sat frozen in place for a few seconds, breathing shakily, then he sighed and rubbed his nose before balling up the tissue and throwing it away. “Excuse me.”

 

“Bless you,” Rianne managed. She looked down at her notepad and wrote Client wants to find something not in the usual line. It was stupidly unprofessional, but oh well. Casual behavior and all that. Things were important. Hngh.

 

“Thank you,” he said. His voice was thick and dark. She fought against the urge to cross her legs and lost.

 

“You were saying?” she prompted, when he gave no sign of going on. He was blinking at a point somewhere behind her shoulder, mouth slightly open, and she didn’t think he’d heard her. His nostrils were twitching.

 

At the very second she opened her mouth to say something - although she had no conscious idea what - he snapped out of it with an agonized “Huhh!” followed closely by another volley of sneezes, almost but not quite buried into the crook of his elbow. “HuhTSSSCHt! HuhhhUSSSH! ATSSHuhh! Gods, sorry.” He raised his head, giving her a bleary-eyed look of apology. A few strands of his hair had fallen across his face, and he brushed them away with a gesture that reminded her of many things, none of them suitable for work.

 

Wordlessly, she pushed the box of tissues closer to him.

 

“Thank you,” he muttered stuffily. “I get like that with colds sometimes - it’ll start and just not stop for a day or so. I do hope I’m not giving this to you.”

 

“You’re not the only one,” she said, smiling down at the notepad. Her cheeks were burning. Not good. Fuck it, he was probably too woozed to notice. And so what if he did? For that matter, so what if she could feel her heart beat as hard between her legs as behind her ribs?

 

“My case, as you call it,” he resumed, “is an odd one. Explaining it fully will take a while.” He paused again, and she looked up (praying she looked neutral instead of hopeful). No dice, though. He seemed to be thinking, not battling another bout of nasal agony. “How much time do you have?”

 

She looked at her watch. “Right now? About twenty-five minutes. My next client will be here at four. That’s my last appointment for the day, though,” she added, when she saw his faint frown. “We could always make arrangements…”

 

“I will tell you as much as I can,” he said, rubbing at his nose with two long fingers. “HuhhISSHU! Damn it.”

 

No kidding, Rianne thought.

 

“Anyway.” He coughed into the crook of his elbow, sniffed, and rubbed at his nose some more before continuing. As Rianne listened, both her disquiet and her interest grew. Davis had been right about this not being in her usual line; she had never even heard of such a thing. A wry voice deep inside her head was telling her she was being led up the garden path, that Davis was not to be trusted, that she should send him on his way, sneezy cold and all, to go tell it on the mountain. As if I could trust you, she told the voice. You’re just the voice of my slumbering paranoid misanthropy. The voice of what I have been trying to quash by doing this kind of work.

 

“I know it’s all sounding like the bullshit of urban legend,” he was saying, “but I simply don’t know how to make it sound plausible or coherent. The English language has just so many words. And the problem is that I really don’t know all that much about it myself. All I know is that someone once told me I was supposed to be part of it.”

 

“Someone?” Rianne asked. “I take it you had your reasons to assume this someone was telling the truth?”

 

“Yeah, I had reasons,” he replied, sniffling. “Do you want me to go into them?”

 

“I’m sure they’re relevant, but for now I need as broad an outline as you can give me. This someone told you that you were supposed to be a part of it, but nothing else?”

 

“She told me I would be able to find others, as soon as I was ready. Nothing about when I could expect this to happen or what it would be like, though. For all I know I’ve been ready for years without knowing, although I guess I would have run into one or more “others” by now, whatever the hell that meansKSSCHUhh!” The sneeze had been so unexpected he hadn’t had time to cover and she hadn’t had time to politely look away. As a result, it left them both considerably flustered, albeit in different ways.

 

“Bless you,” she murmured, scribbling away busily to give herself something else to focus on.

 

“Spare your breath,” he replied, “I’m… not d- ihhh… done… HuhhUSSSH-CHSSHT! HuhhKSHUHH! HuhhISSHHU! Oh, for fuck’s sake.” He tore more tissues from the box and folded them around his nose, blowing softly and scrubbing furiously at his nostrils. She could see moisture beading his eyelashes at the corners, and looked firmly back down at her notepad, her lower lip clamped between her teeth.

 

“Bless you.”

 

“Thank you,” he croaked. “I’m so sorry, but I don’t know if I can finish this. I feel lousy and my concentration is screwed.”

 

“To be honest I find it admirable how much sense you’ve been making up till now,” Rianne said reluctantly. “It looks like it’s doing a real number on you. Maybe you ought to cut this short and go home to bed.”

 

He tossed the tissues away and grabbed a couple of new ones. “I suppose. I’d like to reschedule for as soon as possible, though. This is important to me.”

 

“So you do think I’m the right candidate for the job?” she half-joked. Under the desk, her fingers were holding on to each other as though for dear life.

 

He gave her a look from under those eyebrows that made her want to scream. “I do. If you want the job, that is.”

 

Fuck yeah I want the job, but mostly I want you. What’s more, I’m beginning to suspect you know it.

 

“I would certainly like to take this on, Mr. Davis,” she replied. Her voice was as cool and professional as you please.

 

“I’m glad. And I hope you’ll agree to calling me Rhys.”

 

“Rhys,” she repeated, and then: “You’re Welsh?”

 

“Originally.”

 

“I’m beginning to understand.”

 

Are you now, his light eyes seemed to say. That eye colour didn’t make sense in light of his background, but maybe it did combined with the rest of his story. She would have to do some reading up on all sorts of things. Good thing she had the next three days off.

 

“If you’re going to let me call you by your first name,” she said, “maybe I should return the favor. My name is Rianne.” She extended her hand without thinking, but he gestured vaguely at his face and smiled. Her cheeks started burning again. That smile was dangerous.

 

“Thank you,” he said. Up went that slim hand toward the nose. Back and forth went those long fingers under the sore-looking nostrils. He was now noticeably breathing through his mouth.

 

“So do I make the appointment with you, Rianne, or with your colleague in the other room?”

 

She was sort of touched that he didn’t say assistant, or something inane like pretty lady. Also she positively savored how her name sounded in his voice. “Since this is not in my usual line, as you say, I think I could justify going around the usual office hours a little. Officially, I have tomorrow off, as well as the two days after. I assume you’ll want a day or two to recover, but I would suggest we meet as soon as you’re up for it.” That sounded way too eager there, girlfriend. Sigh. “In the meantime, I’ll do some reading.”

 

“Thank you very much,” he said. “I appreciate it.” God, but he sounded so tired. So stuffed.

 

So hot.

 

Rianne reined herself in as best she could and handed him a business card. “My cell number’s on that as well. If you’re not well by the weekend, you can call the office on Monday morning and we’ll make a proper appointment. Otherwise, you can call me anytime between eight a.m. and ten p.m. in the next three days.”

 

He pocketed the card and nodded. “Great. Again, thank you so much. I’ll make sure this doesn’t take too long.”

 

“Take good care. Plenty of fluids and fresh air and all that. You know the drill.”

 

They smiled at each other. For a couple of seconds at the very least, Rianne felt... completely and utterly right. The spell was broken only when Rhys turned his face back into the crook of his elbow, coughing. It was all she could do not to get up and pound him on the back, just for the excuse of touching him.

 

“Go home,” she said. “Get some rest. And get well.”

 

“I will and I’ll do my best,” he said, getting up. “And I’ll see you soon.”

 

“Yes. So long, Rhys.” It didn’t feel weird. Calling him Mr. Davis had felt weird, but this felt exactly right.

 

He turned in the doorway and gave her that look again, that I-know-what-you’re-thinking-and-I’m-liking-it look that shut down some parts of her brain and overactivated others. “So long, Rianne.”

 

The door closed. Rianne slumped in her chair, sighed at the ceiling, and wished her office included facilities for taking a long cold shower.

 

~

 

“Oh fuck the wild bears,” Rianne said loudly to the computer screen. In the volière in the corner of the room, Batfink looked up with a startled cheep and a little flutter of wings. Rianne did not notice, however. She sat staring at the words.  

 

“I said he could call me,” she murmured, “but I didn’t say anything about calling him if and when I found anything.” Still, he was going to want to know this, and sooner rather than later. Sick or not. Laid up with all that sniffly, sneezy, exhausting unwellness or not. Ugh.

 

Well, at least he couldn’t suspect her of disaster tourism if she called him with this. Priorities, Ms Lenstra. Priorities!

 

She had his cell phone number saved, because of course she had. Clients who consulted her after hours, or before hours, or otherwise way outside hours, needed to be able to be reached as well as reach. That was just how she worked.

 

It gave at least four rings before he picked up, and when he did, his voice gave her the shudders. He sounded like Christopher Nolan's Batman. "Yeah.”

 

“Rhys? This is Rianne Lenstra. I have news for you. Sorry if this is a bad time, but I think you-”

 

“It’s not a bad time,” he rasped.

 

“You sound as though I woke you up though,” she couldn’t resist saying.

 

He coughed. “You did, but that’s okay. I’ve been sleeping all morning anyway.”

 

She had to clamp her teeth shut over this all-too-interesting deviation from the path she had called to pursue. “I found a blog called The Watcher on the Wall. I almost skipped it because I thought it was Game of Thrones-related, but then I didn’t. Listen to this. ‘The military has withdrawn from the island of Noorderhaaks, between Texel and the mainland, and has abandoned all training there. Recreational visitors are still allowed on the island, but interest has dwindled from last summer on.’ That entry is from seven months ago. I tried to find out more about why the army no longer exercises on Noorderhaaks, but I got stonewalled at every turn. It’s more as if nobody really knows than as if there is any heavily classified stuff going on, though.”

 

“Could you send me the link to that blog?” he asked, and coughed again. It sounded painful. She swallowed. “I already have. I’d like you to take a good look at the photo accompanying the entry that comes next, as well. But you should read that for yourself.” She was looking at the very picture as she spoke. A woman of indeterminate age, tall and slender and straight as a broomstick, looking into the camera with frank and rather hard eyes the exact same colour as Rhys’s. It could mean nothing; it could mean everything.

 

“How come you were able to find this when I… hh… fuck, hang on… hh!DSCHT! IDSCH-CHSSHT! HihhDSCHUHH! ...guh. Sorry.”

 

Rianne almost dropped her phone. “Bless you,” she faltered. “Anyway, take a good look… let me know whether I’m on the right track. I’ll let you get back to… um, getting better.”

 

“Wait a minute,” he said. “I know that woman.”

 

“You do?” Rianne sat up. “I thought you might. She has your eyes.”

 

“That’s the woman who told me I was meant to be part of the Rite,” he said slowly.

 

“But… damn it, Rhys, there’s an e-mail address there. You could just get back in touch with her and not need to keep employing me at all.” Please keep employing me. Or don’t and say yes when I subsequently ask you out. And by out I mean into my bed. She smacked herself upside the head to teach her unruly thoughts who was boss.

 

“No I can’t,” he said, and his voice was so dark and raspy now that it actually almost hurt her ears. “She is dead.”

 

Oh.

 

“Well,” Rianne said on a deep breath, “fuck.”

 

“Yeah,” he rumbled.

 

“So…” So what the fuck do I say now? I’m so sorry? He must have been related to her somehow. Or not? I don’t know! I have no script for this! Line, someone! Line!

 

“So whose e-mail address is that?” he finished for her. “That what you were going to say?”

 

Rianne gave up. “I don’t know, to be perfectly honest. Ought I to offer my condolences? I will check out that e-mail, by the way. That is my job.”

 

Goddamn it if he didn’t cough again. At some length, this time. She held her breath and listened, with a feeling as though she was watching a boat go over the crest of a waterfall.

 

Finally he cleared his throat, took a few deep breaths, and said “No condolences necessary. It was a long time ago.”

 

“Were you related to her?”

 

“Yes,” he replied, and left it at that. She didn’t have the courage to inquire further. All she wanted to do right now was to hang up the fucking phone and jump back into the shower. It was all she could do to yank her reluctant professional attitude back in place.

 

“Tomorrow, I’m hitting the University library downtown,” she said. “Anything I come up with, I’ll report back to you. You take good care of yourself now. Better yet,” she somehow didn’t think better of adding, “get someone else to take care of you.”

 

He gave a wry, sniffly chuckle. “Your firm wouldn’t happen to do health-loss cases as well, would it?”

 

I totally would, for you, she thought. Instead she said, “Yeah, we tend to leave that to the actual healthcare professionals. I suppose I could do one grocery delivery if you live close to the library, though.” OK, mouth, that’s it. I’m slapping a restraining order on you.

 

“You drive a hard bargain, lady,” he rasped. “Especially since I don’t live near the library.”

 

“Shit,” she said. “Hard luck.” Why the hell isn’t he saying solong and hanging up? I mean I know why I’m not doing that, but...

 

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “and I feel bad for even asking, but could I take you up on that offer anyway? I only need a couple things, but I’m just...” He coughed. Sniffed.

 

“...totally man-fluing out over there,” she finished for him. That made him laugh, which made him cough again, after which she heard him put down the phone somewhere and blow his nose in the distance. Squirm.

 

“That’s one way of calling a spade a garden hose, but yes. Would you?”

 

“Only because you’re paying me to spend a day in my favorite place,” she said lightly. “What do you need?”

 

“Just some satsumas, eucalyptus drops, and paracetamol. Oh, and a loaf of bread.”

 

“That’s all, is it?” she asked skeptically.

 

“I think so. Why, is there something I missed?” He still sounded like Batman, but amused. It was jarring to the ears of someone who had seen Batman Begins three times and The Dark Knight four.  

 

“Only all the clichés. Orange juice, chicken soup, Vick’s…”

 

He laughed. “I’m a vegetarian. And I don’t use Vick’s. It makes me sneeze even more.”

 

“But those drops don’t.”

 

“Not nearly as much. It’s worth the congestion relief.”

 

All right. So he evidently knew everything and was using it against her with extreme prejudice. Great. Lovely. Wonderful.

 

“I’m sure it is. Well, I’ve written it down. And since I’m not going into the office before Monday, could I have your address?”

 

He gave it to her, and then fucking finally said good-bye and hung up. Rianne threw her phone into the couch and let out a brief, wordless scream, which upset Batfink and Mini-Hedwig, who flew against the bars of their volière with lots of screeching and fluttering of feathers.

 

“I’m sorry, littluns,” she sighed, “but I couldn’t keep that in any longer.” She went over to her budgie buddies, checked their food and water situation, saw that it was good, and opened the little door. Batfink immediately shot out and scrambled onto her shoulder. Mini-Hedwig, the placid one, merely stuck out her little head and looked around before moving back to her favorite perch way up near the top.

 

“So I’m going to bring him some groceries,” she told Batfink, “and he’ll be there all sick and you know what and I’ll become seriously undone. I wish I was a budgerigar.”

Batfink nibbled at her finger. She could only agree. Being a budgerigar was a sweet gig.

 

 

~

 

 

TBC!

Edited January 28, 2017 by March Hare

[Hedgehog]

*lol* What a hot sicky! And all her reactions on him are so funny. I really like that story and I'm looking forward to the continuation.

[M214186]

I am loving this a lot. Can't wait for the delivery of goods. 

[rockbell]

This is amazing!! I can't wait to see what you have planned next for these two ?

[starsoup]

I love this!  I cant wait for you to write more!