the sidewalk.
No pavement was tread. His feet moved bravely forward, resuming a normal pace. Will’s head swiveled on his neck, but he sensed no danger. The impersonator was gone, the girl was gone, and so too were the Germans.
Will whisked ahead to the next corner. On either side was a slim lane that ran a few houses down. Each was lined with bushes and ended in sheer bricks. There were no people, no one looking out of windows, and not even a lounging squirrel.
To the left, muffled voices echoed down the corridor. Will looked, but saw nothing. Another whisper trickled out from the empty space, followed by an audible plea. Drawn to the panic, his feet headed towards its source. The alley turned abruptly, opening up into another niche.
As soon as bodies appeared before him, Will halted and leapt back behind the edge of the building. In doing so he kicked loose a brick, and almost verbally anguished before holding his breath. The voices didn’t notice and carried on.
“Where is the relic, Herr Franklin?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, please let her go.”
Will looked out again. The two Germans were brandishing switchblades. One of them was holding the French girl around the chest, resting his knife on her throat. Franklin had his back against the wall with the other German closing in on him.
“You are wasting my time, Herr Franklin,” he threatened. “I will drain you if I have to. You have no need for it. You have had your taste.”
“Please, I’m just an actor. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Enraged, the German lunged at Franklin and jammed his blade deep into the old man’s shoulder. Both he and the girl screamed, but were quickly muzzled by the hands of their assailants. Will, overcome with agony, winced at the sight and then grimaced in disgust when the German put the blade up to his mouth and licked off the blood.
“Ah, schöne Blut,” the stabber exclaimed.
The German let the savory iron flavor roll around in his mouth, appreciating its bouquet with closed eyes. A shiver ran through him when he swallowed, and a joyful exhale expelled a hiss into the air. His lips curled back over a row of unnaturally sharp teeth. He looked down with widened eyes at his trembling victim.
“I think you lie, Foreverman,” he continued to hiss. “Tell me where it is, and I will spare die Fräulein.”
Will pulled out his phone, finding a black screen from a dead battery.
“No, not now,” Will said.
Will surveyed the scene, his hands twitching, watching the German approach the impersonator a second time. He looked around frantically, pausing when he saw the brick at his feet. He quickly snatched it off the ground, rotated it in his hand, and took an impetuous breath.
“Does she belong to you?” the German asked. “Is she one of you? Perhaps I should kill her to find out.”
Franklin held his muscles together, stinging pain etched on his face. He shook, watching tears begin to salt his daughter’s cheeks. She stared back at her father pitifully, seeing hope dwindling in his eyes. The knife’s point dug into her neck, compensating for her attempts to lean away.
When the German holding her suddenly fell forward, the little French girl screamed a deathly cry and dropped to the ground. The other assailant turned around, seeing only a blur and the broad side of a brick swinging hard into his temple. He blacked out and collapsed on Franklin.
Chest heaving, Will hurled the knives over the wall. He kicked the unconscious German to the side and ran over to help the girl. Her shocked frame crashed into him.
He sat her down again and went to Franklin, grasping the old man’s arm and pulling his collar away from the wound. The gash was still gurgling blood, while his white shirt was now soaked red. Every spurt sent a new fury into his face as he fought the pain.
“You’re going to be alright,” said Will. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
Will grabbed the impersonator’s cell phone off the ground.
“Vivie,” Franklin fought, “help.”
The girl regained composure, looked up and saw Will dialing. Just as he was about to press the final number, she tackled him and swatted the phone away.
“What are you doing?” Will yelled.
“Don’t,” she begged.
Will pushed her off and went after the phone. She leapt again and scrambled up on top of him, attempting to pin him down. She grabbed ahold of his face with both hands.
“Please don’t,” she reiterated. “Look!”
While straddling his torso, she gripped his ears and forced his head over. He looked at Franklin, who was still writhing. Both fists were clenched as his whole body began to shudder. His muscles tightened and the veins in his neck popped out, looking as if he might explode. More blood shot out from his shoulder, at which Will stared with renewed interest.
The wound was closing somehow, or lessening in some weird way. Franklin stopped to catch a few breaths and then forced himself to convulse again. A little more blood leaked out, but mainly subsided as the wound continued to diminish.
Will gawked. “What the hell?”
Franklin lurched back and forth. A guttural hum sounded off with every pulse. The fissure’s progress hastened. Will’s mouth hung open as he clutched the French girl by the wrists, but she held on desperately. Franklin’s cut stitched itself. The skin drew in from the corners. The blood stopped and the edges pulled themselves together until, eventually, the wound was shut.
“Oh my God,” Will stammered.
“Help me up,” Franklin demanded. “We have to get away from here.”
Three May Keep A Secret If Two Of Them Are Dead
A sudden opening cast light abruptly into a shadowy hallway. Supporting Franklin on their shoulders, Will and Vivie hauled him into the house. She kicked the door closed behind them.
“This way,” Vivie rasped to Will in an anguished voice, “to the living room.”
Franklin’s feet dragged across the floor without enough blood to sustain locomotion. He groaned at every jostle and bump. Will took on most of his weight, trying to lift him over the obstacles of the dark home, until Franklin’s whole mass flopped against him. Vivie ran off into the next room and switched on every light she could find.
“Not so bright,” Franklin moaned.
“I need to look at you,” she called back.
Will followed with the portly impersonator. Vivie indicated towards a buttoned leather chair. She took hold of Franklin’s arm and led both men to the seat. Will lowered Franklin slowly, but couldn’t help dropping the burden the last few inches. The old man fell into the cushion with a force that railed the chair a few inches across the floor. He went limp and stared at the ceiling.
Vivie immediately went to work pulling his shirt away from the knife’s point of entry. Her lack of procedural precaution made Will wince, but again, as he could see more clearly now, the wound had vanished. The skin was still red around the mark, however, and blood had visibly covered the upper portion of Franklin’s shirt. Will was positive he’d seen the blade penetrate skin, but there was nothing else to indicate the event had ever occurred.
“You’ll be fine,” Vivie reassured, “it’s healing now.”
She seemed to have forgotten the stranger in the room. Franklin, however, tipped forward to get a better look.
“Young man, you saved our lives. I’m indebted to you,” Franklin said. “What’s your name?”
“William,” he said nervously.
Clearly flustered, Vivie turned and approached the stunned hero. She hugged him and kissed his cheek.
“Oui, thank you William,” she said softly, “that was very brave of you.”
“No problem. Those men were following you since the tour,” Will explained. “They were sneaking around pretty suspiciously. When I saw them chase after you, I followed.”
Vivie kissed his other cheek, “I’m glad you did.”
“The tour, that’s why you look familiar,” Franklin coughed out.
“Do you k
now those men?” Will asked.
“I do not,” Franklin said. “Could you get me some pain killers, darling? Have a seat, Will.”
Vivie scurried off to the kitchen of the quaint colonial home. She banged cupboards as she searched.
“I’m Ben,” Franklin introduced himself.
Will raised an eyebrow, “Really?”
“Yes really,” Franklin said with a chuckle. “And that’s my daughter, Vivienne.”
“How rude of me,” Vivie exclaimed in the kitchen.
She reappeared under the arch and curtsied elegantly.
“I’m Vivienne. Vivie if you like,” she offered cutely. “Papa, I don’t see the bottle. Are you sure it’s here?”
“Perhaps I finished it,” Franklin replied.
“Sir, I think you’d be better off going to the hospital,” Will suggested. “That cut looked pretty deep.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Franklin said quickly. “I’ll be back to normal in an hour or two. It was just a scratch.”
“Scratch? He buried the whole blade in your shoulder,” Will asserted.
Franklin paused and leaned forward. His face appeared almost consternated and his eyes delved into Will’s, which stared back with sincere concern.
Franklin said gruffly, “How much of that little scuffle did you see, Will?”
“I’m not exactly sure what I saw,” Will answered earnestly.
“It was nothing,” Franklin discharged in a guilty-sounding garble of words, “nothing to worry about.”
Vivienne returned to the kitchen, tossing plates and glassware against the boards of the cabinets. Between door slams and hurried skips across the floor, she seemed to