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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 5 (v.1) - Titanium Chapter 5

Submitted: July 10, 2012

Reads: 103

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Submitted: July 10, 2012



Chapter 5

Irene sat on top of the buildings roof in the alleyway. She hummed quietly, waiting to see if the Marshall would come. BlueBird did say he would come, maybe he just forgot or something. Her hat shadowed the rest of her face, so her visage wasn’t very visible in the darkness of nighttime.
She heard a slight whistling and lifted her head up. A man with broad shoulders stood at the end of the alley, just leaning against the wall. His black hat covered his face, this was the man she had ran into today. She laughed to herself thinking how ironic it was that she had ran into him earlier.
“What do you laugh about Ms. Dawes?” his voice was calm, and a little deep.
“I laugh at how funny you look Marshall,” she smiled, even though he couldn’t see her face, and she couldn’t see his.
“Don’t make a fight where you don’t want to Irene,” he said.
“Please,” she sighed and rolled her eyes, “only my sister and her idiot husband call me Irene. I’m Ms. Dawes to everyone else.”
“Well I would shake your hand, but you’re a few feet above me, and I don’t feel like climbing today.”
“I would love to shake your hand too Marshall, but as you can see, I’m not in the mood for jumping,” she grinned.
“Where’s your dog?” he asked.
“Not here, why?”
“Just curious,” he shrugged, “I saw your wolf earlier, and just hoped he isn’t here right now.”
“You afraid of my dog?”
“Maybe, I don’t know what I’m afraid of,” he crossed his arms.
“I think that’s a bad sense of character you have. You ought to know what you’re afraid of.”
“Oh yeah,” he grinned, “then what are you afraid of?”
“You must be afraid of something, does Mr. Maroni scare you?” he asked.
She didn’t reply.
“I take that as a yes,” he said.
“I’m not scared of him,” her throat sounded tight, “I just don’t... get on his side.”
“You don’t really seem to get on anyone’s side these days.”
“Yet, you know that how Marshall? You’ve only been here for about two weeks. Let me tell you that if you step in my way, I’ll kill you like the last Marshall. Understand?”
“Well,” he cleared his throat, “Isn’t it my job to get in your way?”
“You should know that, you’re the Marshall. Since it is part of your job, then I convince you to go drop the job and become a cowboy, raise your own livestock. Get a nice wife.”
“Nah, there ain’t many nice wives out here,” he smiled.
“What do you look for in a wife?”
“Someone a little like you,” he grinned. There was a longer pause then before. The crickets were making their little sounds, and the wind blew in their ears.
“Are you from England, Marshall?” She asked and broke the silence.
“Yes ma'am I am,” he smiled.
“I thought you had a slight accent. I myself am from Britain,” she smiled.
“Then where’s your accent?”
“I learned to ditch it, American language sounds much more... sufficient to my liking.”
“Why do you go after Mr. Maroni ma’am?” he asked.
“Do you think I would just tell that to a man I just met?”
“Maybe not,” he shrugged, “you have a pretty face.”
“And you’ve seen me how?”
“I just know. Don’t know how I know, but I know.”
“I think you need to put on less perfume. My dog could smell you miles away.”
“Well, you’ll always know it’s me when you smell it, won’t ya?” he chuckled.
“You’re a very strange Marshall,” she finally said.

“You’re a very strange criminal,” he smiled.

“You would risk your life coming to just talk with me?”

“And you would become vulnerable just because you wanted to meet me,” he smiled.

“Good point,” she smiled.

“Well, it was nice talking to you Ms. Dawes,” he grabbed his hat and tipped it, showing courtesy.
“Same here,” she smiled, “See you at the next crime?”
“You bet,” he said and turned but stopped halfway, “Why did you save that girl’s life?”
“There are many things you still need to know about me Marshall, I am a good person, I might just do bad things sometimes,” she said.
“Okay, well thanks for not killing me tonight,” he waved and walked away.
Irene just chuckled to herself. What a gentleman.

“You met him?” BlueBird was sitting on Irene’s favorite couch, drinking tea.
“Yeah,” she sighed and laid herself down on the other white couch.
“What do you think of him?”
“Strange,” Irene said.
“Something's different about him. He is different than the other Marshall’s. He knows something they never did, and is more curious in me than my actions. He’s trying to get to know me; which is very dangerous for him and almost curious to me.”
“That is kind of strange,” she said, “maybe he’s just stupid.”
Irene laughed, “Yeah, maybe.”
“Anyways, what do you want me to do?”
“What do you want to do?”
“I want to be your bodyguard,” she smiled.
“I don’t need protecting though, I got myself,” Irene smiled.
Sophie walked in the room with a tea tray, “You should see her Ms. Dawes, she’s got a mean bow and arrow.”
Irene rose her brow.
“Tomorrow then?” Irene asked.
“Deal, shall we say seven o'clock sharp?” BlueBird asked.
“Let’s say six,” she sipped her newly made tea.

Marshall Dylan Jones stared at himself in the mirror. His wet body dripped on the wood floor. He used his towel to wipe excess water on his body. A shower always did the trick with him if he was constantly thinking of something, just not this time.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her. The way she spoke, her voice, her hair, her attitude. There was something about her, that he didn’t fully understand.
He sighed and rubbed his wet hair with his damp towel. Life was a complete mystery, and he had no way how to solve this little tiny one. His thoughts ousted out of the room as his father walked in. His curly grey-ish hair and cigarette gave him a distinct character.
“What’s goin’ son?” he asked.
“Nothing really, I just... I don’t know,” Dylan rubbed his neck.
“I see, I can see it in your eyes. You are in love,” he smiled.
“Am not! I’m just thinking about her... there’s something different about her. Her black curly hair, her eyes, her... sweet voice.”
“Well what’s her name son?” he touched his shoulder.
He gulped for a second, “I don’t know, that’s the problem.”
“Well, soon as you know, I’ll throw a fundraiser, you can get married, and enjoy life to its fullest,” he puffed the smoked all over Dylan’s room.
“Yeah, sure,” he said quietly.
“Good lad, now get some sleep for tomorrow,” he patted his back and walked out of the room.
What was it about him that Ms. Dawes hated?

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