Subject:  Chapter 3 - You, Me and Dupuis |
Author:
LoveRoy
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Date Posted: Wednesday, August 23, 05:49:48pm
In reply to:
LoveRoy
's message, "You, Me and Dupuis" on Friday, August 04, 04:19:06pm
Michael Samuelle slept restlessly under a heavy lamb’s wool blanket in the aft cabin of ‘You, Me and Dupuis’. His feverish brow was wet with perspiration while his sightless eyes hid beneath tremulous lids. His agitated mind was awhirl with the confused musings of a man suffering from some un-treated malady. The images parading through his sleep were but a bevy of dark shadows that threatened to unravel the man’s obfuscated psyche. The cool breeze that poured gently through the open stainless steel and Plexiglas hatch the sailing vessel’s owner left slightly ajar, served to provide the man with the clean oxygen he needed to survive.
While Michael thrashed relentlessly inside the boat, Nikita Wirth had gone ashore to disentangle the unknown that was her charge. Shortly after the man’s hippie Uncle Walter had left the perimeter of the boat Nikita had cast-off with a weak-looking Michael aboard her beloved vessel. Soon after they set sail and the engines went silent, the wind filled the sails with its powerful propulsion abilities, Michael passed out from what Nikita believed to be -- exhaustion. Concerned about the oozing wound in the young man’s head and with great difficulty, the tall blonde Nikita moved Michael into the cabin and removed his perspiration soaked clothing in order to make him more comfortable.
During the couple of the following days, the man slept and Nikita after attending to his wounds, snooped through Michael’s belongings trying to ascertain the man’s pedigree. Feeding him was a chore in itself, she didn’t want him dehydrated and forced fluids into his semi-conscious body as well as any sustenance he would consume. The blonde was not able to gather any helpful information from what the man brought onboard, other than to determine that the cut on his head probably did come from an automobile accident as his Uncle had explained.
The fancy computer sat idle probably locked with some indecipherable code that the semi-computer illiterate Nikita would not even attempt to decode. But a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as unexplainable as it was unfortunately was very real. Adding to that the memory of what she had decided were explosions the day they met also helped Nikita decide to go ashore alone. She would buy her supplies, snoop some more and not say a word to anyone about the handsome stranger or the money she earned.
Nikita did gather every newspaper, magazine and other means of communication available while on shore. She wanted to comb through the information and perhaps see who this mysterious group of dark clad individuals that arrived at her door step where. She bought supplies, chatted with the locals, pretended to have not a worry in the world and collected as much medical supplies as she thought she needed to bring Michael back to good health. Like a pack-mule she hurried to her sailboat to find Michael mumbling nonsense about a woman named Elena and a place called Section One.
For the next couple of days, as they sailed smoothly in still waters, the blonde listened in horror as Michael screamed angry and frightened in French, what she understood to be expressions of grief. He would cry uncontrollable or seriously shout commands to only god knew whom. And Nikita, prayed, like she had not done in such a long time and asked the angels that protected her to guard the man lying half naked in her bed. At night, when the moon was out, when the stars twinkled and when Michael shivered with unjustifiable chill, the only thing that gave him comfort and took away the freeze was Nikita sharing the heat of her totally nude body with him.
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