Owl Eats Harry Potter - V:Mission 2 Episode 6
I had assumed that the lump on the floor must have a weakness for drink but once I see the face I quickly change my mind. Both eyes are blue-black and terribly swollen. There are other abrasions on his face and a look of fear in his eyes.
When he sees me he winces and covers his face with his hands and mutters something in Romanian.
I respond saying, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Romanian.” knowing it won’t do any good.
His swollen eyes widen and he instantly says, “Are you V?”
“Yes.” I reply in shock at the near perfect English.
“We have to get out of here before the day shift comes. Where’s the guard? he asks.
“I don’t know. He said he had to do his rounds.” I reply.
The lump sits up and looks around the room in obvious desperation. Then he spots it. He turns to sit in the opposite direction and with a minimal gesture points up to the corner ceiling. My eyes follow the intended direction until they rest on a camera mounted high in the corner. I understand. We’re being watched. I guess they saw my rather unusual phone call.
In less than a minute the guard is back in the room. He nods and smiles.
I try to act like nothing unusual has happened. Thinking quickly, I point to the book on the table whose cover I recognize, “Reading Harry Potter?” I ask. There is a small realistic looking mouse resting on the cover; it’s tail providing the bookmark.
The guard continues to smile and thinks a minute before he responds, “No, another passenger left book. It’s English. You want?”
It feels like a test but I decide the best thing to do is to continue to play along, “Sure.” I say trying to pick up the book and look casual.
The guard slowly circles so that he is standing right in front of me. I realize for the first time how large he is. My guess is about 6′4″.
He finally asks the question that he’s been wanting to ask ever since he entered the room, “So what you have in the bag?” he asks moving very close and looking directly in my eyes.
“Just my travel things.” I reply trying to avoid the unavoidable.
“I like to see.” he says his voice laced with threat.
“I’ve already been through customs.” I answer trying to hold my ground.
“Sometimes they not good enough. I check again.” he says grabbing the bag.
A wicked smile appears on his face as he pulls the stuffocator he knew existed from the bag, its blue indicator light flashing, “What this used for? A weapon, no?”
“No.” I say. “It’s a tool I use for my job.”
“What it do?” he asks, his voice full of derisive cyniscism.
“I use it to make stuffed animals.” I tell him knowing before I ever say it that he’ll think I’m lying. There’s something about an unbelievable truth feeling more like a lie than a lie that’s intentional told.
“NO!” he shouts in anger. “This is weapon.” And to prove it he puts both hands in the grips and points it directly at me probably expecting me to duck or confess. I don’t have time to find out.
A second later his eyes go wide, his muscles stiffen, and then he collapses in a heap on the floor next to the first heap.
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