~the anger cont'd

After a few weeks, his initial confusion and shock had given way to a more subdued feeling. A feeling that he had long forgotten he had even felt before; curiousity. It was with this feeling that he went about his life, following Isolde and collecting all that he could from her.

When a few days of stalking had ended it seemed as though Isolde was annoyed at something. He wasn’t quite sure what it was in the beginning and decided to watch and find out.

Isolde ended up going into the dead ended alley. He followed her in, all the while noting this change in location. When he turned a corner, she was standing right there. He looked at her, a guilty expression crossing his face.

Then she slapped him. Hard.

At first, he thought he was crazy or something, and had imagined all of it. Then the surprise gave out to the stinging pain.

The first thought that crossed his mind was that she hit hard. He rubbed his cheek unconsciously as he slowly digested this info.

The second thought that went into his head and stayed was the fact that she knew he was following her. That’s when reality caught up with him and he finally saw that she was still standing right in front of him. To say that he had never been slapped before would be a lie. To say that he had never been slapped by a girl that looked like she wanted to kill him was currently an understatement.

Isolde didn’t look like she was upset, in fact, she merely looked annoyed or frustrated.

“Are you crazy?” she finally asked, as though she knew that he was finally with her.

Delore looked at her, he was completely confused.

“I asked you a question. Are you crazy?” she demanded.

“No?” he replied, suddenly unsure.

Isolde sighed. Delore looked at her worriedly.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she said. Everything seemed even more confusing as every second passed.

“If I recall correcly, you’re the one that slapped me,” he said.

“Not that,” she said exhasperated.

“Then what?” he demanded. Coming into reality with a startling speed.

“Following me!” she yelled, reaching the peak of her anger.

“Why?” he yelled back, “Have something to hide, do you?”

“Course not, it’s just that I can’t be seen anywhere near you,” she said.

“Why not?” he asked, curiousity taking hold again.

“Because my father has just found a serial killer’s tracks and he thinks it’s you because all the evidence points to your house. He thinks it’s you because you’re such a rebel, because it’s obvious that everyone else in your family wouldn’t kill anyone,” she explained.

“Is your father a cop then?” he asked.

“That’s none of your business, but no, he’s not,” she replied.

“Fine, and who have I allegedly murdered?” he asked.

“Some high up people in the big city,” she replied.

“But I don’t go there, not unless I run out of clothes or something,” he said. She looked at him sceptically.

“I swear it,” he said. She looked at him closely, Delore had the vague feeling that she was looking right through him and all his lies were being read by her.

She nodded.

“I know,” she whispered, “but it doesn’t explain who did do the murders.”

“How bout this? I’ll help you discover the evil one,” said Delore.

“Fine,” said Isolde, as long as you don’t associate yourself to me in public.

Delore nodded.

“Deal,” he said and put out his hand.

“Deal,” she said, shaking the offered hand.

“Then I’ll give you what information that we do have later tonight,” she said.

“Right,” he said, “when?”

“You’ll know,” she replied before walking down the alley and out into the daylight again.

Delore settled down against the wall. What was that? He asked himself.

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he stood up and made his way home, maybe sleep would help whatever was going to happen tonight.