Twelve white lies chapter 8

Playing games in the real world, isn't the same as a round of poker

Playing games is something I've always been good at. I know how to keep up a winning attitude, no matter how low your cards are. If you can't keep a straight face trough a game, you're no match. And the face looking straight at me is no match to me whatsoever.

His face growing more and more exasperating, as the cards gets laid down onto the table. It amuses me, really. He sighs. The frustration glowing out of his eyes.

His cards are probably worse than mine, but not much. If I wasn't so sure of how to read him, it would have been harder to win, but he's easier to read than a children's book. The way his eyes stares concentrated at his cards, his hand stroking away sweat from his brows, it's clearly he's not happy with his cards.

The easiest way to win a card game is to play like you'll always win. Always smile and act like you're on the top of the world, even if you loose a round. Then play like it's in your strategy to loose that single round.

Never let them know that you're about to loose.

As if on cue, he puts his cards on the table face turned upward. Not surprisingly, he could have won, if he just had trusted his own cards. But then again, he hasn't the poker face that is required.

"You win, again."

His sullen expression no different than the last four times I've won. Leaning back in his chair. His hair is hanging low into his face. The weakest sign of a frown is showing on his brows. Not bothering to show him my cards, I start shuffling the deck.

With trained hands I shuffle the cards with ease. I'm just about to ask him for another round, when the door opens. It swings into the room with a creak. It's hinges old and worn. And in comes the guy I've been waiting on for two days. His appearance is not expected at all.

Georg rises from his chair. Quickly and serious. He's the one who should be watching my every move. But Georg is a nice guy; he wasn't comfortable with that arrangement.

So when Tom told him to keep me under observation, it didn't take long before he got bored. I could easily get that - I too was pretty bored. After spending some days in the basement of his, I pretty much had done anything there was to do, which wasn't much.

Then Georg had brought a deck of cards with him the other day, and then we suddenly had a game going.

"So, you finally decided to join us again."

The look I'm getting as a response holds no humor. He's plain serious. No witty comment is hiding in his mouth. I don't mind the seriousness, but it's getting quite boring. The stiff face is nothing like the face I would like to see. I would really like it if he smiled, once in a while.

I look away from him, my eyes seeking the cards again. Shuffling them as I listen for his movements. But there's none. My hands are minding their own business, while my head try to put two and two together as he stands there, behind me.

The thought of him being here again is a relief. I've gotten used to having him around, or rather being forced to be around him. But it's the same outcome.

The queen of heart is peaking up on me. I lay her and the rest of the cards on the table. A sigh escapes from my lips. I don't know why, but I somehow wished that everything would change once he got back. Maybe the first thing he would say would be that I could go home, or maybe he'd have some sort of information about my father. I don't know. But it seems like it's just like when he left.
"Bill, we need to talk."

He exclaims the sentence like a command. His words are taking me off guard. Making me turn around in my chair. He looks straight at me. Like I had done something wrong, he looks displeased.

"Follow me."

As he turns around I notice the change in his appearance. His shoulders are held stiff in an awkward position, and his back is straight. He looks like he is constantly on guard. Always watching. It seems uncomfortable. I wouldn't want to never have the chance to relax.

I follow Tom up the stairs, and out of the basement. The feeling of getting outside of this very room is amazing. I imagined it being a little different than like this scenario, though. I imagined it like I had broken free or maybe they had let me go. But this is neither of those options, this is like being teased by freedom, but not yet have the opportunity to taste it.

He leads me down a white hall. Its walls are pasted with nothingness; I imagine them being walked down every day, but not so important that they need anything more than shiny white walls.

As we walk by closed doors, I can see where this is going. Not long after we reach a new staircase, he leads me into a small kitchen. This is no different than the rest of the rooms I've already seen. Its walls are a shade of grey, and the floor looks almost black. But it's not completely black. With its dotted texture it is more grayish. He leads me to a small table, which is set in the middle of the room. Two chairs are standing on either side of the table.

Tom points out one of the chairs for me, and sits down on the other. He looks more at ease in this room. More comfortable, like this is his room, and we are just about to discuss dinner plans. Which I'm sure we wont.

As I take place in my chair, I take my time inspecting the kitchen. It doesn't look that old, but not really new. It's typically kitchen like, with its fridge, stove and other stuff you may need in your kitchen.

I look back at Tom; he sits straight in his chair, watching me. But not in a creepy way, he's just looking at me. Seeing me. His lips smile a little, but just a little. I have given up hope to see him smile with all his face. I'm going to settle for just that little smile.

He leans forward, places his elbows on the table for support. His head is leaning in his hands, and his eyes swipe over my face. I wait for him to speak. I don't dare to break the silence; it's comfortable, somehow.

"How are you, Bill?"

His question hangs in the air. I look at him, not really believing that he asked the question. But it clearly seems like he did.

"What do you mean? How I feel? What I think? I'm hurting, and confused. I've just learned that my father is a murderer. So how do you think I am? And to top it all, you've locked me into a basement."

I don't know if he's serious or if he's just taunting me. If he took me up here just to make me miss my freedom, I'm going to break his nose. It's bad enough that he can sit there so calm and controlled, when all kinds of feelings are rushing trough me.

"I'm sorry, Bill. I really am. But I need you. If you can help me find Jörg, then I'll let you go."

His eyes looks so pleading that I almost think I'm the last chance he has. If I decide to not help him, he'll do something stupid. But if I can find it in me to help him, it will be like helping a kidnapper, and help him find my own father. I don't know what's worse.

"Gustav is already out looking for him, only because he likes to kill people. He's not like me, Bill he's dangerous."
A pause is settling between us. And he leans even farther over the little table, pushing into the little space left between us. I can only sit there, looking at him. He reaches forward with one of his hands, touching my face with shaking fingers. Stroking my face, gently and carefully. I don't want to pull back. I haven't felt another person for so long. Another person hasn't touched me in ages. I've been alone for a long time.

"You're fragile Bill. I don't want you to hurt."

Then he pulls back, all the way. Leaning back into his chair again. Looking exhausted, his eyes looking down.

"The only reason I joined the gang was because I wanted to find your father, and now there's no way out of it Bill. I still want to find him, and kill him. He doesn't deserve to live!"

Suddenly he stands up from his chair, it goes straight into the floor behind him. Making a high thud in this quiet room. Furiousness is glowing out of his eyes, as he walks the short distance to my chair. He sits down on his knees in front of me.

"Will you help me? I'm not going to force you, if I don't have to. If you come willingly, it will all go just fine. But if you don't… I don't know what I'm going to do."

In a quick movement, he takes my hand in his and stares pleadingly up at me. I understand how deep down in sorrow he is. He's gone from the dangerous man to this begging wretched person. He looks rather desperate. And I do feel sorry for him. He's gone his whole life without his family. And then suddenly he finds the one person that can maybe help him. I would probably have done the same.

"I know it's your father we're talking about. But he killed my family! He took away my life. How can you justify that?"

His pleading eyes closes. And then his whole body goes limp. He sits down on the floor. Lets go of my hand and puts his arms around himself. Much like I did, the other night when I felt like giving up everything.

"I'll help you Tom."