NOVEL WEB Chapter-47 Stalling [Part-I]
A man and a woman in formal black suits waited at his door when Ewan returned from Nana’s house. The curly-haired man, should be in his thirties, donned a nut-brown overcoat on top with breadcrumbs on his collar. While the long-haired young woman with bangs had hers in her arm, her pleated skirt wrinkled, and dark circles ran under her reddened eyes.
“The shop’s closed indefinitely,” Ewan said with a smile and thumbed the biometric scanner.
“Ewan Ayres?” the man asked. Ewan halted and turned around, closing the opened door behind him, and the latch clicked with a grind.
“May I know who’s asking?”
“I’m Cage, and this is Gretel. We’re from L.E.A.” He flipped and showed Ewan his badge, though barely gave him any time to read the tiny letters and put it away. “We have some questions for you. Do you mind coming with us?”
Law enforcers….
“What’s this about?” Ewan asked.
“Everything will be disclosed in time, you just need to come with us,” the young woman, Gretel, said, clutching the overcoat in her hand hard. She glared at Ewan without blinking, and her bloodshot eyes veined in red.
“Of course. Can I make a call first though?” Ewan asked.
And he stepped away from the two when Cage gave the nod and called Uncle Thain. The usual female idol song rang, and it rang for a long time before he picked up.
“Ewan? Something happened?” he asked.
“Don’t know, but two black suits are here. They want me to go with them,” Ewan said. The background noise grated behind the static of the call, it sounded of a beast’s roar and someone’s bellow. He might be outside… No, the phone connected, so he should be inside the walls. “Are you busy?” he asked.
“Don’t worry, go with them. It’ll take me some time, but I’ll be there. Just stall for time but try not to say too much either,” Uncle Thain said.
“Okay.” Ewan hung up. “Let’s go,” he smiled and said to the two black suits.
……
Ewan sat on a frigid metal chair with uneven legs in a drab room with dust-shade walls and no windows, smell of fresh paint tickling his nose, the croaking side fan struggling to rotate with hiccups. The two black suits sat across the reflective table, going through some files, their overcoats hung on the coat hanger in the corner.
“Let’s start with the basics, shall we? You’re Ewan Ayres, son of Authen Ayres and Thea Ayres, turned eighteen this year, quit school, didn’t receive your Astylind, received one as a gift instead. Or should I say compensation? Your mother’s not in the picture, your father died when you were eleven, you inherited little to nothing from him and earn a living from your shop which you’ve closed indefinitely for quite some time now. Am I right or do you want to change something?” Cage said.
“It’s accurate, go on,” Ewan said, adjusting his posture on the wonky chair.
Cage pulled out a piece of paper from his file and slid it in front of Ewan, “Please sign this if you agree with what’s written on it.”
The terms were a confirmation of consent, that he was here of his own will. Ewan read it twice, there weren’t any loopholes or contract traps. But still…. “Do I have to sign this?” This was an unknown environment and he had little to no knowledge about such procedures.
“You can refuse but then this won't be a civil conversation,” Gretel said.
“I’ll take my chances," he said and slid the paper back.
Cage clicked his tongue and signed ‘E. Ayres’ on the paper himself. “It’s just a formality,” he said and stuffed it in a thick folder.
Ewan laughed; they weren’t even trying to hide it.
“Let’s get to business now. Are you aware of what happened at the Frosthelm festival this year?” Cage asked.
Is it about that? After so many days?
“I am.” He nodded.
“Were you there that day?” The man had his head buried in the folders, licking his tongue and flipping papers.
Ewan frowned and looked at both black suits. Cage carried a casual attitude while the woman brimmed with hostility. Were they trying to blame him for something?
“I refuse to answer,” Ewan said.
The man looked up and stared him in the eyes. “That you can, yes.”
Gretel clenched her jaws, her nostrils flared, her eyes flamed.
“Then let me ask, were you at this shop that day?” He passed a paper to Ewan and tapped on a certain line. It was the address of the barber shop Ewan visited on his birthday.
“I refuse to answer.” Ewan glanced at the paper and passed it back.
“Okay, what about this tournament? Did you buy its ticket?” Cage gave Ewan a copy of the ticket he bought for that Severynth tournament.
Ewan shrugged.
He put the copy aside and slid another form to him. “Would you be willing to take a blood test for us?” he asked.
“No.” Ewan slid the form back.
The man leaned back with a deep breath and pushed the folders to the side. “Have we got off on the wrong foot? We just want to ask some questions.”
“You tell me. Your lady here has already killed me million times in her head, probably tortured even. I doubt that asking questions is all you want to do.” Ewan chuckled.
Cage looked at the fuming young woman and sighed. “Let’s just chat then. You wouldn’t refuse that, would you?”
“Depends.” Ewan also leaned back and balanced the lopsided legs of the chair, his boots tapping on the floor at intervals. Its three and a half stumps existed to make him uncomfortable, and it did just that and excelled at it. His heart had rarely raced with such rhythm, and the butterflies were having a picnic in his stomach.
“You’re aware of the recent conflicts. What are your views on it? Severynths and Kyrons, do you think we can live together in peace?” Cage bit the unlit cigarette butt and struck his lighter drum, again and again, shielding the wick with his other palm. Sparks flew but it didn’t kindle.
Ewan laughed. “You talk as if we’re equal. Here, let me show you the difference.” He traced the <Ember> spell circuit in a flash and torched half his cigarette with a flick of a finger.
“Stop!” Gretel sprung on her feet, flinging the chair back. It cracked when it hit the floor—hers was wooden. Cage shivered, though the room was warm, and clenched his jaws with a gulp; the cigarette’s ashes scattered on the table.
Ewan raised both his arms and yielded, but the scale of dominance tipped on his side and killed the butterflies. “It was just <Ember>.”
