Generation 4, Chapter 7: Help will come to those that are in need of it

Two years had passed since the day we departed from France, and in that time, a surprising amount of changes had occurred. Jack had begrudgingly joined Sam in the Air Force, and his entire attitude had experienced a turn around. He was still the same Jack we knew and hated, but the small changes were important. For one, he quit smoking, and apparently, he was a little bit more respectful towards Samantha. After all, she was a higher rank than he was. Jack was only at the rank of lieutenant, but he was already being recommended for a promotion.

Things between Darcy and Mitchell were...interesting, to say the least. They were definitely more than friends, but Darcy didn't care to label what their status was. Though they had both returned to Bridgeport, Mitchell had gone back a month later to continue his studies.

It could be debated whether or not my life could be considered as "cool" as theirs. I had been allowed to explore tombs with other archaeologists in Egypt, uncovering some art pieces that held much value. Returning with some of those pieces, the art gallery had suddenly taken a interest in my work, and offered me a part-time job, to upgrade the museum, that wouldn't mess with my archaeology career. I accepted the task a month later, and slowly started renovating some of the exhibits.

The reason for accepting the job was clear: I wanted to do it in the memory of Sarah and the work she had accomplished at the art gallery in Paris. However, she never told me just how hard the job was.

"Daniel, you should be celebrating with a glass of wine!" Darcy chimed in the background as I stood in front of closed boxes, all waiting to be unpacked. A task that should have been completed by other workers, who had failed to show up. 

"The new exhibits are opening tonight, and it's all thanks to your hard work. You changed this gallery, and might I add, for the better. This place...is a real dump. I mean, I can even paint better than the crap they have on these walls."

"Not now, Darcy...," I muttered, observing the mess in front of me. It would take hours to unpack and sort everything. I just didn't have the strength for it.

Hearing Darcy's hysterical giggle behind me was enough to make me want to bury my face in my hands. Somehow, she was able to laugh at my expense. She was a great sister at times, but now, she was being a pain in the ass.

"Can anybody tell me why I allowed you to occupy my apartment?" I grumbled to myself, speaking loud enough so she could hear. One thing she hated about me was that I was honest, and didn't hesitate to speak my mind. That wasn't going to stop anytime soon.

"Because dad would have been furious with you, and ranted all about how you're a bad brother who doesn't want to take responsibility...," she droned on about all the things our father would accuse me of. But the thing was, he wouldn't say that. My mom and dad knew me, and they would understand if I wanted to live on my own.

"I think you have the roles reversed," I scratched my forehead, trying extremely hard not to turn around and walk out of the building.

Before I could act on my urge, Darcy tugged on my arm, prying a space open so she could wrap her arm around mine. "Tell you what," she smiled sweetly, "you're overworked and seriously stressed out. You're definitely not one for parties, so how about you skip over the opening and let the people around here handle it. It is, after all, their responsibility and not yours. All you had to do was bring some cool looking things over here. Take a break, Danny. You're going to work yourself right into your own grave if you keep going on like this."

I sighed, and relented. A small part of me agreed that she had a point. I was trying to do too much too fast, the way Sarah used to do it. I just didn't have the natural talent that Sarah had, and that realization hurt. Deeply.

"You are wise beyond your years," I muttered dryly, leading us both to the exit. The art gallery wasn't my responsibility anymore...at least, for tonight.

"I try, dear brother," Darcy admitted with a chuckle, following me without any resistance. In all likelihood, she had only urged me to leave the gallery because she was bored, but she had no idea how her own selfish ideals had impacted my mind.

The trip home was silent. Darcy had got what she wanted, and was contempt with it, was what I figured. It turned out I was right and wrong. Darcy was bored at the art gallery, not because there was nothing to do, but because her fingers ached to paint, yet she couldn't.

I found her outside on the balcony that night. It was her favorite place to be, and her favorite place to paint. Something about the Bridgeport skyline amazed her, and she drew her inspiration from it.

"I'm gonna turn in early, if you don't mind," I yawned as I walked outside, finding her busy with one of her latest works.

The way she painted seemed incredibly fluid, how her hand could make a dot suddenly, then streak all the way over the canvas. She was definitely talented, something I envied her for. It seems I was useless at everything...or not. I had an exceptional talent for feeling sorry for myself.

"Really? It's not even six o'clock yet. Daniel, are you scared someone is going to call you about the opening of the gallery tonight? Are you terrified that the feedback will be negative?" Darcy spared a second to glance over her shoulder. I nodded sheepishly. I wanted to avoid all contact with people from the gallery. They could inform me tomorrow, when I had a good night's rest behind me. "Daniel, you can't live in fear of criticism for the rest of your life. You have to face it sometime. I face it everyday, when someone sets eyes on one of my paintings. Not everyone in the world likes what I paint, but someone out there does. Focus on that one person instead of the rest, okay? Now go to bed, your sleepy eyes are starting to bug me."

On any other day I would have laughed at her, but being exhausted, I didn't, and obeyed her command, trudging back into the apartment.

But of course, there's always something that stops me when I go to bed. The previous few nights it was the TV that didn't seem to be working, and just last night, it was Darcy's snoring. Now, it was someone knocking at the door.

"Who is it?" I called, almost expecting that it was some rioter that hated what I had done with the art gallery. That idea was ridiculous in hindsight. It could have been Mitchell returning from France, or Jack, who had received a break. No one answered my question, setting my heart rate into a speedy gallop. Two parts of me were caught in a conflict. Should I play it safe, ignore it and hope they go away, or open it, and hope that it isn't some kind of serial killer or practical joke done by the neighbors.

Curiosity got the best of me, and I slowly opened the door. 

As I realized who stood in front of me, I nearly choked. "Vala," I spluttered. My captor from France, a petty thief, caught in the ropes of some organization that specializes in crime and the acquisition of rare artifacts. The question that ran through my head weren't that what could have been expected, like "How did she find me?". My reasoning was that if a criminal wanted to find you, they would go to great lengths to do just that. I was more focused on why she would come to me, after the events in Paris and Champ Les Sims.

It was only after my confusion cleared up that I saw the bruises on her face, and the ragged clothing she found herself in.

"Daniel...," her voice sounded raspy, as if she was struggling to breathe. "H-help me..."

All the energy she had left was clearly lost when she spoke, and she collapsed on the ground with an audible thump.

The shock of the sight immobilized me for a few seconds. She might have been a thief, but it would against my moral code if I were to leave her outside on the dirty carpet. She kidnapped me and stuck me in the trunk of a car, but I wasn't about to do the same to her. 

With great effort, I managed to lift Vala off of the ground, and slowly walked in the direction of the staircase, Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Darcy abandoning her paint and rushing over to the door. She was saying something, but it was lost to my ears. I could only focus on what Vala was saying.

At first, it sounded like a continuous sigh leaving her lips, but listening closely, I noticed it was something else. She kept repeating "Aiuto." The Italian word for "help".

Despite her stubborn nature, she was desperate for help now.

"Don't worry," I frowned as I observed the bruises at her eye, but kept my voice steady and soothing, "I'm going to do everything in my power to help you."

~♥~

Yeah...it seems I've lost my mojo when it comes to thinking of original titles for posts. >.> Sorry 'bout that.

Thanks for reading, and while you're at it, I need your opinion on a touchy subject...

So, after writing an English essay, and hearing all about writing and stuff from my teacher, I wanted to ask everyone that reads what they think I can improve on. I'm too afraid to ask my own teacher (she scares me with her high vocabulary), so that is why I'm asking you!

Just know that "writing too much" will not count as a valid claim. That's what writing is all about, being descriptive and whatnot. (This is for those that like more photos and less writing, but yes, I know, the amount of photos is kind of an issue...)

Anyhow, I hope you have a great day!