Five: Cake Parfait II

Rohan

"What do you think you are doing?" My voice comes out lower than I expected. I can hear the coldness seeping out.

Without a word, she freezes amidst wiping off the creamy patch on my shirt.

"Did you see anyone else around here?" I raise an eyebrow, trying hard to contain the bubbling anger threatening to explode inside me.

For a minute, fear masks her expression as her gaze darts about, from me to the receptionist and back to the now stained patch on my shirt.

Silence weighs heavily as I keep my eyes locked on her, waiting on at least an apology of some sort.

That's was my parfait, I hadn't even had a bite of the creamy goodness and now it's ruined.

Her lips quiver as she tries to mutter inaudible words, when suddenly; her gaze becomes firm with a scroll squeezing her brows.

"Do you have any proof that I did that? Of course, there is the receptionist; he could have been the one."

"What?" My mind goes blank for a minute and I remain utterly dumbfounded. I never saw that coming.

Folding her hands, an expression of indifference masks her face. "Yeah! What right do you have to falsely accuse me?"

For some reasons, my heart skips beats but not because I am love struck. Willing myself to suppress the anger already at its peak, I shut my eyes, taking deep breaths.

You really want to go to that extent huh? Alright let's go there.

Turning a dead cold gaze towards the receptionist who has his hands raised as he vigorously shakes his head. Beads of sweat forms on his forehead, his eyes do not mask the confused expression he has on.

Then taking my gaze off him, I place my hands on my forehead for a moment before releasing a breath and turning back to very irritating figure still crossing her hands before me.

"You are saying he did it?" The words come out slowly; my voice, cold.

No response from her.

"Mm... How then are you going to prove he is responsible?" I continue.

"Let me guess," I place the ruined cup of parfait on the reception counter before pointing at the reception office, "he had just enough time to walk out that door, turn around and shove the cup. Oh right, he also had enough time to return unscathed and unorganized. The environment also has no signs of damages. That’s just how good he is. Is that what you were going to say?"

A lopsided smile stretches my lips.

The scroll on her face slowly disappears. "Well—"

"Save you the stress," I cut her statement. "You don't have anything to say because he is innocent. On the other hand, I have proof against you." The lopsided smile becomes a sly one. Just watching her expression gradually changing satisfies me.

"Maybe we should check the CCTV." I point upwards. "I wonder what will be the case and who will be falsely accused." Finishing up with a grin, I cross my hands and turn to the receptionist, ready to request for a view of the CCTV when she blocks me.

"Uh! We don't need to do that." She releases short forced laughter.

I freeze immediately, sucking in a quick breath.

Then looking down slowly, I observe both her hands placed on my chest and her eyes locking on mine.

My heart beat quickens.

I swallow, releasing a breath I didn't remember holding. The environment suddenly becomes hot.

"What do you think you are doing?" A feeling of déjà vu hits me abruptly.

I thought I asked that question before. Second time she's crossed her boundaries.

A mental bomb explodes in my head.

"Oh sorry." Embarrassment masks her sheepish grin, then muttering to herself, she bites her lip and hangs her head, stepping back to her previous area she stood immediately.

Oh I'm not finished with you just yet; I release my hands from crossing them, placing them behind my back.

"So now that you have indirectly accepted your shameful actions, how are you going to take responsibility?" I raise an inquisitive brow, waiting to see her reaction.

"Oh please." She clasps her hands together before snapping it in my face, startling me in the process. When did this sober mortal find the strength to make such a comeback?

She grabs the price list on the reception counter before turning to wave it in my face with a prideful expression.

"I'm going to pay for it, so you need not patronize my anymore." However at that same moment, her prideful expression vanishes as she scans through it.

Her eyes widen and she brings the list closer to her face, then slowly, she turns back to the receptionist; her eyes still bulging out of its sockets.

"What flavour is the parfait again? Are you sure it's on this list? Is this the right list sir?" I force down the intense feeling of laughter pushing up my chest, keeping on a straight face.

"Actually it isn't on the price list." A wide smile stretches her lips. "But that's because it is a specially ordered flavour miss, for a VIP regular like Mr. Salvador here." He replies her calmly, just as the smile vanishes from her lips.

"So paying for that cup will cost you a total of five thousand pounds."

Her jaw falls open, much to my satisfaction. Let's see how proud you are now. I grin inwardly at an accomplishment of objectives.

Just then my phone rings.

"What?" I answer the phone, walking a little distance away from the reception

"Where are you? Arlan asks ignoring the attitude I give him.

"Browns, why?" I reply, keeping on the attitude.

"You changed the password?"

"Oh yeah I did. What are you going to do about it?" I smile, feeling elated. This is just a perfect double sugar coating payback. Let’s see who the caveman is now.

"Nothing, I just want to let you know I'm in and waiting for you." He replies smugly.

"What?” My eyes widen and my reaction draws the attention of some diners to myself.

Mouthing an apology to them with a sheepish grin, I turn quickly back to the reception. Noticing the woman and the receptionist still engaged in deep conversation, I heave a breath of relief.

Then whispering into the phone, “Arlan you used...?" The rest of the statement dies on my lips as I struggle maintain my composure.

"Just hurry home, we have something important to discuss and bring me some parfait." He concludes.

"There's no way I'm..." Arlan hangs up

"Hello? Hello?" Oh I'm gonna kill him. Pretending to finish the conversation I head back.

Cheater, he used his powers to break into my apartment. That's obviously considered breaking and entering.

Ignoring the conversation between the receptionist and the irritating woman, I grab my already packaged box of parfaits and begin walking back to the door.

"Excuse me?" I hear her voice again.

"Oh and," Turning back to reply her, I point towards the ruined parfait on the counter, "You can have it." Without another word, I walk out.

Carefully placing the box at the back seat, I zoom off; pondering on the best way to commit murder.

“Arlan.” I shout as I enter into the house a few minutes later.

“I’m here.” He replies indifferently, seated on the couch and sipping on a drink. He isn’t even afraid that the owner of the house is here.

“This is considered breaking and entering, do you know that? This is my house.” I walk closer.

“Yeah right, it’s also my house. Last time I checked someone used to beg me to stay.” Relaxing more, his keeps his gaze on the TV.

My frustrated hands runs through my hair as I stand and stare at the third person I love so much, knowing I cannot harm him. I cannot harm one who is now my father and mother can I?

Feeling frustration wash over me, I sigh and slump into the couch beside him. “Fine, take all of it; it’s yours too.”

A smile stretches the side of his lips, “Really?” Arlan turns quickly towards me.

“No.” I reply with an expression of indifference.

Arlan ignores me.

“Where’s the parfait.” Looking around, he suddenly asks. Heaving a long sigh I pick the box from beside the couch and hand it over to him.

His eyes light up and he makes a grab for it immediately, tearing it open.

“Please place the rest in the fridge.” I say sinking deeper into the couch.

“Don’t you want one?” he asks pulling out a cup of creamy goodness.

That same moment, the scent fills my nostrils sparking up an intense appetite. However the image from Browns flashes killing it abruptly.

“Later,” I reply. “You said you wanted to discuss something.” I change channels.

“Oh! Yeah,” Arlan walks to the kitchen and returns with just a cup of parfait in his hands; a smirk on his lips.

What now, I roll my eyes.

“In all my years of directing RS Enterprises; I have also been watching. There are organizations that make researches on the paranormals and life existing outside this realm. To them at least, this place is not a realm. They call it planet Earth.”

My mind goes back to that parapsychologist.

“I know that Arlan.” I reply him, “apparently it is similar in many ways to ours, including the names.”

“True. I have taken time to observe different researchers, the popular ones here are known as parapsychologists and many have proved futile in their efforts so far except one.” Arlan continues.

Like her, Danica Stewart. I smile.

“I have tried to lead her off track but every time, she finds her way back to the exact spot I throw her off.”

“What? You did that? Why?” Realizing I am defending a woman I don’t even know immediately makes me regain composure.

“But why?” I ask again as Arlan’s face changes from shock to suspicion.

Narrowing his eyes, he continues.

“She’s different Rohan, she’s trouble. We cannot risk anyone finding the gateway to our realm, let alone allowing the demons entry.” He pauses.

“They are already here.” Four words are all I say in a firm tone.

“Well, I’ve decided to endorse her research. This will aid in keeping a closer watch on her.” Arlan continues, finishing off the parfait and tormenting me with the scent.

“Mm…”

“Yeah, here is her bio. It says she lost her parent in an unexplainable accident twenty five years ago; which has already been declared a cold case.

“Twenty five years ago?” I sit up.

For some reasons unknown, it draws my attention and I reach for the iPod in Arlan’s hand and scan through.

Twenty nine too? Lives at Bexley, London; Works at Spectrum Paranormal Investigations. Name, Danica.

Danica? Danica Stewart? With bulging eyes I search for her photo. However the moment I set my eyes on her photo, images from Browns Victoria comes flashing in.

“Do you have any proof that I did that? Of course, there is the receptionist; he could have been the one. What right do you have to falsely accuse me?" Her voice echoes in my mind jolting me up with a start.

“No, no way. We are not endorsing her. I will not approve of it.” I blurt out; reliving the moment she shoves me with a painful force and running my parfait. I still feel the pain in my back.

“Huh?” I hear Arlan.