Status: Work In Progress
Time Stands Still
The Third Refusal
Meanwhile, back at the hotel....
“Yup, just as I thought, Nemo wants us to try a third time. So hurry up and get ready, so we can make this shit fast. I doubt his answer has changed, but maybe we can gather some kind of clue,” Reilly stated, sitting on the edge of his temporary hotel room bed.
Val nodded his head, at once, standing beside him.
The two men threw on some clothes and exited their hotel room once more. They made their way through the usual traffic routine, heading toward Tyler Seguin’s house.
They pulled up, to find several lights on, inside of Tyler’s home. His car was awkwardly parking, like he had been in a rush. Val and Reilly shared a look, shrugged and kicked open the doors, getting out. They walked up the paved driveway, up to the door and knocked loudly on it.
“Go away! I-I don’t want to see or talk to anyone! Please, go!” The voice sounded panicked, like he was in a horror movie and thought there was a killer on the other side of the door.
“Tyler, it’s Smitty. Please, we promise we won’t beg you to listen to us anymore. But we need to talk! We promise that we won’t bring up the online behavior abuse or the HDA!” Reilly called out. “Right Val?”
“Right! То, что происходит? (What’s going on?)”
The Boston Bruin Canadian-born player could hear the familiar resonance that the Russian player used and he translated the phrase to something like. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
They heard a crashing noise, followed by cursing and scuffling. Reilly shrugged and turned the door handle. He was shocked to find it open. The two private eye detectives stepped into the house, which looked like a mess.
Val spotted his linemate crouching behind the counter in his kitchen. He was attempting to duck out of sight, but the top of his floppy brown hair was visible. The Russian kid walked up, leaned on the countertop, on his elbows and startled the man with, “Привет! Простите! (Hi! Excuse me!)”
Tyler made a quick movement, banging his head against the edge of the counter. He recovered, yelping in pain, before jumping up to his feet and spinning around to his teammate, holding out a frying pan at ready. His eyes were alive with trepidation, fire, and wonder. They were definitely wide open and alive.
Val cocked his head to the side, gazing at the young man with his soft, blue eyes. Reilly came over and joined him.
“Put the frying pan down!”
Tyler didn’t move. He wasn’t exactly in a horrible state, as he was clean and neat, but he was certainly freaking out. “I-I can’t! He-she-they’re….after me!”
“Who is?”
“I don’t know….”
Tyler whipped around, as the air conditioning clicked on. He gripped the handle of the pan in his fingers and both Val and Reilly could see his hands shaking and the bones and muscles pronounced under his skin, as he clenched the object with an unending security.
“Segs, please. Put it down. Relax, man.”
Reilly rounded the countertop, with caution. He raised his hands up, as he leisurely made his way up to the superstar of Dallas. He forced the pan downward, slowly and gently. Tyler eventually backed away. He reached the corner of his box-shaped kitchen, where the sink was on his left and the cabinets were on his right. He set the pan down on the counter, still shaking.
He withdrew his phone from his pocket and held it out, gazing at it, waiting for something to happen. “The threats keep coming! Someone is stalking me! I was at the Rangers’ game earlier with Benny and the others.”
“Oh yeah, I am sorry that I had to leave early, man. Business called and Reils needed me!” Val spoke, looking to his partner, who folded his arms.
“So that’s where you were?”
“Guilty!”
“Anyway, there was this couple there - from Boston, I’m sure - and the man was staring at me for the longest time. He eventually stopped, when a female came over to him and whisked him away to a group. But I swear I’ve seen that guy before! And he was purposefully hiding his face from me! He was watching me! Oh he was watching me!!” Tyler freaked out, flinging his arm out to the side and gripped onto the countertop edge. (The one that wasn’t holding his phone tightly.)
“The one who was wearing a “Boston University” shirt and the girl who was wearing the “Harvard” shirt?” Val questioned. “I’m sure they were just tourists on vacation and they weren’t sure if it was you or not. Maybe they were fans of yours back in Boston and they were considering getting an autograph or something.”
“No, no. You didn’t see the look that the man gave me! He was seriously staring me down!” Tyler attempted to mimic it. But he only freaked himself out, and shuddered.
“Well, that can’t be all that you are scared about?”
“No, you’re right!” In his one hand, he clutched a death grip on the device. “I got another threatening message!” He wasn’t thinking straight. He was definitely losing his mind. He wouldn’t dare be showing them and telling them all of this. He was a serious wreck.
Reilly took the phone and read the text. “Clever tweet, calling out the Red Sox. Only losers campaign against losers. Make an effort to win, Segsy. Because right now, you don’t deserve the crown, and you know it. You’re not the REAL king.”
“Oh, Tyler Seguin!” Reilly whined, pulling his head back up. He let it loll backward, gazing briefly up at the ceiling. “When will you learn?!”
Tyler didn’t respond at first, instead he snatched his phone back and stuffed it into his pocket. He then made a rapid move, grabbing the pan back up. He held it out at Reilly, furiously. “What are you two doing back in here!!?? GET OUT NOW!!”
He swung the kitchen object at Reilly’s head. The Bruin ducked the swipe and darted back around the counter. So much for his delusional state. He was back to anger and blaming them for the trouble he was being caused. “Stop threatening me! And stop playing around with me! Knock it off and bother someone else!”
Reilly grabbed Val’s wrist and pulled him away to the door, as Tyler whipped around like a ballerina and swung the pan at his own linemate. He missed, as Val and Reilly escaped the madness yet again.
And yet again, the pair had tried to confront Tyler and help him out, attempting a new angle, but like before, they were attacked and shut out. Chased off.
They raced for their car and hopped in. Reilly jammed the key into the ignition and stomped on the pedal, zooming off down the street.
“That is it! We are done. If he gets kidnapped that is NOT on us!” the Boston Bruin veteran snapped, turning the wheel sharply to the left, pulling back into the parking lot of the hotel.
“Agreed. Конечно!”
“Yup, just as I thought, Nemo wants us to try a third time. So hurry up and get ready, so we can make this shit fast. I doubt his answer has changed, but maybe we can gather some kind of clue,” Reilly stated, sitting on the edge of his temporary hotel room bed.
Val nodded his head, at once, standing beside him.
The two men threw on some clothes and exited their hotel room once more. They made their way through the usual traffic routine, heading toward Tyler Seguin’s house.
They pulled up, to find several lights on, inside of Tyler’s home. His car was awkwardly parking, like he had been in a rush. Val and Reilly shared a look, shrugged and kicked open the doors, getting out. They walked up the paved driveway, up to the door and knocked loudly on it.
“Go away! I-I don’t want to see or talk to anyone! Please, go!” The voice sounded panicked, like he was in a horror movie and thought there was a killer on the other side of the door.
“Tyler, it’s Smitty. Please, we promise we won’t beg you to listen to us anymore. But we need to talk! We promise that we won’t bring up the online behavior abuse or the HDA!” Reilly called out. “Right Val?”
“Right! То, что происходит? (What’s going on?)”
The Boston Bruin Canadian-born player could hear the familiar resonance that the Russian player used and he translated the phrase to something like. “What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
They heard a crashing noise, followed by cursing and scuffling. Reilly shrugged and turned the door handle. He was shocked to find it open. The two private eye detectives stepped into the house, which looked like a mess.
Val spotted his linemate crouching behind the counter in his kitchen. He was attempting to duck out of sight, but the top of his floppy brown hair was visible. The Russian kid walked up, leaned on the countertop, on his elbows and startled the man with, “Привет! Простите! (Hi! Excuse me!)”
Tyler made a quick movement, banging his head against the edge of the counter. He recovered, yelping in pain, before jumping up to his feet and spinning around to his teammate, holding out a frying pan at ready. His eyes were alive with trepidation, fire, and wonder. They were definitely wide open and alive.
Val cocked his head to the side, gazing at the young man with his soft, blue eyes. Reilly came over and joined him.
“Put the frying pan down!”
Tyler didn’t move. He wasn’t exactly in a horrible state, as he was clean and neat, but he was certainly freaking out. “I-I can’t! He-she-they’re….after me!”
“Who is?”
“I don’t know….”
Tyler whipped around, as the air conditioning clicked on. He gripped the handle of the pan in his fingers and both Val and Reilly could see his hands shaking and the bones and muscles pronounced under his skin, as he clenched the object with an unending security.
“Segs, please. Put it down. Relax, man.”
Reilly rounded the countertop, with caution. He raised his hands up, as he leisurely made his way up to the superstar of Dallas. He forced the pan downward, slowly and gently. Tyler eventually backed away. He reached the corner of his box-shaped kitchen, where the sink was on his left and the cabinets were on his right. He set the pan down on the counter, still shaking.
He withdrew his phone from his pocket and held it out, gazing at it, waiting for something to happen. “The threats keep coming! Someone is stalking me! I was at the Rangers’ game earlier with Benny and the others.”
“Oh yeah, I am sorry that I had to leave early, man. Business called and Reils needed me!” Val spoke, looking to his partner, who folded his arms.
“So that’s where you were?”
“Guilty!”
“Anyway, there was this couple there - from Boston, I’m sure - and the man was staring at me for the longest time. He eventually stopped, when a female came over to him and whisked him away to a group. But I swear I’ve seen that guy before! And he was purposefully hiding his face from me! He was watching me! Oh he was watching me!!” Tyler freaked out, flinging his arm out to the side and gripped onto the countertop edge. (The one that wasn’t holding his phone tightly.)
“The one who was wearing a “Boston University” shirt and the girl who was wearing the “Harvard” shirt?” Val questioned. “I’m sure they were just tourists on vacation and they weren’t sure if it was you or not. Maybe they were fans of yours back in Boston and they were considering getting an autograph or something.”
“No, no. You didn’t see the look that the man gave me! He was seriously staring me down!” Tyler attempted to mimic it. But he only freaked himself out, and shuddered.
“Well, that can’t be all that you are scared about?”
“No, you’re right!” In his one hand, he clutched a death grip on the device. “I got another threatening message!” He wasn’t thinking straight. He was definitely losing his mind. He wouldn’t dare be showing them and telling them all of this. He was a serious wreck.
Reilly took the phone and read the text. “Clever tweet, calling out the Red Sox. Only losers campaign against losers. Make an effort to win, Segsy. Because right now, you don’t deserve the crown, and you know it. You’re not the REAL king.”
“Oh, Tyler Seguin!” Reilly whined, pulling his head back up. He let it loll backward, gazing briefly up at the ceiling. “When will you learn?!”
Tyler didn’t respond at first, instead he snatched his phone back and stuffed it into his pocket. He then made a rapid move, grabbing the pan back up. He held it out at Reilly, furiously. “What are you two doing back in here!!?? GET OUT NOW!!”
He swung the kitchen object at Reilly’s head. The Bruin ducked the swipe and darted back around the counter. So much for his delusional state. He was back to anger and blaming them for the trouble he was being caused. “Stop threatening me! And stop playing around with me! Knock it off and bother someone else!”
Reilly grabbed Val’s wrist and pulled him away to the door, as Tyler whipped around like a ballerina and swung the pan at his own linemate. He missed, as Val and Reilly escaped the madness yet again.
And yet again, the pair had tried to confront Tyler and help him out, attempting a new angle, but like before, they were attacked and shut out. Chased off.
They raced for their car and hopped in. Reilly jammed the key into the ignition and stomped on the pedal, zooming off down the street.
“That is it! We are done. If he gets kidnapped that is NOT on us!” the Boston Bruin veteran snapped, turning the wheel sharply to the left, pulling back into the parking lot of the hotel.
“Agreed. Конечно!”