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31_days2012-02-02 02:04 am
insaneladybug.livejournal.com) wrote in 31_days2012-02-02 02:04 am
[February 2nd] [Perry Mason] Candles and the Snow, 2
Title: Candles and the Snow, scene 2
Day/Theme: February 2nd - My love a beacon in the night
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Hamilton Burger, Mignon Germaine
Rating: PG
Although these are not overall in chronological order, this one takes place shortly after the flashback in the first one.
I'll be using various styles and lengths for each piece. So far, they've all been shorter than the first one. (I have close to ten done now.)
By Lucky_Ladybug
Hamilton and Mignon had several chance encounters before he was accepted to the university and she landed a small part in a film. Among other things, they were both fond of catching a quick meal or cup of tea at a local diner at the beginning and end of some days. Once they realized, each would sometimes go there deliberately hoping to find the other. Upon meeting, they would talk for a while, usually taking out a corner booth for privacy. On the day they learned that they had each had a bit of good fortune, they toasted each other’s success with their teacups.
“It’s curious how we always seem to find each other here,” Mignon commented.
“Yes, isn’t it,” Hamilton returned.
Though each had come to realize that the other came on purpose, hoping to find them, neither said it. Neither needed to.
It was late one night several weeks later when Hamilton was sitting at the customary booth with a cup of tea and his latest class assignments. The sudden jangling of the bell brought his attention up with a jerk. Mignon was standing in the doorway, shaken, her clothes rumpled and her hair disheveled. Several strands had blown across her face, but she seemed not to notice.
Hamilton was up in an instant, hurrying to her side. “Mignon, what is it?” he gasped. “What happened?”
Neither of them could quite remember when they had graduated to a first-name basis. It had been so quiet, so natural.
She looked up at him now, with an odd mixture of relief and slight apprehension. “I want to sit down,” she gasped, moving her hand over the edges of the plush booths until coming to the one Hamilton occupied. She slid in on the other side, away from the window. “I wasn’t followed, was I?”
Hamilton glanced out the glass door. “I don’t see anyone,” he said. Thoroughly worried now, he went back to the booth and sat across from her. “Mignon, why would anyone be following you? Should I call the police?”
She nodded, shakily brushing the hair out of her eyes as she tried to compose herself. “Yes,” she said. “Please call them. Quickly, while he might still be nearby.”
Mobile phones existed, but they were too expensive for someone just working his way through college in the 1980s. Hamilton looked to the phone on the wall, then back at his friend. “Mignon, I’ll have to tell them what happened,” he said.
The worry in his eyes and on his face must have been all too obvious. Mignon sighed in knowing resignation, clearly still not wanting to discuss it but at the same time aware that she had to in order for something to be done.
“A man was bothering me when I left the studio tonight,” she said. “He works there, but I’m not sure what he does.” She drew a heavy, shuddering breath. “He’s been watching me for several days now. I’ve tried to avoid him and leave with a group whenever I can. Tonight I wasn’t able to find a ride, so I was walking to the bus stop. He stopped me and offered to give me a ride. When I said No, he . . . he tried to force me into the car.”
Hamilton stared at her in alarm and growing anger. “Mignon, did he . . .”
She shook her head. “He grabbed me around my waist and started pushing me into the car. I kicked him and struggled. I think I scratched his face. He screamed and loosened his grip and I pulled away and ran.”
“You’re lucky you got off as well as that,” Hamilton exclaimed. “Mignon, I would have been happy to have given you a ride!”
Mignon averted her gaze. “I know.”
“I know you like to be independent. So do I. But there’s such a thing as overdoing it!” Hamilton got up from the booth. “You could have been killed!”
Ordinarily Mignon would have made a wry comment such as “I’ll remember that the next time you aren’t looking after your own well-being as much as you should.” But tonight she was too shaken. She stared at the table, not speaking.
Hamilton hurried to the phone to call the police.
****
It was a long night. After the police took down Mignon’s story they went looking for the man while she and Hamilton waited. Hamilton had long ago closed his textbook, knowing there was no way he could even think of concentrating any more tonight. The concerned waitress brought a mug of hot chocolate, which Mignon drank very slowly. She composed herself before long, but Hamilton was sure she was still distraught inside. For some time she said very little, even when he tried to draw her out.
At last she frowned and pushed the mug away. “I shouldn’t be this way,” she said, bitterly.
Hamilton stared at her. “Mignon, for the love of . . . I’d be worried if you weren’t upset!”
She sighed. “I was able to get away. So many others in my position haven’t been as blessed.” She crossed her arms on the table. “I suppose I feel that I don’t have a right to be upset. And I don’t care for the vulnerability, either.”
“You have every reason to be upset,” Hamilton countered. “As for being vulnerable, I won’t tell anyone.”
That elicited a semblance of a smile.
Hamilton detested the man the moment the police brought him in for identification. Mignon confirmed it was him, which he continually denied—in spite of the long and painful scratches across his face that further proved Mignon’s story. There might not have been enough to hold him had it not been for the descriptions given by several other women he had accosted. He matched every one of them. Once he was in jail, more evidence came to light that cemented his guilt.
When the police took him away, Mignon was exhausted. She looked up at Hamilton, the weariness visible in her eyes. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to go home,” she said.
Hamilton immediately snapped to. “Of course,” he said. “We’ll go right now.” He collected his books and other materials, and after leaving a tip for the waitress, took Mignon outside to his car.
The ride home was mostly in silence. Hamilton did not want to pressure Mignon into speaking and she did not seem to feel like speaking. But it was alright; there was no need to talk. The understanding silence was comforting.
At her apartment doorstep twenty minutes later, Mignon looked at Hamilton with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said quietly. It was for so much more than the ride home.
He nodded.
She turned, unlocking the door and going slowly into the apartment.
They never spoke of her experience again, but it had definitely made an impact, in more ways than one.
Ever after, if she needed a ride, she tried to get in touch with him.
Day/Theme: February 2nd - My love a beacon in the night
Series: Perry Mason
Character/Pairing: Hamilton Burger, Mignon Germaine
Rating: PG
Although these are not overall in chronological order, this one takes place shortly after the flashback in the first one.
I'll be using various styles and lengths for each piece. So far, they've all been shorter than the first one. (I have close to ten done now.)
Hamilton and Mignon had several chance encounters before he was accepted to the university and she landed a small part in a film. Among other things, they were both fond of catching a quick meal or cup of tea at a local diner at the beginning and end of some days. Once they realized, each would sometimes go there deliberately hoping to find the other. Upon meeting, they would talk for a while, usually taking out a corner booth for privacy. On the day they learned that they had each had a bit of good fortune, they toasted each other’s success with their teacups.
“It’s curious how we always seem to find each other here,” Mignon commented.
“Yes, isn’t it,” Hamilton returned.
Though each had come to realize that the other came on purpose, hoping to find them, neither said it. Neither needed to.
It was late one night several weeks later when Hamilton was sitting at the customary booth with a cup of tea and his latest class assignments. The sudden jangling of the bell brought his attention up with a jerk. Mignon was standing in the doorway, shaken, her clothes rumpled and her hair disheveled. Several strands had blown across her face, but she seemed not to notice.
Hamilton was up in an instant, hurrying to her side. “Mignon, what is it?” he gasped. “What happened?”
Neither of them could quite remember when they had graduated to a first-name basis. It had been so quiet, so natural.
She looked up at him now, with an odd mixture of relief and slight apprehension. “I want to sit down,” she gasped, moving her hand over the edges of the plush booths until coming to the one Hamilton occupied. She slid in on the other side, away from the window. “I wasn’t followed, was I?”
Hamilton glanced out the glass door. “I don’t see anyone,” he said. Thoroughly worried now, he went back to the booth and sat across from her. “Mignon, why would anyone be following you? Should I call the police?”
She nodded, shakily brushing the hair out of her eyes as she tried to compose herself. “Yes,” she said. “Please call them. Quickly, while he might still be nearby.”
Mobile phones existed, but they were too expensive for someone just working his way through college in the 1980s. Hamilton looked to the phone on the wall, then back at his friend. “Mignon, I’ll have to tell them what happened,” he said.
The worry in his eyes and on his face must have been all too obvious. Mignon sighed in knowing resignation, clearly still not wanting to discuss it but at the same time aware that she had to in order for something to be done.
“A man was bothering me when I left the studio tonight,” she said. “He works there, but I’m not sure what he does.” She drew a heavy, shuddering breath. “He’s been watching me for several days now. I’ve tried to avoid him and leave with a group whenever I can. Tonight I wasn’t able to find a ride, so I was walking to the bus stop. He stopped me and offered to give me a ride. When I said No, he . . . he tried to force me into the car.”
Hamilton stared at her in alarm and growing anger. “Mignon, did he . . .”
She shook her head. “He grabbed me around my waist and started pushing me into the car. I kicked him and struggled. I think I scratched his face. He screamed and loosened his grip and I pulled away and ran.”
“You’re lucky you got off as well as that,” Hamilton exclaimed. “Mignon, I would have been happy to have given you a ride!”
Mignon averted her gaze. “I know.”
“I know you like to be independent. So do I. But there’s such a thing as overdoing it!” Hamilton got up from the booth. “You could have been killed!”
Ordinarily Mignon would have made a wry comment such as “I’ll remember that the next time you aren’t looking after your own well-being as much as you should.” But tonight she was too shaken. She stared at the table, not speaking.
Hamilton hurried to the phone to call the police.
It was a long night. After the police took down Mignon’s story they went looking for the man while she and Hamilton waited. Hamilton had long ago closed his textbook, knowing there was no way he could even think of concentrating any more tonight. The concerned waitress brought a mug of hot chocolate, which Mignon drank very slowly. She composed herself before long, but Hamilton was sure she was still distraught inside. For some time she said very little, even when he tried to draw her out.
At last she frowned and pushed the mug away. “I shouldn’t be this way,” she said, bitterly.
Hamilton stared at her. “Mignon, for the love of . . . I’d be worried if you weren’t upset!”
She sighed. “I was able to get away. So many others in my position haven’t been as blessed.” She crossed her arms on the table. “I suppose I feel that I don’t have a right to be upset. And I don’t care for the vulnerability, either.”
“You have every reason to be upset,” Hamilton countered. “As for being vulnerable, I won’t tell anyone.”
That elicited a semblance of a smile.
Hamilton detested the man the moment the police brought him in for identification. Mignon confirmed it was him, which he continually denied—in spite of the long and painful scratches across his face that further proved Mignon’s story. There might not have been enough to hold him had it not been for the descriptions given by several other women he had accosted. He matched every one of them. Once he was in jail, more evidence came to light that cemented his guilt.
When the police took him away, Mignon was exhausted. She looked up at Hamilton, the weariness visible in her eyes. “If it isn’t too much trouble, I’d like to go home,” she said.
Hamilton immediately snapped to. “Of course,” he said. “We’ll go right now.” He collected his books and other materials, and after leaving a tip for the waitress, took Mignon outside to his car.
The ride home was mostly in silence. Hamilton did not want to pressure Mignon into speaking and she did not seem to feel like speaking. But it was alright; there was no need to talk. The understanding silence was comforting.
At her apartment doorstep twenty minutes later, Mignon looked at Hamilton with gratitude. “Thank you,” she said quietly. It was for so much more than the ride home.
He nodded.
She turned, unlocking the door and going slowly into the apartment.
They never spoke of her experience again, but it had definitely made an impact, in more ways than one.
Ever after, if she needed a ride, she tried to get in touch with him.