The next day, Demetrius woke up early and started making phone calls, feigning sickness to get away from the work he’d promised to help with.
On closer inspection the night before, he’d discovered that Daring’s amputation was even worse than he thought, already beginning to grow white and veined around the stub. She would require constant care over the next few days.
When he had suggested that he ask a couple of the neighbors to help him and relieve some of the pressure, she refused vehemently, stating that the less people knew of her existence, the better. She was an extra terrestrial, technically, and even if his friends didn’t want to know how she got there or why she was so strange, they were bound to get curious, or worse, start gossiping about ‘the pastor’s new pet’.
“Thanks for your understanding, Miss Patello.” Demetrius coughed dramatically, winking at the half-awake Daring through the doorway of his office. “Make sure that Alphonse knows how sorry I am… Yes. Goodbye, Miss Patello.”
“I thought that church leaders weren’t allowed to lie.” Daring teased after the pastor dropped the phone back onto its cradle.
She was clad in a furry brown blanket and her leg was wrapped in gauze. A bowl of vegetable broth sat on the coffee table, a wooden straw sticking out of the steaming broth.
Demetrius chuckled and sat on the edge of the daybed. “And what should I tell her, Miss Daring? That I’m harboring an alien in my house? Or worse, should I tell her that I have a talking horse with three legs sitting on my futon, drinking broth with a straw?”
She laughed, grinning. “I suppose lying would be the most convenient solution there.”
After a brief pause, she asked, “What’s your name anyways?”
He frowned, peering through the bay windows on the west side of the room. Today was beautiful, and birds sang with passion and verve.
His thoughts crossed the miles, landing next to his son, his only child. When Ephraim was born the pastor had vowed to be less self-centered and live for his kid.
When the draft came around, Demetrius had tried his best, and succeeded, in avoiding getting conscripted. Ephraim, however, had jumped straight at the chance to serve his country. That had always bothered the pastor, both out of worry for his son and anger at himself for being so cowardly.
“Something up?” Daring inquired, snapping the pastor out of his funk.
He turned back to find her staring at him with her head tilted towards the side, wondering at this strange human before her.
“Sorry, just thinking of my son. My name is Demetrius l’Ange.”
“Son?” She asked, clutching her stomach with a hoof. He wondered if she was hiding something from him, but decided not to mention it.
He just shook his head and went to get the pitcher of broth in an attempt to clear his head.
***
Over the next month, the days waxed and waned without any significant events.
Daring slowly got better; Demetrius began spreading rumors that he was dying of some foreign disease, church services came and went along with long nights the two of them spent together making small and not so small talk.
There were, of course, moments of excitement, such as Daring’s first steps after the accident and Demetrius reprimanding her after she raided his icebox and ate all the cheddar cheese.
But of course, none of this compared to what they both called the Al Incident.
Rrrrrrrring… Rrrrrrrring…
The pastor dashed through the parlor of the parsonage, knocking over a side table filled with magazines in an effort to reach the phone.
It was two weeks after he’d found Daring, and luckily they’d had no visitors, injured, or phone calls. Visitors were a constant fear for them, seeing as hiding Daring was no easy task, especially with her hooves making an unearthly racket whenever she walked on the tile floors that were so common in the parsonage.
Rrrrrrr- “Hello?” Demetrius asked, speaking into the receiver.
“Hey there, old pal. I heard you were still sick and laid up.” The caller replied, speaking in a venomous voice. The pastor could almost hear him trying not to draw out his S’s.
He gestured Daring away as she began to approach, afraid the caller would hear her hooves.
“Ahh, Alphonse. Yes, I’ve been very sick. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to help out at the pizza parlor, but I’ll try and be back soon.” He replied nervously, feigning a weak cough.
“Really? I heard laughter coming from your house last night, around midnight. You sounded fine to me. And so did your little harlot.” Alphonse whispered, laughing nervously with glee. He was overjoyed at having something to pull over on the ‘old man’.
“M-My little harlot? What are you talking about, Al? I’m alone here!” Demetrius cried, distraught.
“Really? I could’ve ssssssworn I heard a woman’ssssssss voice lassst night.”
The pastor slammed the receiver back onto its cradle, eyes wide with fear. Daring limped into the room on her good legs, frowning.
“What’d I miss?” She asked.
“My doom.”
“Your doom? Don’t be silly. It’s just some pizza freak who likes stories.”
He knelt in front of her, bringing his eyes to match hers. His face was grave, and he was pale as a sheet. Something inside her told her that if he was afraid, she should be too. “He’ll tell others that I have a woman living with me, which will make people curious. Curious people will come to the house to check it out and see you.”
She stared straight into his pupils without wavering. She had to be strong for both of them. “And I’ll hide, they’ll see that there’s nothing here, and that’ll be the end of the visitors. If you act suspiciously, they’ll be suspicious.”
He nodded in understanding. “You sure you’re up for this? You’re still really weak from losing your leg.”
She just laughed. “I’m Daring Do, intrepid explorer and fearless bounty hunter! Of course I’m up for this!”
At this he raised an eyebrow, wondering at what this queer creature was hiding from him.
***
Demetrius sat on the couch, twiddling his thumbs while he waited for the doorbell to ring. Daring had been hid in the attic along with some necessities just in case Alphonse decided to prolong his visit in any way. The night before, the pastor had called Al back, asking him if he wanted to come for a visit, to which he happily agreed.
A bottle of wine and a plate of hors d’oeuvres sat on the scratched surface of the coffee table, gathering dust. The pastor’s throat was dry and scratchy from nervousness, but he had no desire to drink the booze laid before him. More out of habit than anything else he’d stoked the fire and picked any fur out of the carpets with a lint roller. At a quarter past noon the doorbell rang twice. Demetrius stood and walked to the door, wiping the sweat off his hand. It was the middle of fall, and cold sweats would be a dead giveaway.
Alphonse, a six-foot tall Italian man with olive skin was grinning from ear to ear, holding a large bouquet of flowers in one hand and a card in the other.
“Hello, Demetrius. May I come in?” He asked, smiling saccharine as he spoke.
“Of course, Alphonse. Go ahead and have a seat in the living room, I’ll take your jacket.” The pastor replied, shutting the door after Al’s entry.
Directly above them, Daring lay on the floor, ear pressed to the rough wooden floor.
“How is your wife?”
That must be the fellow, Daring thought, smushing her head against the floor even harder, causing her cheeks to bunch up most comically.
“My wife has been gone with the Lord for a year now. You know that.” Demetrius’ voice wafted up from the cracks in the attic floor.
“Oh, no no no! I mean your new wife.”
Geez, how pretentious can somepony get? Daring mused.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Al.”
“So you don’t plan to make an honest woman out of her?”
“W-What?! I’m all alone here, and I have been for a long time now!”
Daring heard the rustle of someone standing up quickly, followed by the sound of a bottle breaking.
Al’s voice when he next spoke was not nearly as friendly and inviting as it had been earlier. No, he was angry, and judging by the smashed bottle, he was feeling violent too. Daring sent up a quick prayer to Demetrius’ god as she continued to listen.
“Now listen here, Pastor. It’s a sin to lie, says so in the Ten Commandments. And I know you’re lying. Mark my words, I will find out what you’re hiding, I will expose it, and I will snuff it.
“You’re enough of a smarmy shit stain as it is, sabotaging my jobs with counter hitmen and client bribing then hiding under your occupation; all I need is one little scandal and poof! You’re gone, and no one will care.”
Daring lifted her head from the wooden floor, her face red and streaked from being smashed against the boards. Counter hitmen? Client bribing? Who is this man who’s taking care of me?