Kidnapped a Don for Christmas

Back to the Cabin

Elysandre's POV

I opened the door of the cabin. Charlie is so fast asleep, I have to remember to call him Don. Well, if that is his name, because I don't really know if he is Don Falco. The guys who were around the car certainly thought it was him. Maybe they found his wallet and his identity documents inside.

While I was in town, I grabbed a few magazines and newspapers in case he wanted to read them, but I made sure that there was nothing about him being missing in them yet. The cabin does have electricity, but I only use it to charge my phone.

My grandparents never liked television, and they never put one in the cabin. At first, this cabin was just their getaway spot. They used to live in the city while my grandpa was running the business, but as soon as he retired, they moved out here because they wanted to live in peace and harmony, and I can understand.

It is really peaceful out here, and that is why I always wanted to come here for Christmas, because Christmas is the time of year when you have to spend time with your family and leave the world behind.

I am going to cook. I get one of my grandma's recipe books and start reading the recipe. Tonight I'm going to make soup. Soup is good for somebody who is ill, so I think he will be good with some soup in his stomach, and maybe it will help with his hangover as well, because I think he's going to have one hell of a hangover after he drank that whole bottle of whiskey. I do not know if my grandfather had other whiskey here, but I do know that my grandmother always liked her wine, so there are a few bottles of wine here as well, and I'm going to pour myself a glass while I am cooking.

I read the recipe, and it says a pinch of salt. What the hell is a pinch of salt? I don't know, maybe it's like a cup of salt. Oh well, I don't think I am going to put that much salt in. Maybe just a tablespoon? I do not want this soup to be too salty. Who says a pinch of salt? Why can't they just give me exact measures?

"You are back. I heard you leaving, but I was too tired to open my eyes, and I was in too much pain. I hope you brought some pain medicine." Charlie, I mean Don, says from behind me.

"Hey, what are you doing out of bed? You can't just walk around as if nothing happened to you. You have lost a lot of blood. If you faint and you fall on the ground, I'm going to leave you there. I am not going to struggle to get you back in bed again." I ask as I start pouring the salt into the soup.

"Wow, stop! What soup are you making? Sea water soup? How much salt do you want to put in your soup? Can you cook? Step aside, let me help you," Don says.

"Oh, by the way, I found out that your name is Don, and I think the FBI is looking for you because there were men in black suits all around your vehicle, and I couldn't get close to it to see if I could find your wallet or something. They are either FBI agents or they are the Men in Black. So you are either somebody the FBI is looking for or you are an alien. I also bought some hair dye. We will have to dye your hair, and we will have to make you look different. Maybe I can make you look like an old man, and you can sit in my grandfather's old rocking chair if they come looking for you here. Don Falco, that is what your name is. However, you do not look like a Don to me. I still prefer to call you Charlie," I say.

"Don? Don Falco? No, it does not sound right. I also prefer Charlie. Just call me Charlie until I can remember whether I'm Don or Charlie. I am not going to faint. It is like my body is used to pain. But I do hope you bought some pain medicine," Charlie says.

"Okay, then I will call you Charlie. And yes, you can look in the cabinet in the bathroom. There is some pain medicine, and I bought some other things, but I think we should get your hair gray. I think my makeup skills are good enough to make you look like an old man," I say.

"I hope your makeup skills are better than your cooking skills. Anyway, I think we should start the soup all over again. I just tasted that soup, and it tastes like the ocean," Charlie says.

I'm sure he is lying. I only put one tablespoon of salt in the pot. I push him aside and take the spoon to taste.

Holy s**t. Okay. Maybe he was not exaggerating. It tasted like the ocean.

I almost coughed from all the salt burning my mouth and throat.

"I may not be one of the best cooks there is, but I'm good with makeup. What does a pinch of salt mean anyway? Look at this recipe. It says a pinch of salt. I thought maybe a pinch can be a cup or something. Isn't a jug called a pincher or something like that?" I ask.

"A jug is called a pitcher, not a pincher. Did you put a jug of salt in there? I would not be surprised because it tastes like it. A pinch of salt means you take salt between your fingers and you put it into your food. It means a little bit of salt. You see, the meat you are using is already salty. Some soups don't have meat inside them. Anyway, let me help you with the cooking, but can you please fetch me some pain medicine? The whiskey is still working a little. I'm still a little drunk. Maybe that is why I can stand on my feet and don't pass out," Charlie says.

Well, Charlie is one hell of a guy. Either he is used to pain and bullet wounds, or he is a tough guy who just doesn't feel pain like other people do. I look at him suspiciously. Criminals normally know how it feels to have bullet wounds.

"Well, I feel stupid. I should have known it is called a pitcher and not a pincher. However, I did not get a whole jug of salt into the soup. I could only add a tablespoonful because even I know that a jug is too much. I spend more time in the office than I do at home. I have never learned how to cook. And I never learned all the utensils in the kitchen. I always wanted to learn from my grandmother, but my parents didn't allow me to go to my grandparents too often. All I was allowed to do was study, study, study," I say as I walk out to fetch the medicine I bought him.

I will worry about his criminal status later. For now, I know that he's not a threat to me. As long as he's not a threat to me, I cannot worry. If you wanted to kill me, he would have done it long ago. I mean, his gun is lying on the table next to his bed. I will have to remember to hide it. If the FBI shows up here, we don't want them to find the gun.