Disclaimer: I do not own Lie to Me or any of the characters, places, themes, etc. No copyright infringement intended. You would have to be very misguided to think that I did own them.
Part of the 1000 Themes Challenge, Number 15
"Not one little feeling?"
He shook his head.
"You don't feel bad at all?" Gillian asked in disbelief.
"How many times do I have to say no?"
"Okay, but what if one night a cop showed up to tell you that Emily was a serial murderer?"
"That has nothing to do with the point," Cal said.
"But just suppose," Gillian insisted.
"Well that would never happen."
"Yeah? Why's that?"
"Because I'd know long before the cops."
"Really Cal," Gillian said, returning to their original conversation, "How do you not feel bad for the people whose lives you ruin?"
He shrugged. "I taught myself not to feel long ago."
Gillian fell silent. She stared at the sidewalk, letting a few paces pass in silence. Did Cal mean that he didn't feel for the suspects and criminals, or that he didn't feel at all?
"It's just across the street, love," Cal said.
"Hmm?" Gillian looked at the address on the mailbox of the house across the street. 389. That was where they needed to be. "Oh, right."
They stepped over the grass between the street and the sidewalk, pausing on the curb. The two of them glanced left and right, automatically checking for cares and, in Cal's case, liars. Seeing none of either category, they hopped onto the street.
Too late, they heard the car coming up, and topping, the hill. The silver Porsche was flying full speed towards them. The driver hadn't seen them because he had been on the other side of the hill, with no way to see the other side.
Cal saw the car coming in slow motion, like in the movies. The driver slammed on the brakes, too late, always too late.
Adrenalin kicked in, spreading through his system in a second.
Cal dove for her, knocking her to the ground, out of the way. He landed on top of her. Gillian let out a scream as the car passed right over the spot where the two of them had been standing a moment ago. It skidded to a stop a few yards away.
"Gillian," Cal breathed.
He saw the fear on her face. It faded to be replaced by embarrassment. Cal realized that he was laying on top of Gillian, his face mere inches away from hers. He smiled, but didn't move.
"That was close," he said.
One of her legs was between his, rubbing against his cock. He bit his lip to suppress the moan that threatened give him away.
"You can get off me now," Gillian said pointedly.
Cal rolled off her and stood, dusting himself off before turning to give Gillian a hand.
"Thanks," she said. "And not just about helping me up."
The driver of the Porsche was running towards them. He was definitely the annoying rich type, with slicked back dark brown hair, an expensive suit, and a Girard-Perregaux watch. Cal snorted. He hated snobby rich people, and this man was obviously one of them. The Porsche he drove was a 911 GT2, the best and most expensive Porsche out there. The watch he wore was over 200,000 dollars.
"Are you alright?" the man asked.
Cal could tell that he wasn't really worried; he was just pretending. Really, the guy had somewhere that he needed to be, and almost killing two people was an inconvenience, and nothing more.
"We're fine, thanks," Gillian said, flashing a smile. She too knew that the driver didn't care, but she didn't let it show in her voice.
"Do you need to go to the hospital? Or-"
"What part of fine do you not get?" Cal cut in irritably.
"Yeah, but I almost-"
"But you didn't. You better get to that meeting of yours before your boss gets mad."
"Wha- How did you-"
"You ask a helluva lot of questions."
The man's pretend worry was slowly being replaced by anger. "Alright fine. Here's my card." He took out a business card from his pocket. "Just in case you-"
"This guy just won't shut it," Cal said to Gillian, cutting him off again.
She just rolled her eyes and took the card from the man. His name was Charles Schaffer. "Well Mr. Schaffer, thanks for your concern."
Schaffer grinned warmly at Gillian, anger fading as he took her in. "Not a problem, Mrs…"
"Miss, actually. You can call me Gillian."
"Gillian," Schaffer said. "And you can call me Charles."
"Charles." Gillian smiled back at him as she shook his hand.
"Here," Schaffer said, "I'll write my cell number on the back. You know just in case you need anything… Or if you want to talk or anything."
"That would be great."
Gillian waited as Schaffer wrote his number on the back of his business card. Cal pointedly looked away. He hated the way Schaffer's pupils had dilated when he looked at Gillian, and how his gaze lingered a second too long on her. Cal was almost surprised at how those simple things made his hate the man. Jealousy could be very - no. He was not jealous. That's what he told himself, anyway.
"There you go," Schaffer said.
"Thanks," Gillian replied.
"You can leave now," Cal told him.
"He's just being nice," Gillian said.
"He's being nice," Gillian repeated.
"I'm right here," Schaffer said.
"I'm not blind," Cal retorted.
"Alright." He threw his hands up mockingly. "I'll see you two later. It was night meeting you, Gillian." He winked at her. Turning to Cal, he nodded and hopped in his Porsche.
"That was rude," Cal commented as Schaffer sped away.
"It was style."
"No. That was not style."
"Good to know that you're fine," Gillian said.
"Yep. How about you? You okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks Cal, really."
He shrugged, studying the house that they were approaching. A yellow rose bush grew around the mailbox they passed. Cal smiled and took Gillian's hand as a gentle reminder that he would always be there for her, whether she needed saving from a rich snob who was about to run her over, or if she needed a shoulder to cry on. "I don't know what I'd do without you."