Chapter Text
Driving on small countryside roads, you weren’t taking any risks that day. The reason why you were so unusually careful was because you had some of your beehives in the back of your truck.
You hummed under your breath to the latest hit blasting on the radio before the music switched to the news, something about the rise in crime and the increase in illegal trafficking of all kinds. They said something about the ‘Blue mob’, some big criminal organization none had proof existed. You quickly switched back to another radio station, delinquency might be your sister’s favourite subject but you couldn’t care less.
The fields surrounding you were green with growing plants: corn, wheat and flax. You were in a good mood, not even complaining as you got stuck behind a tractor for two miles. Given it was dusk, you hadn’t expected to cross path with many other vehicles, and you didn’t actually see more than three cars after that. This was the most appropriate time to move beehives without leaving any pollen gatherer behind, that was only one of the long list of things your mentor had taught you.
The hives were heavy but thankfully a beekeeper friend had helped you to lift them and put them securely at the back of both your trucks. He was following a little behind you. Embarrassingly so, Marc was one of your only friends, and he was at least twice your age. The friends you had made in the elitist private schools your parents had sent you to, had never lasted long after you were expelled or after graduation. On top of that, your job wasn’t exactly ideal to meet new people and most of your fellow beekeepers were older than you, if not just old. So you had Marc and that was pretty much it.
Soon, you turned right on a small ground path leading to fallow land. It’d be perfect for your bees, with south exposure and diverse plant life with extended blooming periods so they would be well fed until September and the start of overwintering. There was also a secure, nearby water source and you had carefully checked that you complied with regulatory distances from neighbours and public spaces. If those bastards of Asian hornets stayed away, you were hoping to get an even better production of honey than last year.
You were starting to have a few years of experience for yourself. You had taken over your mentor’s business after her passing. She was a distant aunt, one your parents would rather you had never met.
You went to check on the hives you had already moved there during the past week. You heard Marc park next to your truck, glancing at him over your shoulder. He gave you a thumb up before turning the engine off.
“Looks great. You’re going to have a record productive season, I can feel it.” He announced cheerfully as he climbed out of his truck.
Your friend had large shoulders, muscles acquired from years of lifting beehives and heavy equipment, a thin moustache his wife hated yet never managed to convince him to get rid of, deep smile lines and a receding hairline you teased him about sometimes. He laughed about it himself so it was all light-hearted banter.
“They’re going to do most of the work.” You pointed out, nodding toward your precious cargo.
“Ah, you know what they say. All bees are good workers but it all comes down to how good the beekeeper is.”
You chuckled, you’d never heard that before, yet you wouldn’t be surprised if it really was something people in your line of work said.
“Let’s get them settled, then.” You said as you rolled up your sleeves. Marc followed right behind you.
You could hear the familiar buzz of the tiny things living inside the hive as you struggled a little to get it out of the truck and on the right spot on the ground.
You painted all your beehives yourself, using fun colours to make horizontal stripes. You were very proud of your small exploitation and unpaid yet beloved employees. Employ-bees, as Marc often joked. He had kids so he was allowed to make dad jokes.
You weren’t built like your friend so you were relieved when you finally put down the last one of your 28 hives. They were all aligned in three parallel rows now, among the tall grass and wild flowers. You took a moment to appreciate the beauty of all these different flowers, each with its specific shape and colour.
You’d have to come back to open them very early tomorrow so you’d have plenty of time to admire the landscape then.
“Good job.” Marc concluded, giving you a firm pat on the shoulder.
“Thank you for your help.” You replied, much grateful for how he’d always eagerly aid you.
“No need to thank me, you helped me move mine last week. Christine would be happy to have you over for dinner again, by the way. She says it’s nice to have another woman at our table. If our boys weren’t still in middle school, I bet she’d try to get you with one of them.
Anyway, you know you’re always welcome.” He smiled at you warmly, his hand still on your shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. His wife was a very nice woman, who had given birth to three sons before giving up on having a daughter. She worked at the bank in the biggest town of the region and had already helped you to get the financing to buy new equipment when you were a 19-years-old inheriting of a honey-making business and a house.
You had to decline the offer for tonight, though. “I have to be up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to come back here, but on Friday night maybe.”
“Sure, I’ll tell Christine. The boys want to get their revenge at Mario Kart.”
You grinned, amused. “They’re gonna need to train some more if they want to beat me.”
“I’ll tell them. Be safe on your way home.” Marc said as he opened the door of his truck.
“Bye!” you replied, watching him leave so you could manoeuvre out of where you were parked.
Marc was barely out of sight when you flinched at a sudden noise, a crack of wood behind you. You turned to observe the darkness. Night had completely fallen now, the hives barely visible. You shivered as you noticed two round eyes staring right back at you. An owl.
You shook your head, embarrassed that you had gotten scared of the flying hunter. At such an hour, in this rural area there were a lot of night birds and bats in the sky. Nothing to be afraid of. You watched as the owl took off, gracious like a feathered ballerina, flying right over your head in almost complete silence before you lost sight of her.
You glanced around one last time then climbed up in your vehicle. A moment later, the sound of an up-beat song replaced the silence as you drove away.
You made it back to your house, an old farmhouse partly in its original condition, since you didn’t have the funds to really fix it up. The building got really cold in winter, the heat being older than you by far, and the roof leaked water when it rained a lot.
A Kiramman without money was antithetical yet it was your reality since cutting almost all bridges with your family. Growing up, your relationship with your family had always been complicated, you’d never felt like you fit in their world and views. Much like Caitlyn, you had inherited your mother’s inflexible temper but that only caused more conflict. Whether your father agreed or not with you, he never took your side like he did for Caitlyn. Talking of your sister, your eight-years gap hadn’t helped you bond nor did her departure for an expensive boarding school when you were still very young.
A distant aunt on your father’s side had come visit one day, you must have been seven at the time, and told you about her passion for bees. You had begged your parents to let you go spend a week with her in the countryside. They had accepted, seeing it as a break from the constant crying and shouting that usually filled the manor. They probably thought that a little retreat in the nature could only be good for your temper. How they must regret that decision now. You didn’t come back wiser but with a goal: becoming a beekeeper.
Your parents disapproved completely. Your sister wanting to work in the police was bad enough, they weren’t going to let you frolic in the fields to gather honey. At least being a police officer had some prestige and was useful for society, even though it was dangerous. But who cared about bees? You were just going to embarrass them, like a stain of dirt on the Kiramman name and legacy.
During your teenage years, you had once told them they were hypocritical fuckers because they liked to get their spoon of honey in their tea as much as the next person. You had gotten grounded for that, and of course you had escaped through the window just to spite them. You hadn’t even wanted that much to go to that party.
The same cycle of fight, punishment and rebellion had repeated through your teenage years. The more they tried to force you into being someone you weren’t, the more you tried to escape by doing whatever they’d disapprove of. Even shit you didn’t actually want to do.
All reasonable communication had been sent flying through the window. You closed off to them, building more walls and adding spikes, as they attempted to climb them, destroy them, talk you into letting them in, and so much more. Rationally, you knew they loved you and wanted the best for you. However, their best was your version of unhappiness. And once all the bridges between you had been burnt, there was no building them back up. You’d never feel truly understood or accepted in your own family now. Even Caitlyn agreed with them up to a certain point. She thought becoming a beekeeper was unambitious, useless, and laughable.
So as soon as you had reached 18, you had left without looking back, packing only the most necessary stuff. You went to live with your old aunt, learning everything she knew about bees. You had been happy with her, finding a real home by her side. One where you felt welcome and listened. Unfortunately, your mentor had died of a stroke merely a year later. You were the only one mentioned in her will as she had left ‘the little she had’. It wasn’t little to you, it was the foundations of the future you wanted to build. You visited her tomb every Sunday after selling your products at the market for the whole morning.
You had a stall at every market of the region, selling not only honey but also pollen, wax and other derivative products. You spent a lot of time on the roads, to get to your hives or to the town were the market of the day was happening. When you weren’t listening to the local radio, you put a true-crime podcast on instead. Maybe you shared that much with Caitlyn. However, she was all about bringing justice and protecting people while you were more interested in the gore details.
You only visited your family for Christmas now, and it was more than enough.
Anyway, your stomach grumbling reminded you that you hadn’t eaten anything since lunch and that you had spent a lot of energy since. You were a bad cook at best and a terrible one at worst so you mostly cooked one huge amount of starchy then ate it with different boiled vegetables from a nearby farm, for the whole week. There was a rotation between pasta and rice, one week each. And that was it. Efficient but not particularly exciting. You sighed and took the bowl of rice out of the fridge to heat up a portion. You’d eat quickly then go to bed, tomorrow would be a long day.
When you woke up, the first rays of sunshine were just peeking out. You didn’t need an alarm, you were a light sleeper and your neighbours had a very reliable rooster. The air was a little cold this early in the morning so you put on a cardigan over your shirt. It was dark grey with a big flower embroidered on the back. Almost all your clothes had flowers on them somewhere for the very simple reason that they were all your aunt’s before being yours and she was as obsessed with flowers as her bees. You had arrived with very little clothes of your own, thankfully she had had plenty, bought for cheap prices from her friends at the market. Most of them were totally wearable for someone who wasn’t seventy years old and you had grown attached to the flowery patterns, your outfits wouldn’t feel right without at least one flower in sight.
You went downstairs to make yourself a cup of coffee and a toast or two. With honey, of course. In all impartiality, honey just made everything taste better. That’s what you told your clients and that’s also what you thought. You put it in your coffee, on your toast, in hot chocolate, with carrots, with leek, everywhere. It was better for your health than sugar. Another selling argument.
After breakfast, you grabbed your keys and left, taking your gloves with you. You didn’t need your full gear for this, you only put it on when you retrieved honey from the hives. Your honey bees knew you and were completely inoffensive when they weren’t threatened. You liked to have them land on your arms, taking a little break from buzzing around.
This time, a flock of sheep slowed you down on their own way to their pasture. You knew the shepherdess so you waved at her before driving away. You had seen each other for a while before getting bored, now you were just friendly. And single, in your case.
You took the same turn as last night, instantly smiling as you saw your beehives. It was time for them to discover their new surroundings and all the nice flowers they’d soon be foraging.
You opened each hive one after the other, stepping back to let the workers free. They were a little confused at first, flying in circles and buzzing loudly. A few minutes later though, they were starting to go a little further away from their home and you sighed with relief at the sight. You were always a little nervous when moving them, as they could get disoriented and never adapt to their new spot. However, this time too they’d be fine.
Soon, you saw a black minivan arrive in your direction. It wasn’t the kind of thing people drove around here and this road was a dead end. Tourists, perhaps.
You frowned as a woman built like a tank got out, followed by a tattooed man who was just as large. You didn’t need to walk towards them, as they did it themselves.
“Can I help you?” you asked, trying not to sound too suspicious. It wasn’t fair to judge people on their appearance. And maybe it was just your podcasts that made you see suspicious things when the situation was totally normal. Although normal was absolutely not a word you’d use to describe those two.
“The boss thinks so.” The woman grumbled, visibly disagreeing with her boss. You remarked that she had a bionic arm. You weren't an expert yet you were pretty sure this kind of devices were very advanced technology. She didn’t elaborate any further and hit you on the head so fast that you didn’t even see her fist coming. You did feel a sharp pain right before losing consciousness all together.
When you came back to your senses, everything was dark. To be precise, you were wearing a blindfold, your hands and legs restricted by tight ropes. You let out an exclamation of surprise as you realized this wasn’t a dream, it came out muffled. So you were gagged too. You were still confused, a horrible headache splitting your head open as you tried to shift a little. The knots were professionally tide, not cutting off the blood circulation but also not coming undone easily despite your best efforts.
You forced yourself to take deep breaths, as panicking wouldn’t help. Easier said than done, it took you a while before managing to start thinking clearly.
You could tell from the noise and whirring that you were in a car. Or rather in the minivan from earlier.
The two people from earlier had plainly and simply kidnapped you. You’d be tempted to think that this wasn’t real but the persistent pain on the side of your head left little hope for that.
But why would anyone kidnap a beekeeper? The pair didn’t look like they were just wandering in the area and impulsively decided to knock you out because you were there and they were psychos. No, the minivan told you they had driven all the way to your remoted countryside with this precise goal in mind. But again, why?
In a flash, you remembered the woman mentioning her boss. So they were working for someone, who sent them get you because they thought you could… help them.
Pieces were starting to fall into place. You had no money, sure, however you had a name. Kiramman.
That was the only reason you could think of which could justify kidnapping you. Now either they wanted to demand a ransom that your parents might pay, which meant you weren’t in immediate danger, or they had a personal vendetta against your family and you were screwed.
At least you had had time to free all your bees. They could’ve died if they had stayed imprisoned for much longer than a night. In short, this could be worse.
After what felt like hours, the minivan stopped. You listened carefully, hoping to get any information. The two criminals got out, as you guessed from the sound of two doors closing. They were standing close to you now, on the other side of the sheet metal wall, as you could tell from their audible conversation.
“When is she going to wake up?” asked a male voice. The distinctive smell of smoke arrived to your nostrils. They were taking a smoking break, then.
“In an hour, I’d say.”
Wrong.
The women kept going. “Fuck, these damn wasps stung me. Went mad as soon as I hit the girl.”
You felt a mix of satisfaction and sadness as you heard that. It meant your dear babees had tried to defend you against your assailants, yet it also meant that they had sacrificed themselves for it. Bees never survived stinging someone, except for the queen. The others literally ripped off a part of their abdomen when flying away from their victim.
“Let’s speed up a little, she’s getting impatient. Like that Kiramman bitch wasn’t living in a godforsaken hole.” She said again after a while, probably checking her phone. The “boss” must be a woman, then. Good to know. It didn’t really help you right now however, at some point it might.
You wanted to eavesdrop on any other possible conversation but unfortunately, all the emotions from today, the soothing sound of the engine and the impossibility to do anything else than close your eyes led you to fall asleep.
It must have been a much deeper sleep than usual because you didn’t even stir when you were pulled out of the minivan and put on a chair in the basement instead.
“You told me you hadn’t hit too hard…” snarled a new voice, which you registered amidst your foggy mind.
“I didn’t. She should’ve been awake for two hours now.”
“So what, she’s just taking a nap?” she retorted sharply.
You kinda were, actually. In a split second, the unknown woman’s voice went from a few meters away to right next to you. A smell of metal and burnt sugar hit you. “But I think our guest is awake now so let’s ask her directly!”
Your blindfold was untied in the blink of an eye. You squinted your eyes, trying to get used to the return of light. When your sight adapted to the luminosity, you saw a blue-haired woman hovering over you.
“Heyyy, how was the nap, sleeping beauty?” she greeted mockingly.
Your breath hitched in your throat as you recognized here. Now you knew for sure who your kidnapper was. It was none other than Jinx.
You were so screwed.