50 Shades of Hell
Finally, Phoebe is fast asleep. I lay her down in her crib and cover her small body with the soft lambswool blanket as she suckles gently on her pacifier. I smile wistfully at my sweet angel, and gently touch one of the copper curls that caress her forehead. I can't believe you are almost a year, already…this time is going so fast…
"Motherhood suits you, Mrs. Grey" Christian croons softly from the nursery door behind me, and I feel a warm blush creep up my face. How long has he been watching us?
"As fatherhood does you, Mr. Grey," I whisper as I pad lightly back through the nursery towards my husband. He's leaning against the door frame, wearing tight blue jeans that show off every last bump, and an open linen shirt. His arms are folded, and the look he's giving me is hot. I know I won't be getting an early night tonight.
"Hate to say I told you so," I grin as I grab the collar of his shirt and pull his face down to mine. His perfectly sculptured lips caress mine, and I feel his smile spreading against my mouth. His hands move down to my backside and squeeze, making me giggle.
"I love that sound," he murmers into my lips.
"And I love you," I whisper back.
"I know…"
My husband sweeps me up into his arms and, whilst I stifle another giggle trying not to wake up Phoebe, he carries me off to our room.
I sit at my dressing table brushing out my long chestnut hair before sweeping it up into a low bun. I can hear Christian talking sternly on his Blackberry, and Teddy whistling like a train downstairs while Phoebe babbles incoherently into her oatmeal. I'm glad that Mrs. Taylor is happy to double up as a nanny whilst Christian and I get ready for work. I walk back out of my walk in closet to find my husband looking out of our bedroom window over the sound as he takes his call. He hangs up, and I go to wrap my arms around him from behind, but he's already dialled another number before I can even touch him.
"I need the Jet this weekend…Connecticut."
He hangs up again, placing his free hand on mine which are entwined around his waist, then dials again.
"We'll be going to Connecticut this weekend, make the necessary arrangements…a service at the Williams residence…no, that won't be necessary…yes…make it so."
I hold my breath. A service at the Williams residence. Have they finally found a body?
"This weekend it's been a year to the day since Leila disappeared. Her parents have decided to hold a service of sorts to mark the anniversary. They have asked me to attend."
Christ, how does he read my mind? I tighten my grip on my husband.
"I take it you plan to accept their invitation?"
"It is the least I can do to help a grieving family."
Haven't you helped them enough? I recall the day she went missing. It was the day we finally decided on Phoebe's name. Teddy had dropped his popsicle, and Mrs Taylor was replacing it when Christian's Blackberry rang.
At first we all thought she had gone off the deep end again, and security was stepped up. But after a month, neither Christian's private security team nor the police investigating the disappearance in Connecticut had found so much as a hair from her head. No witnesses, no correspondences, no suspicious visitors to her home.
Her bedroom windows were found to be locked from the inside, as were all of the entrances to her house. All her clothes and worldly belongings were accounted for except her nightdress. She would have had to have left in the dead of night with nothing but her sleepwear, and somehow managed to lock the door and get her keys back into her room. It was creepy and unnerving, and Christian had bankrolled an extensive private investigation complete with everything forensics could throw at it. It was as if she had evaporated into thin air.
I shudder as I ponder what had happened to Leila, and as Christian turns to face me I see his expression is somewhat troubled, somewhat sad, and somewhat fearful. This has been another situation that he cannot control, and I know how much he hates that.
"She still might turn up," I try to comfort him, stroking his clean shaven cheek. He takes my hand and kisses each of my fingers in turn.
"She might…but with her parents giving up hope already…there's only so much I can do without their cooperation. They're tired of my private investigators going through their house again and again. This isn't about me being there for them, or for Leila. It's about sending me a message that enough is enough."
"Perhaps that's for the best."
His grey eyes harden at me, and I worry that I've said too much.
"That's rather a heartless thing to say, Mrs Grey."
"I'm just trying to be realistic, Christian."
"I know," he sighs, and his eyes soften again, "Will you come with me?"
He looks like a lost little boy again. My poor lost little Fifty Shades. I don't relish the thought of going to a service in the memory of my husband's ex submissive, but I can see the anguish in his face. He needs me.
"Sure. Ted and Phoebe can stay with Kate and Elliot. They'd love to see Ava."
I can't believe Christian! Of all the inappropriate places, he asks me to wear the silver balls to the service. I'm apoplectic that he should ask it of me, but he shrugs and makes a half assed attempt at explaining it away…it's just to lighten the mood, baby. My subconscious is red with rage, and even my inner goddess is staring at him, gobsmacked. I know how kinky my husband is, but does he know no boundaries when it comes to sexual gratification?
"Ok, ok. No balls for the service, Ana. But I fully intend on ravaging you senseless when we get back tonight…" his eyes darken, "I'm going to need the release…"
The service is, as I imagined it would be, depressing and uncomfortable. Christian is asked on the spot to say a few words, and I seethe as he praises Leila's artistic skill. Her family and friends, the few that there are, simper around me, and my inner goddess rolls her eyes. Part of me feels guilty at the uncharitable and unsympathetic thoughts that come to my mind, but I can't suppress the jealous beast within me that still just can't help but feel mildly put out about my husband supporting her all these years, then paying for the investigation into her disappearance.
When the whole sorry thing is over, there are refreshments and socialising. Christian and I have already agreed between us to make our faces shown and do the rounds quickly, make some polite conversation and make the right sounds before hurrying back to our hotel. The whole thing makes us both uncomfortable, and Christian is still feeling somewhat despondent about her parents giving up on her.
I am nibbling delicately on a salmon sandwich. I don't feel particularly hungry, but anything to appease Christian. I've been cornered by Mrs Williams, who despite having just declared to the world she believes her only child to be dead (or in so many words anyhow) is trying to convince me to take a look at her niece's manuscript.
"She's so talented, Mrs Grey…it would mean so much to Leila if you would…"
I shuffle uncomfortably. Why should I care that it meant so much to my husband's ex, the crazy girl who, at one point, ended up in my apartment with a gun?
"I'll give you my chief editor's address to pass on," I try to appease my assailant, "He's very good at his job, he'll be able to tell you if she's on the right track."
"Oh, thank you so much, Mrs Grey! Leila always said you were such a kind soul."
"She did?"
"Oh yes, she always spoke so highly of you!"
Did she tell you about her trespassing? About her gun? About her using me to get to Christian?
"I'm…flattered that she thought to do so, Mrs Williams."
"I know it must be…difficult for you to be here," she says, her voice lowering, "being that she and Christian were so…intimately involved before…thank you so much for coming to pay your respects."
Both my subconscious and I raise our eyebrows simultaneously, and I wonder just how much Mrs Williams knows about Christian and Leila's arrangement. I wonder if her mother sees me as the woman who stole the insanely rich, most eligible bachelor in the continental US away from her poor darling daughter; whether she secretly blames me for her going bat shit crazy.
"It was the least I could do," I say in as sweet a voice I can muster, "Christian and I love and support each other in all areas of our lives."
Mrs Williams seems to diminish a little at that, and I feel mildly guilty.
Don't feel guilty, Ana! She's the one who started this at her own daughters 'funeral'!
"It's so good to see young people finding love in this day and age," she sniffles.
"Thank you, Mrs Williams. Now if you could excuse me, I really do need to use the bathroom!"
As I emerge from the bathroom, movement catches my eye, and I see Christian standing in one of the bedrooms. It must be Leila's…
"Hoping to find something your specialists couldn't?" I murmur as I step towards him. He shrugs his shoulders, his eyes fixed on a small, black lacquered box which he holds in his left hand.
"Something like that. I certainly didn't expect to find this in here."
"What is it?"
"It's an antique puzzle box. I picked it up in an old, run down antiques shop when I was on a business trip. I saw it in the window, and something about it just grabbed my attention. Never really been one for antiques like this," he grins, "You know me, I'm a modern man. But it's so simple, the reflections seem to change every time, and there is an almost imperceptible etching on the seams of the puzzle pieces…"
I take it from him and inspect it closely. It really is exquisite. I see what he means by the reflections. The light shimmers like oil, and I see my face shimmer to the surface. I frown slightly and bring it closer. There's something not quite right, but the reflection doesn't distort when I tilt the box to and fro, like the reflection on a spoon would. Suddenly I gasp and drop the box.
"Ana! Are you ok?" Christian grabs my wrist and pulls me to him.
"Yeah, baby…I thought I saw…"
"Saw what?"
"Nothing, it was just a trick of the light."
"Anastasia…tell me."
"I thought I saw Leila…"
He looks at me, his expression puzzled.
"What do you mean you thought you saw her?"
"In the reflection, on the box…"
Christian wraps his arms around me and kisses me softly on the forehead.
"You know…all of my exes…and you…look very alike…that includes Leila…"
"I know, I know. That's what I mean…it was just a trick of the light, that's all…"
He squeezes me tightly before stooping down to pick the puzzle box up again. He regards it carefully from every angle.
"It really is quite exquisite though. I missed it when it disappeared. I never figured out how to solve the entire puzzle, but it has a musical mechanism hidden inside…I wonder…"
He turns the box to and fro, and runs his skilled fingers along the barely perceptible seams of the puzzle pieces. Finally, as if a light bulb turned on, his index finger pushes a tiny piece into the box, and it springs slowly back out. A strange, solemn, ethereal chiming can be heard from within, faint and elusive as the seams of the puzzle pieces.
I cannot help but be enchanted by the puzzle box, and I take it once more from Christian's hands, regarding it closely. My fingers trace another seam, and find the tiniest of imperfections, that must have been revealed in the opening of the first piece. I press the indentation, which is so slight it's hardly worth a mention, and on the opposite side of the box, another smooth, lacquered piece of the puzzle slides gracefully out of its hole. Another layer of music joins the first, building ever so slightly over it. It really is a mysterious tune, and I cannot help but want to find the next piece of the puzzle to release the next layer of the meticulously composed melody.
"Well you've already done better than I ever did over the years," Christian breaks my reverie, "I could never solve anything past the first piece. Leila was quite enchanted by it too, but she only got to the third piece. She must have taken it when we parted ways."
"She loved that box," comes the voice of Mrs Williams from the door. Christian and I both jump to attention, me feeling mildly guilty but Christian managing to look completely relaxed.
"She told me it was a gift," Mrs Williams continues, "I never realised she had stolen it from you, Mr Grey. I wholeheartedly apologise, but you know…my poor girl…she's had a difficult few years, you know…"
"There is nothing to apologise for, Mrs Williams," Christian smiles, though there is no warmth in that smile. "Here, Leila has had it for so long, I had all but forgotten it, in truth."
"No! Please, Mr Grey, I insist. Take the box! Take it as a reminder of her, if nothing else. In her deepest of depressions, she would sit and puzzle over it for hours. It helped to keep her busy. The music seemed to soothe her. She never did figure it out, perhaps now with a few years behind you, you will be able to?"
Christian drops his hand, still holding the box, and his face warms a little.
"Thankyou, Mrs Williams. I shall do my best to figure the puzzle. For Leila's memory."
Mrs Williams smiles at this, and inwardly I roll my eyes. I slide my hand into the crook of my husband's elbow, and he beams warmly down at me, finally taking the hint.
"I'm afraid though, Mrs Williams, that I'm a busy man, and my wife and I have a long journey ahead of us before business commences as usual on Monday, so we will have to make our goodbyes."
It's been a week since we returned from the Williams memorial service, and I can't take my mind off that black lacquered puzzle box. I can see why Leila was so fascinated by it. Something about the music, about the exquisitely crafted design and the mechanism by which the pieces are extracted. It is the work of a genius, and I can barely even begin to understand how it all fits together, but it does, and I delight in my quest to find out how to take it apart.
Even my little Teddy has taken a shine to it. He spends hours puzzling over it, though his fat little baby fingers cannot fathom how to release even the first piece. There is a finesse to this puzzle that requires a gentler, more experienced touch than that of an infant.
I'm luxuriating on my cream satin covered bed as the sun sinks gracefully over the Pacific Ocean, lighting my room up in shades of rose gold. Next door, I can hear Teddy giggling merrily away as Christian reads him his bed time story.
"Can I play with mommy's box?" I hear his little voice chirp. I grin as I think of what a little genius he is growing up to be. What other child would give so much thought and attention to a dull old box like this?
Suddenly, my fingers find a new indentation that I have never felt before, and another piece slides away. Another, undiscovered layer of music is revealed. It is intoxicating. I hear Christian murmur something to Teddy, but I'm not interested. The box is changing in my fingertips, and I am thrilled with excitement to try and uncover the next level.
My husband enters the room, though I hardly notice him, and lies down on the bed beside me. His smooth white hands slide down my arms and take a hold of the box. I finally look up to see his dazzling smile.
"I'm afraid I've made a deal with our firstborn. He wants me to show him how to unlock the first piece of the puzzle. He's quite adamant."
I pout at the Greek God before me, "But I've nearly solved it! Look!"
Indeed, the box has all but opened like a flower. Only one piece remains, and the music from within is tantalizing. I need to know what the source of this enchanted concerto is, and I can tell from the look on Christian's face that he too feels compelled to reveal the secrets within.
"Here," he says, "What's this?"
He takes the box and runs his finger smoothly over one final seam that I had yet to discover, and between the last two puzzle pieces a razor thin slice of lacquered wood slides down and into the box, before it cracks open like an egg. I cannot see the musical mechanism anywhere, and Christian is studying each piece of the box as he attempts to figure out where it came from. I swear I can hear a great bell chiming from somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it.
Before I have time to gather my thoughts, I realise that the room is no longer warm shades of fiery orange, but all has turned to blue, black, deep twilight. Surely we can't have spent that long playing with this toy? I look up at Christian, who has dropped the lacquered pieces, his face ashen white. I follow his gaze to the foot of our bed.
Four creatures, demonic and hideously scarred stand before us. One is a grotesque, bulbous thing, humanoid only in its upright posture. Its tongue (is that it's tongue?) protrudes indecently, licking at its gross chops as it seems to gaze upon us with some kind of carnal longing.
Another does not even seem to have eyes to gaze upon us with, though it leers like the rest. It's skin is raw, and twisted, its lips torn from its features to reveal row after row of knife like, razor sharp teeth, chattering incessantly and drooling down its torso.
The other two demons, one almost feminine in its appearance and the other most definitely male, look almost human, if it were not for the sickening wounds inflicted upon their bodies or the bone white complexion of their skin. Her throat is sliced open. Oh my God, it's like a vagina! The wound is held open by wires, attached to a frame that protrudes from either side of her skull. Her male counterpart is scarred all over his skull and down his face to his neck in a grid like pattern, a huge bejewelled pin pushed deep into the intersection of each gridline.
Is this for real?
For once, Christian is lost for words. I can't take my eyes off these creatures, but I can feel his tense body beside me, and he is most definitely not reaching for his blackberry. I want to shake him, tell him to call Taylor now, but he is as gobsmacked as I am at the vision before us.
The Pinhead steps forward, and as if he can read our minds he offers an explanation;
"The box; you opened it, we came."
"Came for what?" my husband asks. The Pinhead grins in reply.
"We have such sights to show you…"
From all around me I hear the rattle of chains, and suddenly the sensation of pierced, torn flesh overwhelms every inch of my body.
The house on the edge of the Pacific Ocean is enveloped in a velvety purple twilight. It is a happy, family home, where children laugh and relatives gather from all over the Seattle area to celebrate everything from babies first tooth to father's latest business acquisition. Not a tear is shed here, except when Teddy scrapes a knee.
And where is Teddy now? Teddy is playing in his bedroom. He knows that there will be trouble if he isn't in his bed when daddy comes back, but he has waited ever so long for daddy to bring mommy's special music box to play with, and he was much too eager to continue building his half-finished Lego fortress to sit in bed while he waits for daddy.
Across the hall from his room, Phoebe starts to cry. Teddy loves his baby sister, but he hates it when she cries. It gives him such a headache! He knows mommy will see her soon, to change her diaper or give her some milk. Teddy thinks it would be very nice if mommy would bring him some warm milk, too.
But mommy doesn't go to see Phoebe, and neither does daddy. When Teddy has finally had enough of waiting, and Phoebe's screams get even more desperate and upset, he decides his parents mustn't be able to hear poor Phoebe, and it is up to him to let them know.
Teddy pushes his bedroom door open. Mr and Mrs Taylor are away for the weekend on a family camping trip, so the house is almost in darkness. There are no lights on in mommy or daddy's room. Silly mommy and daddy, they must have fallen asleep! That's what old people do, you know. They sleep all the time.
Teddy slips into their room. He cannot hear their breathing. He tiptoes over to the bed and climbs up. Mommy and daddy are nowhere to be seen. But what's this?
Mommy's puzzle box lies in the middle of their gigantic bed. Teddy laughs in glee, he can't believe his luck! Phoebe cries on next door, but Teddy is happy. He has the music box. His tiny fingers trace over the little lines. He giggles. Mommy must have put a photograph on them, because he can see her and daddy's faces. If he can figure out how to open it, maybe he can get the photographs out…
Authors Note:
As seems to be the tradition here, not a single one of these characters are mine! You may notice that this is, I suppose, a cross over between 50 shades and Hellraiser/The Hellbound Heart...however, I didn't want to ruin the surprise! And yes, I know, the Cenobites are not particularly as described in The Hellbound Heart, but the Lament Configuration is as it is in the book as opposed to the movie...call it artistic license. Enough people around here do it, after all.
Other than that, I hope you enjoy! R+R and all that jazz :)