And a Child Shall Lead Them
Chapter 1
Paris, France
August, 2022
Fifteen years. The young woman sat in her car watching the patrons come and go from the seedy little hole-in-the-wall bar. Fifteen years of wondering. Fifteen years of hoping. Fifteen years. The last five of which had been spent actively searching; the trail going cold time and time again, always just before she reached her goal. Finally, 6 months ago, pay dirt. One of a plethora of private detectives she'd hired to assist in the search had chanced upon the location of her quarry.
This time, instead of immediately pouncing on the information, she decided to take it slowly. She needed a different approach than she had in the past. It needed to be like a hunt, or a business deal; no emotion. She paid the man, thanked him for his services and informed him she would take it from there. And then she waited. She watched and waited for the right time to reveal herself.
That decision had led her to this street on this night. It was sooner than she'd planned, to be sure, but standing idly by while the woman spiralled even further out of control had simply become too painful. She had to do something; her need to rescue something, she had inherited from her mother.
This particular search and rescue mission had caused endless arguments over the years, between her and her parents. Realizing she could never win with them on this subject she had bided her time until she could proceed on her own.
It was the end of the night and the bar had finally closed. She planned to ambush her prey as she left for the night hoping resistance would be weakened after hours of serving the dregs of Paris society an endless supply of alcohol and whatever else was on tap.
The young woman had ventured into the bar only twice. The first time she'd left almost immediately, realizing how out of place her expensive clothes and well-balanced psyche made her appear. She had been shocked to see her but didn't want to draw needless attention to herself.
The second and final time she had dressed to blend in; sitting in the corner, a well-placed hoodie obscuring her features; she nursed drinks and observed. What she found broke her heart.
The woman looked old beyond her years; the lines and wrinkles combining to create a haggard and worn appearance. She walked with her shoulders bowed, as if carrying the weight of the world for far too long. Grey hair peppered the faded chestnut, the blonde long gone. Yet, the vestiges of her former beauty remained, along with the smirk the girl remembered so fondly; had seen every night in her dreams as well as in pictures buried in a drawer at home her mother didn't know she had found.
Watching someone she cared about being man-handled by the patrons, not seeming to care what they said or how they touched her had caused the girl to flee to the relative safety of her car. It was somewhat easier to watch from a distance.
She left with a different person most night, usually men, sometimes disappearing down the alley for a few minutes only to re-emerge swaying on her feet, high as a kite, being held up by the man who was obviously her dealer. Asshole.
This night would be different, the girl swore with conviction. Tonight she would pull her back from the edge of the abyss and start setting things right. She would fix this if it was the last thing she did, her parents be damned.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Maggie sighed to herself as the long night came to a close. She bumped into the wall putting the days take into the safe, nearly falling as she made her way out of the small office.
She was drunk; she knew that, consuming as much as she served had become a habit. Working at the bar enabled her to maintain her constant state of discombobulating, helped her dull the pain and make life easier. She was grateful for the small gift even as she lamented how far she had fallen. How long had it been? Over 15 years. Fifteen years of going downhill, unable or unwilling to apply the breaks.
She had left Pine Valley a broken woman. After a thousand unanswered e-mails to her former lover she had stopped trying and attempted to resume her life. Without Bianca that had proved impossible.
She moved in with Cecelia and retuned to school, but concentration was fleeting, replaced instead by constant self-loathing and doubt. Her grades had begun to slip; she started to miss shifts for her internship. Rather than heed the warnings of here professors and advisors, she quit, holing herself up in Cecelia's tiny apartment, sometimes not eating or moving for days. Cecelia had finally thrown her out. It had been an unpleasant scene, Cecelia cruel and unforgiving.
"I didn't sign up for this, Maggie," she had said after the umpteenth time she attempted to have sex with Maggie only to be shot down. "I don't want to be your roommate or your therapist. Look at you, you're a mess. You need to move out, the sooner the better."
"Where will I go?" Maggie has asked, sobbing hysterically.
"I don't care," had been the cold answer. "Go back to your perfect girlfriend," she'd said snidely, "or straight to hell. I don't care anymore. Just get out."
Maggie had left the next day.
She traveled all over Europe after that, taking odd jobs to make ends meet; the days blurring into months and then years. Maggie marked the passing of her life with a stream of abusive men. Relationships were devoid of any feeling, bringing with them only barrenness and the occasional black eye, sometimes worse. The men, only ever men she had sworn no woman would touch her after Bianca and no woman had, used her for sex and she used them to self-flagellate; it was mutually beneficial. She never complained about the beatings, she felt it was fitting punishment for the pain she had caused.
She'd followed Bianca's romance in the tabloids for a time, marvelled at how radiant Bianca had looked on her wedding day. Her ex's happiness meant far more to her than her own. She had finally stopped paying attention , turning to booze and drugs for comfort, when she'd read in passing about the birth of their son.
Eventually she'd found her way back to Paris and her current place of employment. Things weren't so bad really. She had a place to live, such as it was, a steady job and even a boyfriend of sorts. Not that one could call what they had a relationship.
Slade had slithered into her life six months ago. The sex was violent but passable; he rarely hit her and he provided those lovely little pink pills that made the world go away and kept it gone. Sure she occasionally had to do 'favors' for his friends, but it was a small price to pay.
Lately though, the little pink pills weren't working like they used to. She'd complained, irritated, to Slade and after he smacked her for mouthing off and taken his fill of her body, he had promised to bring something tonight that would make her feel even better. Feeling better was relative but she'd take what she could get.
She sighed, wiping the bar down one last time, like her life it would never be clean, it just wasn't that kind of place. She got her purse and went to sit at a table to wait - Slade was always late - and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. God, who is that? She didn't even recognize herself anymore, hadn't for years. Seeing Slade approaching the front of the bar she figured that was a blessing.
"Hey baby," he smiled, letting the door close behind him and then locking it. He was a good looking man if you could see beyond the greasy hair and faded tattoos. He had a killer smile and he knew it; he lifted weights so his body was strong and rock hard; the leather pants and motorcycle only added to his bad boy appeal. Maggie held no illusions about his faithfulness. He had his pick of the women who frequented the bar and took full advantage.
"Don't look so down, sugar, daddy has a special surprise for you tonight."
Maggie tried to smile in return but it didn't reach her eyes, it rarely did. She knew there would be a price to pay before he gave her his 'gift'.
"What is it?" she asked. She knew her tone sounded impatient and he didn't like that but she didn't care. She needed something and he had it. She was in no mood to play games.
"Is that any way to talk to your man?" he asked. "Come over here and show me some appreciation or I'll go find it somewhere else."
Maggie got up silently and walked towards him. He was sitting on a bench along the back wall, out of the curious gaze of people walking by. She knew what he wanted.
Dropping to her knees she unzipped his pants and took him in her mouth. After only a few minutes he was rock hard and he stood abruptly, bending her over a chair. Lifting her skirt, pulling her panties roughly to the side, he took her; pounding into her furiously until he was spent, biting the exposed flesh of her shoulder as he came.
He zipped up, sat back and watched smugly as she straightened her clothes. When she turned towards the bathroom her stopped her.
"Where do you think you're going?"
"To clean up."
"No time. I have a date tonight. We need to do this now so I can get out of this hellhole."
Maggie sighed and followed him out of the bar and into the alley. She had only one rule, no drugs in the bar. They always did it outside, either before her shift started or after she'd locked up for the night.
They rounded the corner and came to a stop beside a makeshift table made of barrels and a board. "Sit," he told her, motioning to an overturned milk crate, as he took out his paraphernalia.
"What the hell is that?!"
"You're surprise," he said, sure it was obvious.
"Fuck you! I don't do needles. I wanted pills, maybe a bump or two, but not that."
"This is what I have, doll. Now give me your arm or I'm out of here and you get nothing."
Maggie though about telling him to go to hell but then caught a glimpse of something, out of the corner of her eye, that changed her mind - a flash of raven hair and porcelain skin. It couldn't be, she thought, she would never be seen here if she was even in Paris. Her mind was obviously playing tricks on her… dirty, vile tricks.
This always happened when she had gone too long without the precious chemicals that kept her in a stupor. She needed this and she needed it now. When he was done with the preparations she extended her arm and whispered, "Do it," wincing as he pulled the rubber tubing tight around her arm.
Slade smacked at the perfect, unmarred flesh until a vein appeared. The needle glinted in the streetlight evilly before disappearing into her skin. Maggie felt the sting of the needle, the burning of the drug as it entered her body and then she felt…fantastic.
"How do you feel?" Slade asked with a grin, the needle still hanging in Maggie's arm.
"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Maggie breathed and then giggled uncontrollably. "That's better than anything you could do with your cock," the look on his face at her proclamation only making her laugh harder.
Before he had a chance to press her against the wall and prove her wrong, a voice cut through the darkness like nails on a chalkboard.
"Oh my god!" the yelled outrage carried down the alley, startling them both. "Maggie what are you doing?!"
"My name's not Maggie, it's Mary," the brunette slurred her words.
Logically she knew what was happening to her body, had studied these reactions, but her brain couldn't grasp logic right now. She was dizzy, her muscles had gone slack and the horrible memories began to recede into nothingness. Why was the air so heavy? she wondered.
"What the fuck?! Slade yelled. "You brought a chaperone? Dammit Mar you know better!!"
"I don't know her," Maggie said, not even looking up. She continued to stare at the blood beading on her arm. It was such a pretty color.
"Don't lie to me, you bitch!" he brought his arm up and backhanded her hard across the face, sending her flying backwards; her head hit the brick wall with a sickening crack and she slid to the ground with the taste of copper in her mouth.
Cool, Maggie thought, tastes like pennies.
"Get away from her you bastard!" the interloper snarled, pushing him away, scattering his drug paraphernalia all over the alley. "You touch her again and I swear I'll kill you," she seethed.
Slade shivered imperceptibly at the menace behind the words.
"Next time you want a taste, Mar, don't bring your little friend," he yelled as he jumped on the back of his bike.
"She's not my friend," Maggie mumbled. "I have no friends." But Slade wasn't listening; he was already gone with nothing left but the echo of his motorcycle engine roaring out of the alley.
"Oh Maggie," the raven haired vision choked back tears. "What happened to you?"
"Bianca." A single slurred word; barely audible, bit it spoke volumes.
"This ends tonight, Maggie," the girl said. "Do you hear me? It ends now." She took a handkerchief from her jacket pocket and began to wipe at the blood around her fallen companion's mouth.
"How do you know my name?" Maggie asked, slack jawed. She was drooling now and could barely hold her head up.
"I've been searching for you for so long. I know almost everything about you."
Maggie finally looked up, startled by the plaintive tone. There was something familiar about this woman, but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was; the drug that had banished her memories now making it impossible to even think. Everything looked hazy, glowing, like a dream. Maggie could no longer tell what was real and what was part of the drug induced euphoria.
Eyes dull and watery, she asked, "Do I know you?"
"You should," the woman replied, "I once called you momma."
For one bright shining moment Maggie's eyes cleared; it dawned on her as to who this woman, her guardian angel, was.
"Munchie?"
Miranda sobbed openly now, it had been years since anyone called her that. In truth, only Maggie ever had. Maggie's broken voice and the recognition in her eyes ripped Miranda open, her long held emotions spilling out onto the concrete, in relief. Maggie was not lost, she was still there.
"It's me Maggie."
"I missed you so much." A slow, uncoordinated hand reached up to caress the face of the girl who should have been her daughter. Miranda whimpered, leaning into the tentative touch. "You're all grown up," Maggie whispered in wonder. "You look just like your mother. Beautiful." And then she was gone; carried away by the lure of the drug and succumbing to a fantasy only she could see.
Miranda gripped Maggie by the arms, she felt so tiny and frail, pulling her into a standing position. "Come on, Mags. Let's get you home."
"I don't live with you anymore, Munchie."
"I know," Miranda sniffed," I know where you live."
"You do? I can't take you there!" Maggie shook her head vehemently. "It's not nice enough for you."
A fresh torrent of tears engulfed the young Montgomery as she guided Maggie, with her bloody lip and nose, to her car and Maggie rambled about her place not being nice enough. "It's ok, Maggie. As long as you're there it's enough." She closed the back door after Maggie laid down across the seat curled into a ball.
Miranda got into the driver's seat cursing the day they had ever moved to Paris. Jamming her key into the ignition she gripped the wheel and pulled away from the curb. Maggie was mumbling nonsense in the back. The only things Miranda could clearly make out were her mother's name, the words 'I'm sorry' and 'please forgive me', and Maggie saying over and over again that she was better off dead.
Miranda could not imagine what was going through the older woman's mind and she wasn't sure she wanted to; she only knew her mother had a whole lot to do with the condition Maggie was in right now.
Everything would be better now, though, it had to be. She was in control and no one could tell her what to do or how to do it and she'd do whatever it took. Now that she had found Maggie she'd de damned if she was ever letting her go again.