CHAPTER 3

The car ride was surprisingly short. Before Christine had a chance to demand her one phone call, she was carried by her armpits out of the vehicle. She felt more like a child than a criminal, and was awfully happy that she heard no cameras witnessing this embarrassing gliding to a police station. Then again, she was a commoner.

She was soon pushed into a room and the bag from her head was removed. She was instantly overwhelmed with piercing light.

"Aargh! My eyes, my eyes! What a demon light... Please, turn it down!" Christine squinted while trying to walk a bit, but tripped on something and fell on top of it. She moaned. The light seemed to be light years ahead of her. She laughed. Ho ho ho, she knew the way with words. But ´why was nothing happening? Then she remembered that she had those beautiful hands, her gorgeous hands, and covered her eyes with them. When the evil light was blocked out, she recovered her senses. Even a sense she didn't know existed, but she swore - there were people watching her back. After feeling around with her hands Christine realised she was lying on top of a footstool.

"Were my instructions unclear? I wanted her unharmed."

Christine's head snapped up in surprise. Where did that voice come from? It was a dangerous one, for if it told her to buy ice cream, she wouldn't waste time to complete the task. Christine wondered if the voice knew what powers it held. Hoped that didn't.

"That's how we found her, sir."

"Then what's wrong with her?"

"I believe it has something to do with this."

Christine didn't like how the topic of the conversation was her and yet she wasn't regarded in any way. And it wasn't the bloody first time in her life! But perhaps... Yes, it was a dim thought, but perhaps the song that had started this day and its strangeness, would help to clear it too... She hesitated, but then trapped her head between her palms and started to sing quietly, closing her mind from the disturbing background noises:

Think what

That money could bring

I'd buy everything

Clean out Vivienne

Westwood

In my Galliano Gown

No, wouldn't have just one

hood

A Hollywood mansion if

I could

Please book me first-class

to my fancy London town

Christine opened her eyes after the second verse. The light was gone. It was the only thing to be grateful in the grave situation she had been whisked in to, she gathered, while looking at the room she was in.

The problem was... the most humongous problem ever in her life was that her boss stood there clad in black like the inexperienced colour user he was, in the same room as her, having his unfriendly eyes looking at her... After the day she had sort of assaulted him.

Had Mr. Destler just heard her singing? Possibly. Most likely. She didn't listen to his words when he spoke to someone, her mind was too busy to wonder how a voice so charming could belong to a persona so... not charming. He hadn't sounded like that before. She had compared him to the Batman in the Christopher Nolan's version, for his voice was usually very raspy... and now... now this. Liquid-like smoothness. For some reason an image of melted liquor sliding on skin came to Christine's mind and she felt a shudder that wasn't too unpleasant.

She vaguely realized that a door opened and people left, and that suddenly they were alone, just her and Mr. Destler.

Time to get hold of things... Christine didn't waste time to rise with so much grace as possible in the situation and started to smooth her shirt's wrinkles coolly. Seconds passed.

"Mr. Destler," she then finally nodded as if only now realizing him standing nearby.

He instantly replied: "Christine. Please sit." His voice rather stiff.

"I'd rather not. You see, I have a plane to catch." She drifted, thinking how massively cool it felt say something like that! As if she flew from place to place every now and then. In actuality, it was her first time. Ever.

Mr. Destler made a strange sound. Christine stared at him. He laughed? She was surprised for a reason - one wouldn't expect a hyena to meow like a kitten.

"Really, you should call me Erik. Please."

The word "please" was even more disturbing than his laugh.

"Fine, Erik it is. Now would you please tell me what I'm doing here, Erik? And why is my bottle with you. Erik."

They both gazed at the bottle Christine had drunk as if it was some sort of a holy relic.

"It seems you have forgotten a lot during your... outage."

"What is it to you? I'm sure I haven't agreed to be kidnapped. My private life is private, so are my hang-overs. Just answer my question so I can leave."

"You left me quite abruptly yesterday, my dear. You are here for a reason today."

"You can only blame yourself. Did I ask you to stalk me like... Hey what the hell?" Christine strode to him and banged her palms onto his table in a motion that was nothing but furious. "Don't dear me. Ever. I am not your child."

The surprised look before her almost got Christine off guard, but there was no time to wonder how the mysterious mister Destler could expose more feelings than the one she was accustomed to – the usual evil amusement. It was time to leave, so she hurried to a one of the three doors of the room and violated the handle. Then she turned, eyes closed and smiled.

"Where's the key?"

"You're not leaving."

Christine plunged her hand in to her purse in a ferocious manner, but Destler's voice stopped her. "Please don't think me so simple that I'd still let you carry that little weapon of yours."

Christine snorted and smiled. "It may be small, but admit, it is handy."

Christine's devious smile just widened when she thought about her last night's escapade, then she noticed that he was smiling too. Whatever for? Her smile lessened a bit. And what he did he want from her? And why was she smiling? She hadn't just found a glock from her purse. And shouldn't his eyes be pink, at least? She thought that the pepper spray would have irritated longer than 12 hours. Maybe he had some sort of eye disease that protected him. That wouldn't surprise her. She could have sworn that sometimes those blue eyes turned to yellow and even glowed in the dark - it had happened too many times to pass as a figment of wild imagination, but even still... Christine did not want to think about it.

What were her options now? She didn't know in what shape Destler was. But he was a man and she was a woman and her last exercise was a jog two months ago. Shit. Mrs. Chokawitz, her gym teacher in high school, would have killed her if she knew what kind of slop she had become.

"Sit."

Really, she had no idea what kind of man her boss was or what was his profession. Obviously he was rich and held power over those cretins that claimed to be from the police. And she was a perfect catch to kill. Why is it that parentless life seems to always lead orphans straight in to the cannibal's den? Was her destiny to be the like of Oliver Twist's? Though she couldn't know for sure, she hadn't finished that book either.

"Sit."

Christine sighed. Even if she had the spray, he'd know her moves (actually one move, "pressing the bottle"). Sure she could bite but he could hit. Now that was a matter she didn't want to get acquainted with. She almost threw up when she recalled a woman in her house, always carrying new bruises after Saturday night when her horrible husband finally found his way back home. Christine had promised to herself that if she ever worked in a bar, she wouldn't hesitate to take action in the name of poison if she spotted vile and evil drunk people.

"Christine Daly, I told you to sit!"

Like two popsicles, her legs dragged their way to a brown chair in front of his desk and like a humongous ice cube, her derriere smacked on the chair. She didn't really want to look into his eyes, so she kept her gaze steady on the carpet. Silence fell upon them. Irritated, Christine started to count the seconds. What the hell was he waiting for? Did meat taste better when scared to shitless? She laughed morbidly when paused to think. Silly you, of course it would!

For a micro second she finally let her eyes rose and when their eyes met, he stated simply:

"I need you."