Chapter Seven
In Chicago the wind blows cold on the skin
Of school girls waiting for a sign
Someday the fun, the California sun
Will call from the end of the long yellow line
"Grissom will come for me, you cowardly bastard. And when he does, he will run you through with nary a second thought of soiling his blade with your filthy, yellow-tainted blood."
Sara spoke with a deadly calm that belied the panic filling her heart. She was bound hand and foot to a musty bed in a dusty room in a curiously empty and isolated inn. A single candle perched atop the mantle did little to chase away the gloomy shadows in the sparsely furnished stone room. No fire had been laid and the chill from the raging storm without slipped through chinks in the wall's aging mortar. A single jagged flash of lightning suddenly illuminated the small chamber and Sara gazed upon the crazed face of her captor with a growing sense of terror and helplessness.
"I am Grissom! I am the ONLY Grissom!" Tarek roared over the howling wind from a darkened corner near the cold fireplace. "That one you beseech to save you is nothing more than a vile pretender bearing that name by an accident of birth," he spat. "Had I but had my way he would have been dead and gone long before he reached his fifth year, drowned in a trough like all other worthless and unwanted mongrels threatening to defile a champion line."
His voice softened as he approached the bed. Sara tried to twist away as he ran a single finger down her cheek and laughed softly. "I am counting on him coming, you haughty, spoiled bitch. You are nothing more than a tasty morsel of bait to ensnare him. I have written this whole sordid little play just for the two of you."
"Yes, Princess," Tarek sneered, moving away from the bed to pace about in the tiny room. "Gil will come and when he does I shall chain him to the door and take my time with him. You will watch, helpless, while I strip his flesh inch by insolent inch." He turned abruptly and stalked back to her side, his rancid breath fanning across her terrified features. "Yes, Princess, I am going to kill him, and I shall enjoy every moment of his pain and suffering. And would you like to know what will make it even more satisfying?" He gave her no chance to respond, running his question directly into the answer without pausing. "There is not a damn thing you can do to help him."
And she calls on her friends and a few someday men
She is going for a ride
Illinois rain will never be the same
For Jenny is getting out alive
Sara's blood ran cold at the madness in his voice. "Why do you hate him so? What injury has he done to cause you to harbor such hatred for him?"
"Let me tell you a little story, my dear Sara, and reveal to you a dark family secret. I am not truly the first-born," he whispered loudly, a falsely conspiratorial tone to his hiss. Tarek saw Sara's eyebrows rise in curiosity and laughed a little at her surprise. "There was a son before me, Sarus was his name. Oh how my parents loved and doted upon him. But sadly, Sarus was a sickly babe and died of a fever before he reached his first birthday. My parents, from what I understand, were inconsolable." His words were accompanied by an overly dramatic sigh that made mockery of his parents' sorrow.
Tarek pulled a rickety wooden chair from one of the corners of the room and placed it beside the bed. Sara tried to scoot farther to the far side of the bed, away from him, but the rawhide laces held her fast. She had no choice but to lay in apparent submission while he eased himself into the chair. Tarek squirmed against the wooden seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. Several minutes passed, the chair groaning in protest, until he finally seemed satisfied and resumed his tale.
"I came along two years after poor Sarus died and became the sole focus of my parents' lives. Father often said that my birth returned the light to my mother's eyes," he remembered fondly. A soft light glowed in his eyes as he remembered what for him, Sara was certain, were idyllic times. "I but had to point and anything I wished became mine. I was pampered and petted and loved beyond measure. When time came for me to be sent away to serve as a page Mother could not bear to let me go." Shrugging his shoulders, he chuckled slightly to himself and shook his head. "Father simply paid one of the serfs that farmed the land for him to send his eldest son in my stead. It was all so very easy."
Sara watched her captor carefully, hoping to gain some insight into his moods. She was not ready to give up, for she knew somehow, deep inside, that Grissom was on his way. Her only chance for survival, the only hope she had to gain some sort of advantage for both herself and her knight was to keep Tarek talking. He was growing more and more absorbed by his own narrative and she felt that if she could prod him along, encourage him to continue, Grissom might be able to turn the tables and launch a surprise attack of his own.
"That serf should have paid my father instead of my father paying him, you know." The casual comment was laced with derision. "That common, brainless child received an amazing gift…the chance to rise above his lowly station in life. They never thanked us for that. Instead of honoring my father for offering their son a better life, those ungrateful wretches chose to blame him when their hapless son was killed in a joust, daring to suggest that it should have been me."
The underlying outrage in Tarek's tone caused Sara to cringe. She worried that he was working himself into a rage once again and nearly breathed a sigh of relief when he continued in a blithe manner. "Oh, well," he said, waving a hand in dismissal. "It matters not. My life remained gloriously perfect despite those unwarranted accusations."
Tarek's face suddenly darkened, his brows lowering and his thin upper lip curling into a sneer. "And then Gil came along late the following summer," he spat, "and everything changed."
Jenny at the wheel, she looks hard for the way
Oh, to the land of the sun
Jenny at the wheel and the far distant star
That, oh, she believes is the one
A blinding flare of lightening illuminated Tarek's face. The answering explosion of thunder seemed to Sara to herald the return of his darker mood. The howling wind and driving rain battered the lone window and the candle lighting her makeshift prison cell flickered bravely against the onslaught. Her captor leaned back in his chair and propped his feet on the bed next to her thighs as he sank deeper into thought. When he finally spoke, Sara nearly jumped in response to the ill-concealed venom in his tone.
"Gil was as different from me as the night is from the day. He had a bright mop of golden ringlets atop his head and was of fairer complexion." Despite the gravity or her predicament, Sara could not help the small, wistful smile that touched her face at Tarek's description of his younger brother. She could nearly see the curly-headed sturdy, stocky lad toddling along after his father or older brother. "My father often said," Tarek continued, pulling Sara's mind back from her fanciful musings, "that we were the light and the dark and together completed the endless cycle of spinning time. We were opposites, he said, but that we would each complement the other with our differing weaknesses and strengths."
Rapidly lowering his feet to the floor with a resounding thud, Tarek rose from his chair and began pacing again, his strides choppy and agitated. "All at once my parents' attention was pulled from me and I was forced to share everything with my younger brother. It was not fair. You see, I had always been told that I was the chosen one, a special gift from God and suddenly I had to fight for attention."
"'Not now, Tarek, Gil needs to eat.' 'You must be quiet, Tarek, Gil is napping.'" Sara nearly laughed aloud as Tarek's voice slipped into a high-pitched falsetto and his hands fluttered about in an exaggerated imitation of his mother.
He stopped suddenly and glared at her, as if she was somehow to blame for the events replaying themselves in his mind. "It did not help matters that at a young age my little brother showed a keen intelligence and soon surpassed me in horsemanship and other physical games. You see, Gil was a natural and everything came easily to him. His strengths soon surpassed mine and I was viewed as a fragile lad, a weakling. I felt my Father's attention shifting away from me as he spent more and more time with Gil. And I did not like it, not one bit." His voice had turned dangerous, as dark and deadly as the storm raging outside. Sara shuddered, the fear rising steadily in her throat.
Tarek resumed his frantic pacing, grinding his right fist into the open palm of his left hand as he grew more agitated by the memories he was recounting. "Many times I tried to do Gil harm, to maim or even cripple him, to knock him down a peg and even the plain." Tarek's eyes grew distant and his tone soft and wondering. "Gil never fought back. I could pummel him, knock him down, it did not matter. He simply got up, brushed himself off and kept going. He never, ever tried to fight back."
He stopped, standing before the window to stare blindly at the driving rain. Sara knew she had to keep him talking, had to give Grissom time to find her. She had tested her bonds and the rawhide laces binding her to the bed were far too tight for her to break. Without Grissom, she knew she would never be able to escape whatever it was that Tarek had planned for her.
"Anyway," Tarek continued, shaking his head to pull him from his reverie, "one day Father caught me trying to drown my beloved baby brother in the horse trough. 'Tis a shame he stopped me. It would have saved me much grief. Shortly thereafter, Gil was sent to Saint Benet's and never again returned home. I can only assume that my parents finally realized they had begat a mongrel and were therefore forced to banish him to preserve the sanctity of the family line."
"I thought that was the end of him, for well and truly it seemed he had died. No further mention was made with regard to him and I was finally rid of him for good. But not all was well. My mother became even more protective after that. As far as she was concerned, two sons were now dead to her and I once again received that full measure of her attention which was my due."
He grew pensive again and Sara was starting to get dizzy trying to keep up with his abrupt changes of mood. She was trying desperately to maintain her wits but the sheer terror of her captivity was threatening to overwhelm her. It was getting more and more difficult for her to think and fully concentrate on Tarek's tale.
"When I stood poised on the brink of manhood, ready to go out and make my mark upon the world, King Radulfus came to call unexpectedly. There was nothing to herald his arrival, no time to properly prepare for his visit. Prince James, you see, was in need of a mentor, someone to guide him. King Radulfus thought me to be the perfect companion as I was a bit older and properly educated in the art of being a gentleman. Again, my mother refused. I begged and pleaded with her to allow me to go but she stood firm.
Tarek leaned his forehead against the shuddering glass and drummed his fingers absently on the windowpane. When he continued, his voice was flat. "Father was apparently desperate to retain the King's favor and managed to strike a bargain. Despite the fact that my worthless brother knew next to nothing about the ways of the Court and society, Father was able to convince Radulfus that Gil would be a good companion for the Prince; that the structure and rigidity of his monastic upbringing would help subdue the more impetuous and wild side of James' nature." Tarek breathed a heavy sigh. "You know the rest, Princess. Gil was removed from the monastery and sent to serve your father instead of me."
"How I envied him that stroke of fortune," he said, turning abruptly from the window to resume his frantic pacing, his voice growing louder with every pass across the small room. "I would have given anything to be so close to the crown, to have that power. Had I been but permitted, I would no doubt be king by now." Tarek whirled and pinned Sara with an icy emerald glare in response to her horrified gasp. "Yes, my dear. I would have happily murdered your father and convinced the grieving King Radulfus to name me as his sole heir."
But no," he raged, the mad gleam in his eyes glowing brighter, "I remained at home, safely ensconced in our keep. There were so many times I wanted to harm my mother, so many times I pictured myself placing my hands about her scrawny neck and squeezing the life out of her for denying me this opportunity. I could do little more than sit by and bitterly eat my heart out with gut-churning jealousy as I watched my simpleton brother grow in fame and stature."
New Mexico fell in an adobe motel
With JC working on her car
And she fell for his line she has heard many times
From boys about to go to far
"I nearly got rid of him, you know...twice, to be exact," Tarek said in a conversational tone. "Once, shortly after his dubben, I caused Gil to be exiled. He laughed cruelly at Sara's startled expression. "Oh, he did not tell you, Princess?" he asked with a contemptuous sneer. "I cannot imagine why neither he nor your father have ever spoken of this matter. It is such a glorious tale; one I am quite proud of for the planning was a stroke of sheer genius on my part."
Tarek sighed then, a weary exhalation as if the recounting of his deeds was as strenuous as enacting them. "Twas a shame that your father did not have him beheaded or that he was not killed during the Third Crusade. Either of those blessed outcomes would have saved me much aggravation. As it was, I was forced to pay another a handsome sum of gold to try to murder him while away on his latest adventure."
"It matters not, for my mind is settled," he stated decisively. "If I want things done properly and wish to rid myself of him once and for all, I shall have to kill the bastard myself. There is no other way."
Tarek brought the full measure of his attention back to his helpless prisoner, enjoying the way she sought to avoid his stare. He addressed her in an almost casual, friendly tone, as if they were discussing the evening fare instead of his deep-seated hatred for his younger brother.
"So you see, Princess, had Gil not been born, none of that would have happened. I would not have been forced to share and would not have had to take such drastic action to remove that blight from my world. It is all really very simple." Tarek returned to Sara's side and ran a narrow finger down her cheek again and over her tightly pursed lips. She was unable to withhold the shudder that shook her slight frame, nor mask the look of revulsion that momentarily replaced the fear in her eyes. Tarek just smiled at her, his hand moving to play with a strand of her unbound hair. "He took from me things that were rightfully mine. I have been made to suffer merely from his God-forsaken presence from the moment he was born."
"Yes, I hate him." His face was deeply etched fury as he choked out his loathing in Sara's ear, the tenor and volume of his voice rising with every word. "I hate him with a passion you can never hope to fathom. I will not rest until I see him dead and buried. He has always been thought to be the better of the two of us and I am going to prove once and for all that I am far superior, a greater man than he could ever have hoped to be."
She is driving again with no money to spend
And a card that shows her daddy's name
She believes any day that they'll show her the way
To the bright blazing sun of the Playa Del Rey
A terrible quiet descended upon the small room following Tarek's thunderous rant. He had returned to his seat beside the bed and slumped wearily as if drained from all that he had revealed. Sara kept a watchful eye on him as she lay quietly and listened to the hammering rain. His eyes were closed and Sara studied him openly as she turned over all that he had said.
"That is it?" Sara asked, unable to curb her tongue or hide her disbelief. Tarek cracked open a single eye in lazy regard. "You despise him simply because he is your brother?"
"It is reason enough, my dear," he replied smoothly, rising to his feet and kicking the chair away from the bed. "I do not share and I will have no other trying to take what is rightfully mine." Tarek walked to the hearth of the cold fireplace and began to unbuckle his belt. "All that Gil has done, all the fame and glory and wealth he has amassed in his life thus far should be mine. I am the eldest, the first-born. All that he has will be mine very soon, including you." Sara's eyes widened in sheer terror as the full implication of Tarek's words sank in.
He flashed a cruel smile, his white teeth glinting against the gloom as he set his heavy belt aside and sauntered leisurely back to the bed. "You are nothing but bait, Princess, a way to lure him here. I have seen the way you look at him and the way he looks at you. I am going to punish him by hurting you." He barked a harsh laugh as Sara struggled against her restraints, trying vainly to avoid the hand that had slowly started running up and down her arm.
"Oh yes, I will make him suffer far more than he has ever known and then I am going to kill him." Tarek paused, his gaze boring into Sara's. "You see, my fair Princess, I am going to take the only thing he holds dear and destroy it before his very eyes."
Sara struggled to swallow around the hard knot of horror in her throat, trying to quell the overwhelming panic rising and burning like acid from the depths of her stomach. She knew, in that single moment, as blinding and revealing as the bright lightning flashing outside the window, that Tarek meant all that he said. He was going to rape her before Grissom's very eyes and then he would kill Gil before murdering her as well.
A harsh chuckle returned her attention to the man watching her from the foot of the bed. She had one move left upon the board, one last threat to hurl at her captor. Drawing a calming breath to cover the tremor in her voice, she tossed her final die in hopes of breaking through his madness and reasoning with him.
"Even if you should somehow prevail and manage to kill Grissom," she began in a flat, emotionless voice, "my father will hunt you down like the black-hearted devil that you are. You will never have a moment's rest. You will always be looking over your shoulder. You will be branded as a murder and a rapist and live out your days hiding in caves and burrows. He'll not rest until your head rolls off the block."
"That will never happen," he said in a flat, matter-of-fact tone.
"You don't believe my father will scour every nook and cranny of this land to find you?" she asked with an arch of her eyebrow.
"I have no doubt that he will release his hounds of hell upon me. But he will never catch me. I will never give you or Gil or even the King that kind of satisfaction and power over me." He caught her eyes with his own, piercing jade holding shrinking russet, and purposefully began unwinding his cross garters. "Once I regain all that Gil has stolen from me, I will flee. And should your father's knaves be clever enough to find me, I will simply take my own life. But I will rob him, and you, of your vengeance and go to my grave knowing that I have won."
"You are a coward," she whispered. "You are nothing but a grand gutless caitiff."
Jenny at the wheel, she looks hard for the way
Oh, to the land of the sun
Jenny at the wheel and the far distant star
That, oh, she believes is the one
"You are mad and you are a great spineless goat." Sara's voice started as a soft taunt but rose steadily in volume as she released everything that she was feeling. All of the anger and the fear, the sickening dread and sinking hope, came bursting forth in venomous gasping blasts of contempt. "You are but a weakling milksop and a hopeless poser. Everything that has transpired you have brought upon yourself. You set the wheel in motion. He but made the best of all that you heaped upon him. You can never hope to equal him even should you live five hundred years."
Tarek's eyes flashed and his long fingers curled tightly into fists. Sara watched his sallow complexion darken with fury but could not stop. Her words were the only weapon she had at her disposal and she refused to let Tarek win, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cower and beg for mercy. Surrender was not an option. She was going to fight him tooth and nail to the bitter end.
"The only dubben you can ever hope to attain is that of carpet knight. You lack the courage to brandish your sword in any place other than the bed chamber and from what I hear you lack skill and grace with your puny dagger there as well!"
Tarek's furious roar echoed in her head, her ears ringing with the force of the blow as his fist crashed against her face in a potent surge of anger. Sara choked back the cry clogging her throat, closing her eyes tightly against the tears that threatened to fall. Her cheek throbbed in hot achy pulses that matched the frantic beating of her heart. "I am not a pretender, you high and mighty bitch," Tarek seethed, his hand poised for another blow, "and I am no one's fool."
He shook himself, fighting to calm his murderous rage. Sara's eyes cracked open in time to see him lower his fist to his side. She drew a shuddering breath as Tarek's voice softened and sliced her with its icy madness. "Oh, Gil tried to make sport of me and shame me before my peers. I can still hear the laughter ringing in my ears." His gaze turned as frosty as his tone. "That is a crime for which I cannot forgive him. I shall have the last laugh."
"You shamed yourself, you braying ass." Sara's bravado, while forced, carried enough heat to set her tormentor back on his heels. "You first sent your hapless son to challenge him and then had no choice but to try to save face by fighting him yourself. I'm not sure he even broke a sweat in his effort with you. It could not have lasted more than a minute or two." She smiled coldly, her words as sharp and piercing as a thrust of a finely honed sword. Bracing herself for the abuse she knew would follow, Sara allowed her loathing of Tarek to flow into the simple honesty of her words.
"You will never be the man that he is and should have never tried to best him. He is far superior in every way and you will never win."
The open handed blow split her lip and Sara tasted blood against her tongue. He grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked cruelly, forcing her attention upon him. She gasped against the harsh pull and, gathering her flagging courage, spit at him; her disdainful, wordless response spattering his twisted features with a mixture of blood and saliva.
Tarek grasped the high neckline of her dress just above her collarbones. Wrenching both of hands in a swift downward jerk, he savagely parted her gown and bodice to the waist. He licked his lips, lust momentarily supplanting his anger as her bosom spilled forth from the shredded fabric. Sara bit her tongue in an effort not to cry out as his claw-like fingers encased her right breast in a brutal, constricting grip. He viciously increased the pressure, using his free hand to unhook the upper garters that held his chausses to his braises.
"Say my name, Princess," he snarled, his tone low and ruthless. "Say my name like you love me, like you want me and I will try to be gentle"
Sara tried to shrink away from his ruthless fondling but the rawhide laces held her fast. She knew he would take her in the most barbaric way he could regardless of whether or not she spoke his name as he commanded. She heaved a gasping breath against the burning agony coursing through her body and whispered a single, hopeful syllable."
"Gil..."
"SAY MY NAME!" he thundered, his voice matching the pitch and intensity of the storm raging outside. His wrapped his hands tightly around her neck, squeezing dangerously as his chausses and braises slid to the cold stone floor. His bared his teeth with a malevolent hiss, spitting his fury in her face. "Say my name you worthless whore. SAY MY NAME!"
"GRIS!"
Jenny at the wheel, she looks hard for the way
Oh, to the land of the sun
Jenny at the wheel and the far distant star
That, yeah, she believes is the one1
1 "Jenny at the Wheel." Words and Music by John Stewart. (The Secret Tapes '86 - Homecoming, 450, 1986)
