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VVVVVV
CHAPTER NINE
One night, seeing her look very sad,
The Beast asked her what was the matter.
…
So she answered that she wished to see her home once more.
Upon hearing this the Beast seemed sadly distressed,
And cried miserably:
"Ah, Beauty, have you the heart to desert an unhappy
Beast like this?
What more do you want to make you happy?
Is it because you hate me that you want to escape?"
VVV
Gabriel slammed his fingers down on the piano keys, then buried his stinging face in his hands, breathing hard. His whole chest deeply, literally ached, as if his bloodstreams were being rewired—as if his heart was trying to force life and feeling into places it had never been before. He couldn't bear it. And at the same time, he longed for more of it. He had no idea what was happening to him. Maybe he really had lost his mind.
He gasped and swiped the tears from his face with one hand.
"What the heck is going on? I'm hearing screaming upstairs, banging piano music—"
Gabriel spun, blinking through wet lashes, to see a tousled-haired Peter emerge from the bedroom that was attached to the living room.
"Sorry," Gabriel mumbled, getting up from the bench. Peter halted. His eyes flashed.
"What happened?"
Gabriel cleared his throat and shook his head.
"Claire and I…I tried to talk to her."
Peter looked at him sideways and closed the distance between them. Gabriel ducked his head away from Peter's scrutiny.
"She hit you," Peter said.
"It's still red?" Gabriel's hand flew to his face. "I wouldn't think…"
"Is she okay?"
"I didn't hurt her," Gabriel snapped, his vision blurring again.
"Hey, I know," Peter gripped his arm. Then his hand softened, and he patted Gabriel's shoulder. "I'll go up and check on her."
Gabriel nodded swiftly, head low. Peter let go of him and trotted up the stairs. However, he had not even gotten past the tenth step before Emma came hurrying down, still in her pajamas, her hair in disarray.
"What's wrong?" Peter asked, taking hold of her elbow.
"Claire is gone," Emma gasped. Peter's eyes widened.
"What?"
Gabriel whirled around, his gaze flying to the front door.
"She didn't go that way."
"There's a back door—" Peter started. Gabriel knocked the piano bench out of the way with his knee—it fell over. He raced around the staircase toward Peter's room, then down the hall, through the pantry—
And jerked to a halt. The back door hung open, its hinges squeaking quietly in the night breeze.
"No," he gasped, and burst through it. His feet hit the gravel path of the garden, and his eyes darted back and forth, searching the reaches of the shadows. He strained his hearing. Nothing came to him except the distant rustling of the branches.
He put both hands to his head and stumbled backward, closing his eyes and clenching his teeth.
"What have I done?"
VVVVVVVVV
I stared out the window of the semi truck, even though I could see nothing. It was still too dark. But I would rather pretend to be occupied with my surroundings than make conversation with the smelly driver.
I had run from the bed and breakfast as fast as I could, the plastic bag of my things slapping against me. I had clambered over the wall, knocked through a stretch of woods, and finally found a road. I had stood there half an hour before anyone came by. When a big semi came around the bend, I had held out my thumb so the headlights would be sure to catch sight of me.
When the semi had slowed, I definitely had second thoughts. The driver leering down at me had a scruffy beard, no teeth and beady eyes.
"Where ya headin'?" he had asked.
"New York," I answered.
"I'm goin' that way for a while, but then I'm turning west." He had kicked the door open, then. "I'll drop you off at the turnin' point."
"Thanks," I had managed, and crawled inside.
We had been driving for about two hours now, and the night was deep. I guessed it was around one in the morning—the cab clock was broken.
The truck rumbled around a corner, headlights sweeping the bases of the trees, and at last we came to some semblance of civilization. I squinted and leaned forward. It looked like a bar on the outskirts of a town.
The driver pulled in to the half-full parking lot, the brakes squealed, and he put it in park.
"This is as far as you go, little lady," he said. "Good luck."
"Thanks," I said again, pushed the door open and got out, grateful to be out in the fresh air again.
My feet hit the cracked pavement of the parking lot and I got well away from the huge, loud vehicle as it slowly turned and lumbered back onto the highway. Swallowing, I turned to the bar. Maybe I could find someone inside willing to give me a ride.
Drawing myself up, I strode across the parking lot and up to the door. The bar windows were tinted black, and neon signs that hung in them lit the area around the front steps. I pushed open the door.
Noise and smoke assaulted me. It was warm in here. I ducked my head and squinted, but kept going. There were probably thirty people in this low-ceilinged, dimly-lit room. The area behind the bar was better lit, and the bar was crowded—mostly with men. Loud music issued from speakers I couldn't see. People laughed and shouted over the music. I studied all their faces—as much as I could see—and drifted toward the end of the bar, to an empty stool. Gingerly, I perched atop it and leaned my elbows on the bar.
"Can I get you anything, honey?" The bald-headed bar-tender asked, wiping his hands on a rag.
"I'm thinking," I bluffed, giving him a smile. He smiled back.
"Take your time." He headed to the other end of the bar. I watched him go.
And then I caught sight of them.
Five men at the other end of the bar were watching me. They were dressed similarly—black leather, and some chains. One of them had a shaved head, and a bad scar on the left side of his face. They started whispering to each other, but their attention kept focusing back on me.
One of them—a younger man with long black hair—smiled at me. The leer reminded me of a wolf. I glared back, then pretended to scan the beer labels in front of me.
But the hair on the back of my neck began to prickle. My hands slowly closed into fists.
This had been a bad idea. It would be better to walk down the road and head toward the town, maybe find an all-night diner.
Without a backward glance, I got up, headed for the door, and swept back out into the windy night.
Two footsteps sounded behind me.
"Where are you headed, sweetheart?"
I smelled the alcohol as soon as I felt his breath on the back of my neck. I didn't turn. I didn't say anything.
I ran.
My feet pounded the gravel as I threw myself into a full-out sprint. I dropped my bag, letting my arms pump freely. I heard the man swear from behind me, then shout orders.
And then, like a pack, the five men suddenly closed in around me.
I had to skid to a halt in the gray light of a streetlamp to keep from running straight into the one with long, black hair. He sneered at me again.
Someone grabbed my left arm. I whipped around and struck him with my right fist. I hit him somewhere in the throat. He gagged and let go of me.
"Oooh, fellas, this one's got a bit of fight," the bald, scarred one crowed. "C'mon, honey, just give us what we want and everything will be okay."
"I don't have anything," I insisted, spinning to face him. "Leave me alone."
"Oh, we can't do that now that you've hit Joe in the neck," the bald one shook his head. "Just hold still."
My heartbeat thundered in my ears. I backed away from him. Another set of hands snatched at my right arm. I beat him off. But then another pair grabbed hold of fistfuls of my hair and jerked me backward. I yelped, my balance thrown. I clawed at them, trying not to fall. Then one of them came around and cuffed me in the face.
I felt the blow thud through my head. I didn't feel its pain. But that made it no less real.
The bald one, eyes wide, his scar standing out freakishly in this light, advanced on me. And suddenly his followers had hold of both my arms. He nodded at one of them. And they ripped off my jacket, wrenching my arms. They threw it aside. And one of them slid his hands around my waist from behind.
And then it came to me, like a bucket of ice water drenching me.
I knew what they were going to do.
"No!" I shrieked, thrashing as hard as I could. I bit one man in the arm, but got only thick leather. I kicked out, but only delivered a glancing blow to one shin. The bald one came up and hit me again in the face. And again.
"No! No, don't!" I wailed. "Please!"
He hit me again. I felt blood run down my mouth.
"Shut up," he snarled. Tears scorched my face, blurring my vision. I thrashed again. A hand took hold of a piece of my hair and ripped it out. And my head whiplashed backward, I lost my footing and fell onto my back.
I struck the cold pavement and couldn't breathe. I tried to take a gasping breath, but it would not come. The men pinned my arms over my head. I kicked and kicked. Two more guys grabbed my legs. The bald man grinned, showing a missing front tooth, and bent over me.
"You shouldn't have fought so hard," he said. "You've made me mad, now. But we're still gonna have a little fun." And he reached down and grabbed the top of my pants.
"No!" I shrieked.
He froze. For an instant, my hazy mind thought he had heard me. But his head lifted and he gazed up past his gang and frowned.
"What's that?"
And I saw a flash of blue light reflect in his eyes.
TO BE CONTINUED
