ART OF THE DARK - PART 10
Another planet...this place...looks like another planet.
That's what Téa thinks as the small motorboat putts along in the dark, black waves with silvery caps smashing into the side of the boat, roughing it up, pushing it back and forth. Teeth chattering from the intense cold and wetness, she glances up at the man at the controls, a stranger to her. He'd met her at the tiny airport where she had finally landed, so many hours after she'd left home with the twins.
Let's see, she thinks. I've changed planes twice, ridden in a car for at least two hours after that, and now I'm on this ratty-ass boat...Jesus...what the HELL was I thinking?
A mild level of panic washes over her and she looks around wildly. But there's nothing to see...god only knows what time it is...what day it is. They're in the middle of a large body of water in the middle of the night. That's all there is to know. Tears form in her eyes for the millionth time, as she lifts the blanket covering the boys' seats, and starts fussing over them, not knowing what else to do. She re-tucks them in, feeling their foreheads with her gloved hands.
The boys stir and squirm in the seats, starting to become more and more uncomfortable as time goes on. Téa curses under her breath, knowing this isn't good for them, traveling for so long, being out in the cold. They're too young and too vulnerable to handle this and she should know that. Evan starts to kick, making unhappy noises. The man driving the boat glances over as Téa takes him out of the seat. She clutches him to her chest, wrapping the blanket she's wearing around them both. She shushes him, or tries to, sniffling as she rocks him. The man driving flicks his cigarette out into the water, blowing out the last of the smoke.
"He alright?" he asks in his British accent, speaking to her for the first time. Téa looks up at him, surprised, then she sniffles again, her nose starting to run from the cold.
"Not really. It's too cold out here."
"Ahhh," the man says, splitting his attention between her and the water. He adjusts the wheel a touch, effortlessly, it seems. "Well, pity that."
Téa makes a face at his callous tone. "Umm...look, not to be pushy, but...where are we going?"
He looks back at her, studying her this time. "We'll be there soon enough...then you can get the poor lads into a nice, heated car."
She rolls her eyes. "Another car...great," she mutters. Then she shushes Evan some more, her heart breaking at his fussy cries, his obvious discomfort. She feels like the worst parent ever. But then she looks over at Brendan and, as usual, he just sits there in the seat, staring back at her. She almost laughs because it is incredible, ridiculously incredible, how calm he is. Sure, he's squirming and undoubtedly as uncomfortable as Evan but he just isn't making a big deal out of it. The look on his face as he stares back at her is almost a "what're you lookin' at?"
Unable to help it, Téa cracks up at him and finds herself calming down as a result. She reaches over, takes his hand, and kisses it. Just then, she feels the engine downshifting, the steady roar becoming more like an idle. She looks up at the stranger who looks back at her with a grin, pointing off to the side. Téa looks, and sees lights that seem to have just appeared out of nowhere. She sighs, relieved to at least see something besides the water. She turns on her little bench-like seat, tightening her hold on Evan as the boat approaches the docks.
She sees a few small buildings and a couple of similar boats tied to the other docks that are listing back and forth. Her nose wrinkles at the strong smell of salt water and dead fish. Then she looks up and sees a figure standing on the dock they're about to tie on to. With the light coming from behind, the person is silhouetted but it doesn't matter. She knows who it is.
Evan's fussing gets louder, drawing her attention back to him. The boat rocks as it gets pulled in toward the dock and Téa quickly grabs onto Brendan's seat to keep him from sliding away. She sees the rope thrown around the pile, sees it getting wrapped and tied. The driver then steps toward her, immediately going for Brendan's seat.
Instinctively, Téa stops him. "What're you doing?" She knows her fear is obvious.
The man backs off, hands up. "Whoa, whoa... relax, love. Jus' givin' you a hand is all."
She hesitates, looking him up and down. The man actually chuckles, seemingly to laugh at her, "You're more than welcome to TRY and get you AND your nippers up that ladder."
"My what?"
He just shakes his head and extends his hand once more before muttering, "Your bairn, children... nippers."
Téa rolls her eyes, glancing over at the makeshift wooden thing he called a ladder which was hardly that, nailed to the side of the dock and not very well at that. She sighs, realizing once again that she's in very unfamiliar territory and with a conciliatory face, she lets go of Brendan's seat, allowing him to take it.
"Sorry," she says quietly.
The man nods, picking Brendan up, then gesturing for her to go first. Téa stands up, wobbling with the boat as the man catches her elbow and gently guides her to the ladder. She looks at it, realizing that she doesn't quite know how to climb it without letting go of Evan. Just then, a shadow falls on her face, cast by the man standing there. He squats down at the top of the ladder, his hands out to her.
"I'll take him," he says, and she's struck for a second at the sound of the voice. She stares up at his shadowy face a moment and then hands a fussing Evan over to him. She watches as he puts him on his shoulder, then offers her his free hand. A surge of electricity runs through her arm as she takes it. Real or imagined, she doesn't know.
Once she's up on semi-solid ground, the two of them stand there, surprised to see each other again, even though they knew they would. Téa gets a better look at Dean now, though his face is still covered by the shadow of his baseball cap. She sees the two waiting cars behind him, both of them running. He makes a face, something like a smile, then hands Evan back to her, still crying. She wraps him up in her coat again, watching as Dean goes back and takes Brendan from the driver who then climbs up with Evan's empty seat and the one bag she'd packed.
Evan's fussing becomes full-on crying now. Téa tries to shush him, but knows it won't do any good. The poor kid's just too cold, too hungry, too uncomfortable. She shrugs a little, explaining, "I'm sorry but I need to feed them. We better get going."
Dean nods and puts Brendan down a second to pull an envelope out of his jacket and hand it to the other man. "Thanks, man," he says, "I'll take it from here."
The man nods at him, then at Téa. "Pleasure doin' business wit'ya," he says, then walks off, toward one of the cars. He jumps in and drives off, quickly disappearing. A quick moment of awkwardness falls between Téa and Dean, but Evan's insistent crying breaks it.
"C'mon, let's get them in the car," he says, grabbing both seats and the bag. A whoosh of heat from inside the car hits Téa as Dean opens the back door for her. She gets in, surprised again and taken off-guard by his thoughtfulness. Only a thoughtful person would have made sure the heater was already running. The weirdness of that thought-and the whole situation in general-sends a chill down her back. She does not forget who this is, what he did. But just as strong as the kidnapping burns inside so do the memories of his rescuing her from those men… and now from…
Don't say it. Don't think it. This is best. This is needed.
She wills the complicated thoughts away, turning her attention back to the boys. Dean places Brendan beside her, before closing the door and getting in front. They drive around the area, and Téa caresses Evan. He's quiet, probably from the change of scenery. They snake about blocks and blocks of abandoned factories. One or two are up and running and if it was daytime Téa imagines she'd see smoke stacks but most are empty. She looks at the buildings with a growing, dreaded sense of deja vu. She tries to will it away but fails and the memories are back, fully formed, fully present. It wasn't that long ago she had been in a similar place with this same man but under very different circumstances. It wasn't that long ago this man had drugged her, tied her up, gagged her, and stuffed her in a trunk. This man had been her enemy, this man that was still…
She doesn't want to think of him but he's in her mind now. Forced his way in. A recalled sensual bite of her lip makes her rub her mouth.
Todd...
Dean is still Todd's enemy, she thinks, finishing her thought. She feels a stab of pain, the bruising kiss fading into the recesses of her mind. For the millionth time during this awful trip, she regrets what she's done and wishes she were back at home, back with her husband, back with the man she knows and loves madly.
WHY did I do this again? What the hell was I thinking...?
Then she remembers.
She thinks of Starr, her little legs and feet dangling as Todd held her in that death grip, shaking her, scaring her to death. He'd lost sight of everything that was important and let his rage rule, endangering those nearest and dearest to him. That's why she left. Because he's all in black now, and he's furious, and he frightens her to her core. He's strong and can kill a child without even trying. One real shake and Starr would be dead. Her boys would be dead. She closes her eyes, feeling the urge to cry again because that simply isn't the case. Todd would never. His breakdown with Starr was an aberration, an anomaly. A freak-out. And yet here she is. 3500 miles away from home because of that… aberration.
Space, she thinks, space and time. That's what he needs right now. That's what *I* need right now.
She digs a bottle out of the bag on her shoulder. She shakes it up, examining the formula inside, hating how cold the bottle is. She sighs, dribbling a little on his lip to see if Evan will take it. He makes a face and twists in her arms, obviously displeased. He starts to cry once more.
"Sssshhit," she hisses under her breath, cursing at herself as she cuddles him, feeling again like the worst mother who ever lived before she gets an idea. She glances at Dean's face in the rearview mirror, his eyes seemingly glued to the road. Then, as nonchalantly as possible, she shifts around in the seat, lifting up the bulky sweater she's wearing; and with one more glance Dean's way, she reaches in and pulls her undershirt down, exposing her breast. She shuts her eyes, feeling the cold even in the heated car, as she pulls Evan in to her chest.
"God, I hope this works," she mutters, holding her breath as she watches him. She remembers the nurses in the hospital teaching her how to breastfeed, but being the modern mom, she hadn't really stuck to it. Bottles were easier with twins, even the nurses told her that and of course she had the comforts of home then. Now she was improvising and didn't really know if she had anything in her to give him. To her surprise, he accepts the nipple immediately, gravitating toward her warmth, if nothing else. She lets out an audible sigh of relief, letting her head drop back, as he finally quiets down and suckles.
In the front seat, Dean glances into the rearview and he's surprised to see Téa, a part of her breast exposed. He immediately looks back at the road, but it isn't long before his eyes dart back to her. Téa sighs just then, lifting her head back up … and makes eye contact with him in the mirror. Busted, Dean looks back at the road, clearing his throat...
Téa pulls her coat around Evan, covering herself as best she can. She looks out the window, avoiding him, feeling herself blushing with embarrassment. Then she looks back down at Evan, noticing that he isn't suckling anymore. To her amazement, he's fallen asleep. She can't help but smile at his peaceful face and she kisses his forehead. Then she looks over at Brendan, having almost forgotten about him. She has to smile again, when she sees him sleeping too, calmed by the steady vibration of the car. New tears spring to her eyes as she realizes how well the boys are behaving, how well they're taking it all, how easy they're making things for her. Sniffling, she reaches into the bag and pulls out a cloth diaper. She folds it and places it under Brendan's head, propped up against the side of the seat, making him a little pillow. Then she settles back and glances back in the mirror.
It's just the two of them now and Téa finds she has no idea what to say. Nothing seems appropriate. She sees Dean looking at her, undoubtedly thinking the same thing but after another moment, he clears his throat again.
"Uh...they alright?"
Téa stares into the mirror, frozen again. His voice has such a strange effect on her, equally unsettling and comforting. It throws her off, and makes her search for balance. She doesn't know how she's going to manage the next few hours if this clash of emotions continues. Keeping an eye on him, she eases Evan away from her breast so she can right her clothes.
"Yeah, amazingly enough, they're both asleep."
Dean nods at that, eyes back to the road, and he grins, like he was remembering something. "It's the car. Works every time."
Téa wonders what made him say that. Was he remembering his own childhood or kidnapping Starr or kidnapping HER, for that matter? Did she even want to know? She busies herself with Evan again, making sure she doesn't disturb him as she pulls her sweater down, and holds him close again, covering him with her coat.
"So...where are we going?" she asks.
"Well, I got you a place to stay, this little cottage-type thing. It's out of the way, so nobody'll bother you."
She swallows at that, not sure if she should be thanking him or calling for help. Then she rolls her eyes, realizing how childish she's being. She set this up, she's gotta live with it. Whatever had transpired between them before could no longer matter. The fact was that he was helping her now and that she asked for it. She wanted THIS because in her mind, THIS was the safest route for her children, for herself. She repeats it in her mind, sighing heavily again, and nods to herself.
You set this up. You need to come to terms.
She breathes and tries to be as calm as the boys. She digs deep and a bit of her lawyer-self pops out. Her voice is surprisingly sharp. "I hope you realize that I need to get a few things. Diapers, formula, wipies. I only brought enough for the trip over."
He nods, slowing down as they come to an intersection, then turning off the main road. "Yeah, I thought of that. I picked up some stuff, but if it's not the right thing, y'know, just… jot it down, and I'll go get it."
She stares at him, her defenses on display. She can't control it.
He sees her hard look in the rear-view and shrugs it off. She doesn't trust him, not all the way, and he gets it. He owes her so much, so much recompense. He wishes she could understand that he'd never hurt her again. Not in a million years. He tries to tell her, silently.
"I haven't seen a store," she snaps. "Anywhere."
He smiles, just a quick flash, "Well, we're kinda off the beaten path, tryin' to keep you off the grid. No such thing as a supermarket out here in ye olde boonies."
It took her a second or two. He made a joke. He's mocking England. She softens a little as she looks out the window again, her shoulders dropping. Just a little. He's right about staying out of cities. She'd not be easily found here.
.
"Yeah...guess not," she murmurs.
They drive the rest of the way in silence, albeit slightly less tense. After another five miles or so, Dean turns off the road and onto a dirt path. Téa looks out as the trees open up into a clearing, revealing the small house. Dean pulls the car around to the back of the tiny place, parking there and getting out. He opens the back door, offering a hand to her. It is a strange thing to see him standing there. Her kidnapper, her rescuer.
You asked for this. You believed in this.
She takes his hand, letting him pull her. She holds Evan closer as she watches Dean handle Brendan. He takes his own coat off and puts it over the seat, shielding the baby from the cold. He shuts the door, and locks the car, the beep-beep of the security alarm sounding so loud, booming all over the place, emphasizing how quiet it is, how isolated. She swallows hard. She has to trust herself and the decision she made to come here. She decided this for a reason. She's not a crazy person.
Right?
Téa follows him around to the front, their feet crunching in the gravel. Dean fumbles with the keys, opening the squeaky, wooden door and stepping aside to let her in.
She steps inside, cautiously, looking all around. Everything is dark and the place is as cold inside as it is outside. She backs up against the wall, as Dean steps around her and places Brendan's seat on the floor. He flips on a light, a single central lamp near a couch. The place is cozy.
"Sorry for the temp," he says, then goes back outside, muttering something unintelligible.
Téa picks the seat up, carrying the boys into the living room area. She sits down on the couch, the only piece of furniture except for a coffee table; and looking over at the fireplace that seems so huge in this tiny house, she wonders who was living there before. The place seems so dead, like no one had lived here in many years. Yet the couch and table aren't that old. She sighs again at her lawyerly curiosity, realizing there isn't much point in finding out the history of this place. She doesn't really want to know; not right now, anyway. She's too exhausted to care.
Dean comes back in just then, with an armload of wood from the pile out back, and her bag. He drops the wood by the fireplace, and her bag on the floor, as he sits down, huffing and puffing a little.
"GodDAMN, it's cold...shit," he says, breathing into cupped hands. Téa looks up at him with a tiny, somewhat sympathetic smile. He glances at her, then quickly goes about the business of heating the place. The boys are sleeping and she doesn't want to disturb them so she just watches Dean work the fireplace like an expert. He makes sure he cleans out the ashes and opens the flew before lighting the match. It takes a bit of nurturing but soon the kindling is lit and there's a real fire going.
Her eyes move over to the flame spreading ever so slowly over the logs. The two of them sit watching for a moment, mesmerized by the fire. Dean then holds his frozen hands up to it, nodding at the heat coming off. "Should be warming up now...won't be long," he says, catching her eye again.
Téa looks down, once again, busying herself with Evan who sleepily fussed.
"I'm amazed there's electricity here," she says, not looking at him. "Do I have to do my business in an outhouse?"
Dean smiles sheepishly at that. "Okay, maybe I went overboard on the rustic theme. But it does have a stove, hot water, full bath. No phone though, no internet. Like I said, off the grid."
Téa looks up and both of them finally get up the nerve to look each other in the eye for more than a few seconds. She nods at him, before looking back at the fire. He watches her this time, watches her gaze becoming faraway, sad.
"I'm having a hard time figuring out what to say to you," she suddenly says.
Dean cocks an eyebrow at that...then nods, with a slight laugh. "Yeah, well...same here, so."
Téa looks back at him. "Well… I should thank—"
He shakes his head violently, cutting her off before she can say the words. "No, Téa, Christ… I owe you this. That's all there is to it." They hold each other's gaze for a moment and Téa can suddenly feel the connection between them, the one that saw her to safety, as strong as ever. Whether it's good or bad, she has no idea but it's as uncomfortable as it is real. She looks away, finally, directing her eyes back to the fire burning pretty well now.
Dean clears his throat again, as he takes his coat back and puts it on. "Um...I'm gonna go get some more wood. Be right back."
Téa nods, not wanting to look up until he's gone. She hears the door open and close. Then she gets up, carefully lifting Brendan out of the seat onto the couch. She places him in the best spot to get some heat, then stands with Evan, rocking him a little as he sleeps in her arms. She gets her back and sets it on the floor so that if Brendan rolls over, the fall would be gentle. She'd change him, they should both be changed, but the idea of the bedroom and the cold of it puts her off.
She wanders into the little kitchen area, looking in the bags sitting on the counter. Bottled water and food: bread, cheese, fruit, that kind of easy, no-hassle stuff and yes, baby items. With her free arm, she digs through the bag and finds cans of some kind of instant, powdered formula she doesn't recognize. She's definitely not in Kansas anymore.
She examines the label, making sure it'll be okay for them and then for kicks, she opens the fridge. A big can of coffee and some milk. She sighs as she walks into the other room. Just as cold as she imagined. It's a small bedroom, with a smaller fireplace, and a decent-sized bed. She pushes down on the mattress, then sniffs her hand to see how musty the bedding is and surprisingly, it's not. A pile of extra blankets sits on the bed, along with several large packages of diapers.
"God," she whispers, realizing she doesn't need anything else. He's taken care of it all and she didn't even have to ask. She sits down on the bed with Evan, suddenly overwhelmed by that thought and a horrible, sick feeling in her stomach.
This isn't right. What am I DOING here?! This is all so fucked up.
She sniffles, starting to cry, knowing exactly why she feels so sick...so empty inside…
...because Todd isn't here. Because he's been gone for such a long time.
With the precision of a deadly tornado, Todd rips the penthouse apart, rifling through everything to find a clue which would tell him into which dark forest of the world his wife and their two precious children have disappeared. Because surely, it must be far, it must be goddamned light years away to escape him ... to escape that consuming anger he treasures.
Room by room, he wrecks the perfect decor, tearing down the semblance of a beautiful life that once held so much promise. Grunts and growls can be heard, the fluttering of paper, the slamming closed of drawers, the occasional shattering of something valuable.
Where ... where is she? Tell me ... where she's run to.
RJ follows the path of destruction like the shadow of a setting sun, reviewing the rejected paperwork, checking and double-checking the discarded and the ignored, ducking sometimes, but following, always following. The previous night, he listened to the phone taps and had come up empty-handed but for one miniscule section. He had heard a unique rumbling in the background of a Shelton conversation with Téa. Some noise. Right away, he sent that piece to a computer geek associate to find out what the sound could be, hoping it might indicate where Shelton called from. And now, he's glad he did that because in the end, after exhausting family as Téa's destination, RJ believes — no, he knows Shelton holds the answers.
He can remember all too well the look in Téa's eyes at the mention of her kidnapper, the protectiveness there, the flicker of comfort. But she's wrong, he argues, she's confused, lost. She should be home with her family, with her husband ... right? He watches him at that.
Right, she should be with him? With Todd?
Todd's cool as he tosses and picks and crumples and breaks and reads, his eyes quick, animal-like. The man's facial expressions barely change from the scowl he wears. He's more like a machine, RJ concludes. Gotta job, don't be distracted, get it done. Read, contemplate, evaluate.
Whatcha gonna do, Toddie-boy, when you get your hands on that Téa of yours? You gonna save her… or are you gonna kill her?
It's done now. The penthouse has been ransacked and nothing has been found to tell Todd where Téa went with the boys. RJ isn't sure it's all bad; he's worried for Téa, wants her someplace safe, yet can't decide what's worse, a jaunt with Shelton or a confrontation with Todd. Can't make up his mind ... at the moment.
"The FUCK did she GO?!" Todd's voice is gravelly and he collapses onto the couch ... real goddamn tense. Understandably. His knee bounces as he restrains that anger, that wildness threatening to break free. It's right there, black and venomous. Then he turns darkened eyes to RJ, renewed accusation brimming. Long hair has fallen into his face, the stringy locks shivering ever so slightly with the tremors running through his tight body.
Shaking his head responsively, RJ grumbles, "You better point those pit bull eyes someplace else, bro, 'cause this ISN'T MY deal. I ain't got nothin' to do with THIS."
But the words go nowhere.
"What do you know?" Todd jumps to his feet moving closer to RJ, who lifts his chin in defiance, who stands firm, his eyes slimming. He isn't going to take Todd's shit-filled assault. No way.
"Come on, buddy o' mine, old friend, old enemy. Tell me where the hell she is. Where ... where'd you put her?! WHERE'D YOU PUT MY KIDS?!"
Todd pushes RJ, pushes him back, hands on RJ's chest until finally RJ tires of Todd's antics, and pushes back hard. "Give it up, okay, bitch," RJ growls, "... 'cause the more you fight, the LESS motivated I'm gonna be to help you. You get that?! Do you?!"
Todd wants to hit RJ, wants to pummel him 'til he doesn't move, 'til he bleeds with the pain he feels right now ... right now. He wants to cry suddenly except it's not tears that come, it's bile and hate. Lots of hate. A when that hate finally explodes, it's gonna end up hurting the innocents like shrapnel from a bomb. Todd knows this, he really does, but it doesn't stop shit.
"Awww fuck you! You're hiding her ... aren't ya? Aren't ya? What ... wanna keep her to yourself? Huh? Why? WHY YOU DOING THIS TO ME?!"
"You let this go, Manning! I am trying to help you! GET A FUCKIN' GRIP!" RJ is angry, both men breathing hard, that fury about to burst except they're not sure who to battle. Can't tell who the enemy is anymore, because it's hidden, laughing at them as they bump along in the mirrored fun house with the scary faces, the scary sounds, the darkness.
Hahahaha ... fools ... look at you, blind, deaf and dumb…
Taking a deep breath, RJ approaches Todd carefully who stares back, breathing hard, waiting ...
"Listen, bro', ... gonna be honest here. You scaring the shit outta me 'cause you real fuckin'mad. And I gotta know where that mad is aimed. Is it Téa for leaving? You mad AT her?"
Silence washes through the penthouse, the gentle boom of the elevator way down the hall resonates in a gentle wave. The refrigerator deep in the kitchen kicks on, sending off another nearly soundless wave. The two men stand feet apart regarding one another ... and since they can't catch hold of a visible enemy, they look to each other as an acceptable substitute. Todd doesn't blink, doesn't move. He answers softly.
"No... not at all mad AT her. Just want her home, want my kids home."
"But… why she running from you then? You do something OTHER than what happened with Starr, which is some fucked up shit, don't get me wrong, but is there something else you ain't told me about? Something that coulda scared her? 'Cause …"RJ sniffs and chews on his lip. Takes a breath and smooths out his beard. Glares at Todd. "'Cause if you did… that wouldn't be cool ... with me."
"I want my wife home, my kids. Told you that. She must be… having some kinda breakdown. Or something."
Todd didn't move from his position across from RJ. Didn't break his hard judgmental gaze.
"What's with you, Manning? Take a good look at yourself. In that mirror over there."
Todd turns after a second, by instinct maybe. He sees his reflection with RJ behind him, his silky voice stirring the air. "You look like shit, like someone somebody should be running FROM. That hickey ... it's ugly. You said you didn't get it from any tramp so where'd it come from? And ... did Téa see it?"
Todd's reflection wavers a little and he knows it's exhaustion, hunger, thirst.
"No," he says finally. Fingertips on the bruise. "She never saw it."
"So where'd you GET it?"
"A woman."
"Well, thank god for that. Not that there's anything wrong with it but that'd be whole other level of mess I jus' ain't prepared for. So… what woman?"
"I don't know who she is ... but she wasn't real ... or she was."
"Lawd, what the hell does THAT mean?"
Todd cranes his neck, outright rubbing the spot but without panic. He measures its size, its bruised nature. His tongue runs along his lips, leaving a trail of wetness. He looks into his own eyes, seeing how empty they look. He remembers her, remembers sucking hard on the woman's skin, giving her his own hickey, practically biting her, wanting to, nearly drawing blood while he fucked her hard. Maybe he did bite her? Except he can't say where on her body he left his marks but he can taste her now, he can taste the shimmering sweat on her skin, the saltiness lingering still. Hair, he thinks, she had long black hair and bony hips he grabbed onto, thinking he could crush her. Even though her physicality differed from Téa's, there was something about her that made him think of Téa. Oh hell, maybe it was just the act itself, the actual sex.
No ... no ... no ... nothing like with his Téa.
He breathes in deeply, RJ fading into the background, his own reflection freeing his thoughts. No. They did not made love, no. He devoured her. They had fought on the ground of the mausoleum like two tigers fighting for territory, growling and clawing and penetrating each others' space, a distinctly nonsexual battle. The fucking was about power, about winning and losing, about killing the rival. The kind of sex that wasn't sex. The kind of act… he thought he'd left behind.
"Yeah," Todd rumbles, more to himself than RJ who has settled back again ... moving around Todd, studying him ... acting the shadow again. RJ is then on his cell for some minutes, animated as he talks, a hand waving, demanding. In the mirror Todd sees this happening. Then, once again, RJ tries talking to him...except the words jumble and mix, falling over each other, spitting and hissing and scratching to gain form.
Before long, Todd hears comprehensible language ... yes, yes ... he understands what's coming out of his friend's mouth ... and he turns, face to face now. Pays close attention. Sees someone other than RJ …
Boy ... little boy ... broken child, can you hear me talking to you? Can you hear me as I hold you tight beneath me?
"You don't have to shout ... I can hear you," Todd says and the mouth pauses mid-word, brows furrowed. Then the lips begin moving again ... slowly …
You are small on that lonely beach, sand scratching skin, wind stinging eyes. You've been left behind by your love, by your family, by your protectors. Child all alone, listen to them laugh at you. So fast they run. Makes you want to taste their blood ... your tongue tingles with anticipated relief. I can see it on your face ... your once-dead eyes waken and shine with agonized pleasure at taking souls once more ... at tearing them apart and watching their bodies writhe with the loss of their spirits. Listen to the sounds coming from inside of you ... you're so thankful, so powerful ... again. Kiss me ... love me ... see me in those around you, hurt boy in that man's body. Take her the way you did once before ... overpower her ... because it's SHE who has left you. She ... is gone with another. Loving him, praising him. Can you see them bound together in the desolate beyond ... can you see her taking the comfort he offers ... sighing with delight and crying with love? Can you see them together caring for your children, for your little men fighting to live? She's stolen them from you ... and has given away herself to deprive you…"
"...punishment ... it's all about punishment. It's your turn now."
"HEY..." RJ's harsh voice brings Todd to his senses, Todd blinking and shaking his head, clearing the familiar images put there, to the pictures still playing.
"Answer me!"
"Get the hell outta of my way," Todd curses as he pushes RJ aside.
RJ quickly grabs him by the arm though, stopping him from walking away. "I asked you a question, my man," RJ repeats, "you keep talking about betrayal. What are you gonna do with Téa if you find her?"
"I never said anything about 'betrayal.'"
"What?! The fuck is wrong with you, man?! You've said it like fifty times now! You still drunk?!"
"Shut up!" Todd tries to jerk his arm away except RJ hangs on, his hand firm. "You ain't goin' anywhere like this. Not until you cool off and let me in on your plan. WHAT you gonna do? C'mon, Manning... lemme help you."
Todd listens, thinks about the offer, or rather pretends to think about it because he already has an idea as to what to do. First thing is to search RJ's office. Next thing is see the one family member RJ hasn't checked up on: Roseanne Delgado. Delgado with the long black hair ... and the thin, narrow hips ... but he has to get outta here first ... and has to do it alone. Because later ... later ... when he learns of Téa's whereabouts, he'd need to talk to her ...talk, talk ... get clarification, get understanding, get a taste of her. Suddenly, without warning, Todd raises his closed fist and pounds RJ hard on the side of his head. RJ looks dazed for an instant, as he reaches for his friend and then falls in a helpless clump onto the carpeted floor.
Todd stands over him, sniffles, and says softly, "Traitor." He spits on the downed man because that's what RJ is, a traitor to Todd and to Téa because he probably let her go, probably stood at the airport and waved goodbye to Todd's children, probably kissed Téa on the cheek and congratulated whoever was stealing her away.
"Fuck all of you," he hisses, storming out the door and slamming it behind him.
Roseanne stirs in her sleep, her head tossing back and forth until she finally wakes up. She sits up, slowly, like an old woman with complaining bones and joints. She wraps a hand around the back of her neck, rubbing it to soothe herself then she looks at her hand, suddenly noticing how sweaty she is. She looks down at her bedding, touching it...feeling the dampness in the stiff, starched cotton.
"Damn," she breathes, turning to look for her teacher in the cell across the way. Roseanne glances up and down the hall, listening, .making sure the guards aren't nearby, before whispering.
"Oba? You awake?"
No response at first. Then Roseanne sees the familiar orange dot of light fading in. Oba's cigarette. "Of course, cher. What is it?" she replies, from her darkened cell.
Roseanne squints, unable to see her. "I don't...I dunno," she starts, rubbing the back of her neck again. God, it was so stiff. She wasn't used to it. Usually, she felt great when she woke up. She couldn't understand why she felt so...different.
"...I don't feel so good," she says, her breathing picking up speed. Again, Oba takes her time answering, finishing her cigarette before turning on her cot, bringing her face up to the bars, into the dim light.
"Tell me, cher...tell me what's wrong."
Roseanne finds her hand drifting down from her neck to her shoulder. She feels the bite marks and stops, jumping a little as she does so which Oba notices immediately.
"You've been favorin' that shoulder. It hurts you?" she asks and then notices Roseanne's complexion, as she moves up to the bars. She's pale, covered in sweat, like she has a fever. Concerned more about Roseanne's abilities than her health, Oba grabs the bars, pulling herself up so she can see her better. "Oh, child," she says, sounding as motherly as she can, "tell me."
Roseanne grips the bars on her side, resting her head on her hand. "I...I didn't tell you everything."
Oba's eyebrow goes up at that. "Oh, cher...I know dat."
Roseanne nods and half-laughs, feeling more of her energy being sucked away.
"He bit me."
Oba lets her head tip back, as she studies her, then she nods as well. "So," she says, nodding some more. "So I was right about him."
Roseanne closes her eyes for a second, silently assenting. Then she zones out for a moment, thinking deeply, before looking back at Oba. "I'm scared, Oba. I don't know what I'm doing. I mean, I thought I did… but… I dunno… I don't know if I can beat him."
Oba just watches her movements without a word, as Roseanne continues to ramble on, unintelligibly. She starts to become more fidgety, hugging herself and squirming around like she's in pain which starts to worry Oba, so she concentrates, using all her power to focus, to see into Roseanne's very core…
...and once she sees...her eyes widen.
"Oh," she breathes, backing away from the bars but not before a stabbing pain hits her right between the eyes. She grabs her forehead, gasping as she falls back onto her cot. Roseanne gasps too, seeing this.
"Oba...Oba?" Oba keeps backing away, as far away as she can get, which isn't very far so she sinks down into the corner, still in excruciating pain.
"Roseanne...stop...don't look at me!"
Down the hall, the guards on duty hear the growing noise and start sprinting for the cells. Roseanne leaps up into the bars.
"Oba! What's wrong?!"
"Stop looking at me, child! STOP LOOKING AT ME!"
Not knowing what else to do, Roseanne whirls around and covers her face. She hears Oba behind her, breathing hard, making soft, pained cries, and the sounds of the guards' footsteps approaching. Roseanne jumps as one of them smacks the bars of her cell with a nightstick.
"The hell's going on down here?!" the guard demands, and Roseanne swallows hard, pointing across to the other cell.
"Oba… something's wrong with her … I think she needs a doctor." The guard makes a 'yeah, right' face at her, but looks in to Oba's cell anyway, shining his flashlight in. He sees the woman crumpled up in the corner, looking like she'd just been knocked out cold. The two guards exchange glances, then one radios in as the other opens the cell.
Time seems to flash by and before Roseanne knows it, she's watching them carry Oba out on a stretcher. She cranes her neck to see, as they cart her off to the infirmary. Then she covers her mouth, falling back down onto her cot as she starts to cry, as she cries for her friend, as she worries that she caused her pain.
And she can feel it inside. She feels Oba there, inside her, like she just reached in and taken a piece of her mind without even knowing it. But then, her insides churn, changing, heating up. She can taste the acid in her throat and curls up in a ball on the cot, racked with pain, a strange, new pain, different from Oba, different than anything she's ever felt before. She moans softly, with the waves as they come and go, feeling her insides, her very self twisting, transforming.
With a gasp, she sits up because she hears the whipping wind on the bleak shore, the flapping of a coat's length, and a calm, knowing laugh flying across time and space. Bringing her knees up, she smacks sweating palms against her eyes.
"No ... no," she cries silently.
Little girl, little lost waif, know that I possess your infant self, that I have taken your insignificant soul into my being. You cannot win against me because you are nothing. You spray your mystic powers like sand in a desert, mist in an ocean ... harmless flickers of your wormy tongue wetting my skin. Does the bite not fester? Does it not bleed black beneath your rotting flesh?
When she opens her eyes, she knows they are in another plane. He licks his lips and grins, and his hazel-colored eyes hold her so strongly that she cannot move. Voiceless words then pummel her once more.
I am coming for you.
To be continued...