Revenge Àu Tròis

As usual, thanks to all readers/reviewers! Wendy/Gregory are back in this chapter – but there is a slight twist – so even if you hate Wendy and Gregory, please don't skip through their part!

I don't own any of South Park. Not even Butters :-(

Chapter 11

"Wendy?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you listening to me?"

Wendy put her fork down and looked at Gregory. "Yes." No.

"So what do you think, then?"

"About what?"

Gregory chuckled and shook his head. "I asked you about checking out of the hotel. I really don't want to bring this up, but don't you think it's time you headed home?"

Wendy stared at him, aghast. "I can't go home! What if Stan comes back here looking for me?"

Gregory pushed his half eaten breakfast away and took Wendy's hands in his own. "I know you want to believe that Stan is still alive, but you must prepare yourself for…bad news. Look," he went on quickly, seeing the tears in her eyes, "I don't want you to lose hope, of course not, but we have to be realistic. There's been no ransom demand, or indeed any contact at all. I have also heard from various people that Stan and his friends made some very powerful enemies thanks to their past exploits." He paused again as Wendy let out a quiet sob. "I'm sorry darling; I didn't want have to say any of that."

Wendy shook her head. "No, no, you're right," she said between sobs. "At least you're being honest with me, unlike everyone else around here. They keep telling me not to worry, that everything'll be alright, but their eyes tell me something completely different." She squeezed his hands. "You've been awesome throughout all this, Gregory. I'll never forget it."

They stared at each other; their eyes lingering just long enough to make them both feel uncomfortable.

"Yes, well, glad to be of service," Gregory said quickly. He let go of Wendy's hands. "Is it just me, or is it hot in here?"

"Yeah, it is. There's a problem with the heating, apparently."

Gregory took his dark blazer off and hung it on the back of his chair. He was dressed down in a plain white T-shirt and jeans. Wendy couldn't help thinking how much the casual look suited him.

"Right, I'll go and see if I can find someone to sort it out," he said.

He gave her shoulder a squeeze and left.

Wendy got up and examined herself in the full length mirror. She looked an absolute fright. She had spent the night in her wedding dress, which was now creased to add to all the dirt and tears. Her hair, which desperately needed a wash, hung lankly over her shoulders. As she stared at herself, she considered what Gregory had said about leaving. Of course deep down she knew he was right. They wouldn't let her stay free of charge for much longer, and she couldn't afford to pay their rates. Yet a part of her didn't want to leave – somehow it felt like she would be leaving Stan, and she couldn't face doing that. She rubbed her eyes wearily. Maybe a nice long shower would help her think more clearly.

She had just reached up to unzip her dress, when a phone rang, startling her. She looked around, trying to locate it. She knew it wasn't her phone – the ringtone was different – so there was only one other possibility. She walked towards Gregory's jacket, and then stopped. It was his phone, it might be a private call, he might not want her to answer it. Then a sudden thought struck her. What if it was Gregory's guy – what was his name? – Chris? What if he had found Stan?

She hurried forward again, almost falling over her own feet in her haste. The phone stopped ringing just as she wrenched it out of the inner pocket of the blazer. She swore under her breath. Perhaps he had left a message. Her hands shook as she hit a button and saw the message on the screen: 1 missed call, one voicemail received.

Fortunately, Gregory hadn't bothered to lock his keypad, so she was able to access it fairly easily. Wendy almost dropped the phone as she listened to the message, which was from the last person she expected it to be. She replayed it, just to make sure she wasn't dreaming, then she dissolved into tears of relief.

Oh thank God, he's alive. Stan's alive.

Wendy wiped her eyes and plopped down in the nearest chair, Gregory's phone hanging limply from her hand. Her head span as she tried to make sense of what she'd just heard. Her relief was tempered by anger, confusion, then horror as she thought about Gregory. He's involved. All this time he's been cosying up to me, and he was involved in Stan's disappearance. Wendy was flabbergasted.He hadn't shown any sign of guilt, and she'd been so grateful, so glad to have him around, that just for a moment, she'd even felt…

She ran to the bathroom as a sudden wave of nausea overtook her, and vomited. She crouched over the toilet bowl, breathing deeply, trying to get her thoughts in order. There was one thing she was sure of, however.

I will find out what's going on, if it's the last thing I do. I will find out what happened to my Stan.

*

At that precise moment, Wendy Testaburger's fiancé, the very much alive Stan Marsh, was pacing frantically up and down the Cartmans' old hallway. He stopped and turned to face Cartman, aghast.

"Sorry, could you just run that past me again?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as level as possible. "Cos I thought you said we should go find Trent!" He chuckled nervously.

Cartman nodded. "That's what I said."

"Dude, seriously, have you seen Trent?" Stan cried in consternation. "He's built like Arnold Schwarzenegger on steroids!"

"Terminator Arnie or Kindergarten Cop Arnie?"

Stan glared at him. "This is not funny, Cartman! Christophe nearly took us all out, and he's half your size!"

"Chrissie got lucky a few times," Cartman said dismissively. "Anyway, we got one thing going for us that we didn't have before." He waved the gun. "And it is literally five against one now." He paused and thought for a moment. "Well, four and Butters."

"Ah, come on!" Stan looked to the rest of his friends for help. "You cannot seriously be thinking about this!"

"Dude, we don't have a choice!" Kenny said. "That car is our only way out of here, unless you've got a helicopter on standby. Hey, there's a thought. Why don't you ask your new friend Gregory?"

"Shut up!" Stan exhaled deeply. Despite his misgivings, he knew his friends were right. Their only way out was through Trent. He folded his arms and glared at the floor. "Alright, fine!"

Cartman grinned. "I knew you'd come around to our way of thinking eventually, Stanny!" Stan scowled at him. "Alright, let's go."

They trooped toward the front door.

"Hey, wait a second," Kyle said suddenly. "What about him?" He pointed at Christophe.

"What about him?" Cartman asked.

"Shouldn't we, like, tie him up or something?"

"This is no time for your kinky fantasies, Kahl."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I was thinking about him following us, fatass," he replied.

Cartman raised an eyebrow. "Sure you were."

"What the hell are we supposed to tie him up with?" Kenny asked.

They looked at each other and shrugged. Finally, after a couple of minutes of perplexed silence, Cartman gave a frustrated sigh and threw up his hands.

"Do I have to think of everything?" he barked angrily. "Here, hold this."

He thrust the gun toward Butters, who yelped and diverted it in Stan's direction. Cartman, meanwhile, headed upstairs. Kyle, curious despite himself, followed him.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

Cartman ignored him, turned at the top of the stairs and walked, to Kyle's surprise, past his old bedroom. Instead, he went into the one next door, which Kyle assumed could only have belonged to Liane Cartman, Eric's mother (or father, depending on which way you looked at it.). After a slight hesitation, Kyle wandered in after him.

"Why are we in here?"

The room surprised Kyle a little. Given Ms. Cartman's reputation, he had expected something a little…racier. Instead there was tasteful flowery wallpaper, pink bedsheets and even a couple of doilies. There were two wardrobes on opposite sides of the room: one normal, one clearly a walk-in one. Cartman flung open the doors of the walk-in closet. Kyle peered inside inquisitively, then almost immediately wished he hadn't.

The closet was stacked from top to bottom with sex toys, gimp masks, whips, rubber outfits and all manner of other things that Kyle couldn't even begin to name. Cartman knelt and pulled open a drawer which was stuffed full of chains and other paraphernalia. Kyle shook his head with incredulity.

"Goddamn your mom's a slut, Cartman."

"Ai!" Cartman paused in his rummaging to glare at him. "At least my mom's not fat and Jewish!"

"How did you even find out about this?" Kyle asked, leaning against one of the doors.

"I came home from school one day and…never you fucking mind, Kahl!" Cartman dumped a pile of chains on the floor.

Kyle leant over him and plucked a couple of pairs of handcuffs from the drawer. He smiled to himself. When Cartman was pissed, there was only one thing to do: push harder.

"So which do you think Christophe would prefer?" he asked. "The normal cuffs or the pink fluffy ones?" He dangled the cuffs from his index fingers.

"Gimme those!" Cartman snatched them off him and threw them back inside the drawer. He gathered up a couple of pairs of ankle cuffs and handcuffs that he'd found and stood up.

"Cool!" a voice said from behind them. "Porn dungeon!"

"Goddamit Kenny, get outta here!"

Cartman slammed the doors shut and hustled Kenny out of the room. Kyle followed, smirking. The three men returned downstairs to join Stan and Butters, who'd propped Christophe in a chair they'd retrieved from the dining room. The unconscious mercenary had slumped forward and was threatening to topple out of the chair, so Butters had been forced to grab him by the shoulders, while Stan kept the gun trained on him.

Stan raised his eyebrows as Cartman cuffed first Christophe's ankles, then his wrists, to the chair.

"Where'd you get those?" he asked.

Cartman shot Kyle and Kenny a warning look as they glanced at each other and sniggered.

"Doesn't matter." He stood up and took the gun back from Stan. "Are we done here or is there anything else you wanna do?" he asked Kyle sarcastically.

Kyle smiled at him in a way that he knew irritated the hell out of the fatboy. "No, I'm good, thanks."

"Great. Let's go."

Cartman booted the front door open and stomped through it, the others following close behind. Just before he left, Stan turned and looked back at Christophe.

One down. One to go.

So that's chapter 11. This is probably my fave chapter so far – I was giggling all the way through writing it. Please review and let me know what you think of it! Thanks!

Chapter 12 up soon…