Chapter Eleven - Bad to the Bone
Trixie parked Stingy's car on the edge of the lake and wandered down to the edge of the water, carrying a bottle of bourbon. She folded her coat carefully into a pad beneath her and sat down, leaning against a fallen tree.
She sat and drank in peaceful silence for a few minutes, feeling the bourbon travel through her blood and warm her from her head to her toes. Tears slid down her face, and she wiped them away fiercely. It was pathetic to cry: she had got herself into this mess, she told herself, and she would get herself out of it.
Someone vaulted lightly over the fallen tree, and then Sportacus sat down beside her.
"I know," she said without looking around. "Drinking doesn't solve anything. Which makes it even more ridiculous that I'm doing it, really."
"Trixie, if this is truly how you want to spend the afternoon I'm not going to try and stop you. But I'm going to need either your car keys or that bottle, please," he said firmly, holding out a hand.
"No contest." She handed him the keys.
"Does Stingy know you have his car, by the way?" he asked, smiling.
"I imagine he knows by now." She shrugged.
"You mean he doesn't even know where you are?"
"Relax, it's all right. I left him a note."
They sat in companionable silence for a while. She offered him the bottle without thinking, and was surprised when he took it; but instead of drinking, he poured out a few mouthfuls onto the ground.
"What?" she asked in bafflement.
"If you're happy for me to share it, I presume you don't actually mind what I do with my share?" he asked, smiling a little.
"Well, no, I suppose not, but why would you…oh, okay, I see. Damage limitation. Funny."
"Not funny enough to make you laugh."
"I don't feel much like laughing today."
"Do you want to tell me about it?" he asked.
"Oh, what the hell would you know about it anyway," demanded Trixie crossly. "You and Stephanie, you're the match made in heaven, completely loved-up and besotted with each other from the first time you hopped into bed together. My God, I don't think you've ever even looked at anyone else, and I know she hasn't. What makes you think you'd have the faintest fucking clue - " she began to cry again. "I'm sorry, that was unbelievably rude of me. I didn't mean it."
"So all of that was wrong, and you think Stephanie has been looking at other men?" he asked her, meaning to tease her, but not quite managing it. She looked at him in surprise.
"Oh - "
"Well, since you ask," he said, sighing, "Yes. Oh. So…why don't you go first?"
"No, I can't tell you, you'll hate me. I hate myself for it…besides, I bet your oh is just that you know that - that bastard James Thornton… oh, shit." She stopped in surprise at the look on his face. "I'm right. That's it, isn't it? Oh, my God, you can't possibly be jealous of…I hope you know there's absolutely no chance of him getting anywhere."
"Of course I know. But still…not a good feeling. Now…" he took the bottle from her and carefully poured another measure onto the ground. "Since you now know that I may have some idea of how you're feeling…why don't you tell me why you're out here on your own, drinking yourself into a stupor."
"That's a criminal waste of good bourbon."
"So why don't you explain to me before I accidentally waste the entire bottle?"
"Oh…" she sighed. "This is…God, this is really hard…do you promise you won't hate me?"
He put his hand on his heart and smiled.
"Trixie, I promise that, whatever you tell me, whatever…mistakes…you've made…I will not hate you, and I will do my best to help you. Okay?"
"Well…" she picked up a handful of pebbles and flung them savagely towards the water. "Well, like I said…you - you know that - that bastard James Thornton…"
--
(Smallville, two months earlier)
"So," said Trixie thoughtfully. "Are you going to tell me what you've both been up to? She looks as guilty as hell."
James laughed.
"You don't beat around the bush, do you?"
"I've never believed in it. She's my best friend, you know. You mess her life up and I'll kill you."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he said sincerely.
"Oh, I think you would."
"Now you're actually just rude."
She smiled at him.
"Don't you like rude girls? If you ask me very nicely I'll let you buy me a coffee, and then I can carry on explaining exactly why you need to stay away from Stephanie."
He looked her up and down. He had liked the sight of her the first time he saw her: she had that sexy, dirty look about her that he simply couldn't resist. He could imagine how it would feel to have her legs wrapped around his back, to clasp both of her slim wrists in one of his hands. The softness of her skin…the wildness of her response…
"Why not," he said, and took her by the arm, liking the feel of her, cool and smooth under his rough, calloused fingers. "Let me buy you an overpriced latte in that coffee-shop over there and you can threaten me as much as you like."
She lowered her eyes demurely and allowed him to lead her to the coffee-shop and show her to a table.
"What's your poison?" he asked her.
"Double espresso."
"You too?" he smiled. "We must be kindred spirits."
"Because we like the same coffee?" She laughed disbelievingly. "No wonder your relationships never last."
"What the fucking hell would you know about my relationships?" he asked crossly.
"So I'm wrong?"
"No, actually you're right, they never do. Like I said…kindred spirits."
"I'm engaged to be married." It was Trixie's turn to sound cross.
"Oh, well in that case I'll keep an eye out for my invitation to the wedding," he said dryly. "Or am I imagining the faintest hint of boredom on your face when you're with that nice young man of yours?"
"We were going to discuss Stephanie," said Trixie, warningly."So we were. But now I've got you here instead - " she could feel his eyes moving over her skin as if they were physically touching her.
"I thought you preferred her," she said lightly, then bit her lip. Damn. Didn't mean to say that…
"And I thought you were engaged to be married," he replied, smiling his wicked, lupine smile.
--
"I really did mean to warn him off Stephanie," she said softly. "I didn't want him anywhere near her. She's so sweet and innocent, she doesn't know how to deal with someone like that. He's just so charming and ruthless, and so damn sexy into the bargain - " she saw him wince. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to - anyway. I don't know what I was thinking. Because obviously, she knew far better than I did how to cope with him…"
--
They talked for what seemed like hours. Afterwards she had no idea what they had discussed, because all that mattered was the subtext: I want you, repeated over and over, with every glance and every touch. When she finally gathered up her things to go, he laid his hand over hers.
"You remind me of myself," he said softly.
"We both like espresso?" she asked sarcastically, trying to hide her sinuous excitement at knowing how much he wanted her. It had been so long since anyone but Stingy had touched her like that. She knew in her heart she should turn him down cold, but her body, her treacherous body, was coming to life under his gaze and their occasional, brushing contact…
"We both like fun, Patricia. You're bored with that devoted swain of yours, aren't you? You wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and wonder what you might be missing out on. Don't you?""I - "
It was true: sometimes she did wonder. But that was normal, wasn't it? Stingy was the first man she had ever been with for more than a few weeks; he had known the very worst of her and still he declared that he loved her; he had been her on-again, off-again lover since they were both seventeen years old, and she couldn't imagine her life without him. But still…when he reminded her that it was time they started looking at places to live…when he held little Emma in his arms and she saw that look on his face that said, Please God, one day…when she felt that suffocating fear that she wasn't strong enough to live up to what he wanted, what she knew he deserved…
"I thought so," he said. "I know how that feels. I was widowed a couple of years ago, but, my God, I still remember that feeling. Convinced you're not good enough for them. Guilty because you're all that they want, but they're not all that you want. Looking at other people and wondering…so, honey, do you want to find out what you've been missing out on all this time? Nothing heavy, nothing complicated. Just a bit of fun."
"No I most certainly do not," she said firmly, in a final attempt to deny the truth.
"Come on, Trixie. I thought philosophy was the quest for self-knowledge. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not tempted."
She sighed, and he knew he had her.
"Come with me," he said, taking her by the hand. "I know somewhere we can go…"
He took her to the nearby Smallville station hotel, and as he handed over a roll of bills to the check-in clerk she wondered if he had hoped to bring Stephanie here. It was that feeling more than any other that drove her on, the need to prove to him and to herself that she was still desirable, still the hot little chick who every man on the campus had helplessly lusted after, and a lucky few had been allowed to spend a little time with.
--
"It's such a completely stupid reason to go to bed with someone," she continued, keeping her face carefully turned away from him so she wouldn't have to see the look on his face. "Just to prove he liked me. I can't believe how much it burned me up that he preferred Stephanie - you'd have thought I'd got over that one years ago - " she stopped in sudden, consuming embarrassment and glanced at him shyly, but he was staring out over the lake, and she couldn't see his expression. "But it wasn't just that…it was…"
--
His relentless, carefully applied skill as a lover had taken her totally by surprise. Within three minutes and without even fully undressing her, he had reduced her to squirming, sobbing ecstasy in his arms. Then he pinned her roughly down on the bed, helpless beneath his weight and muscle, and took his time in pleasing himself.
"Look at …our reflection," he panted, gesturing to the full-length mirror he had dragged to the side of the bed. She looked, and the contrast between his rough, heavy, hairy, muscular form and her own pale daintiness made her catch her breath. "That's what…what you've been…missing out on…ohhh…on debauchery…on brutality…on being…fucked senseless…by someone…who appreciates you…how you…how you really are…oh, my God…Jesus, Trixie girl…you're just…unbelievable…" and as he reached his climax, she felt her first misgivings, the first inkling that she might have landed herself with more than she could handle.
--
"I went back for more," she admitted, talking faster now, still not daring to make eye contact. "I couldn't help myself. No, that's not true, I could have helped myself, everyone has free will. I just - I didn't want to stop. I wanted this one last fling. It was like a - a safety valve, you know? I knew there were all these huge decisions coming up…where to live…whether to get married…and I just needed some space…besides, it - it felt good to be admired, you know? Well, I'm sure you do, but of course you'd never act on it."
He didn't say anything, just looked at her with the amused and disbelieving expression she recognised from her teenage years.
"And then," she continued, "there was just the - the fact that he was in control, not me…I've always been the one telling the guys what to do, it was completely intoxicating to have someone else in charge…oh, my God, did I just tell you that? I'm sorry, that was way too much information, I think it's the bourbon talking…"
He took her hand and squeezed it comfortingly.
"So, we kept meeting, every week or so maybe. A couple of times here in Lazytown. Once or twice in Boston. Mostly, we met back at that place in Smallville. I - I hated myself for it, but I loved it too…even though I knew I was risking the best thing that's ever happened to me…but sometimes, you know, it's just hard. It's hard to live up to someone so nice. Stingy deserves someone better than me, better in every way. And because it's just - just me - I worry that one day he's going to notice -and I'll have missed out on everything else there is - oh, is this even making any sense?"
"When Stingy finds out, this is going to break his heart. But you already know that, don't you?"
She was crying again.
"Yes…I know…and that's why - that's why I have to keep seeing James…I don't want to, God knows I never want to see him again, but I don't know how to make it stop…"
--
The last time they were together, her misgivings had hardened into genuine fear. He had her beneath him on the bed, his weight crushing her, the way he always wanted it. His mouth was hard and savage on her sensitive nipples; he bit her hard enough to make her cry out. After a minute he stopped so that he could turn her over beneath him. He held her arms over her head, squeezing them tight, tighter. When he forced himself inside her, she gave a muffled scream of pain.
"That hurts, stop it, please - "
"Shh.""I mean it, that really hurts, I really don't want this, please stop - "
His face was blank with lust. Almost absent-mindedly he put one hand over her mouth so that she couldn't speak, couldn't move, could barely breathe, pinioned beneath his weight and his strength, completely helpless, trapped until he chose to free her, counting the minutes and the seconds until he would be finished, closing her eyes tightly so she wouldn't be able to see what he saw, reflected in the mirror he always insisted on having next to the bed, wouldn't be able to see herself completely at his mercy.
Afterwards he seemed genuinely surprised by her distress.
"I got you off first, didn't I?" he asked casually, as they got dressed. "I thought you liked it rough…"
There's a difference between rough and…but even to herself she couldn't say the word that was in her mind. Could you even call it that when you'd consented every step of the way except the last, when all that had happened was he'd been a little rougher and more dominating than usual? But never again, she told herself. There's something in you that terrifies me. I must have been insane to…Oh, Stingy, my love, now I just have to work out how to make it right with you…
Then, when she refused to take his calls, the text messages began.
Tuesday in Boston?
No.
Come on. Don't tease. I miss you.
No. Never again.
You don't mean that.
I do. I love him. I won't do this anymore.
Bullshit. You will. I'll book.
Free country, but I won't be there.
We both know you will.
Not a chance, she texted back briskly.
If you don't show up, I'll tell him.
She felt her heart stop beating for a second.
I've already told him. We're working it out.
Liar. You're a gambler. Given half a chance, you'll bluff till the end. But I DON'T BLUFF. See you Tuesday, honey.
--
"And did you - " he hesitated, trying to find the most gentle way of asking her. "Did you - meet him?"
"I didn't want to…"
"But - "
She nodded.
--
She was ashamed in every way. Ashamed that she had cold-heartedly risked the love of her life only to boost her self-esteem. Ashamed that she was here with the least possible excuse, simply to keep this terrifying man she had let into her life quiet and satisfied, while she decided what to do to get him out of it again. Most of all, she was utterly humiliated by her body's response to him; disgusted at herself because, in spite of it all, he still knew how to reduce her to nothing but blissful sensation. And then, afterwards, he whispered four words in her ear, "Quid pro quo, beautiful," and thus he served notice on her that, having given her that brief, shameful shudder of pleasure, he now felt free to do whatever he pleased…
"I knew you'd be here," he whispered victoriously in her ear as he twisted and turned her body this way and that, hurting her, scratching and bruising her, forcing her to move the way he wanted. She closed her eyes and suffered through it, telling herself that this was just the luck of the draw: sometimes sex just wasn't any good, she was here of her own free will, and God knows he'd driven her crazy with his fingers and mouth just a few minutes ago, hadn't he? She refused, still, to acknowledge that ugliest of four-letter words, the word that had been floating insistently at the back of her mind since the last time she had met him. She showered, she dressed, she said goodbye, she went back to her dorm room in Boston. Ignoring Stingy's phone-calls and the knocks on her door from her friends, she lay on her bed and stared at the ceiling, not moving, not speaking, trying not to think.
--
"So," she said, shrugging a little, wanting to make it all seem less than it was. "That's my reason for sitting here with this bottle and crying on your shoulder. Feel free to despise me. God knows I despise myself. I'm a terrible person, and I don't deserve to have someone as lovely as Stingy in my life. I know what I've done. I just - I just haven't worked out what to do to make it right again - and I don't want him to hear about it from - from - " her voice broke.
"Trixie," he said to her softly. "Look at me."She raised her face to his. His blue eyes were fixed on hers.
"Now listen," he said gently. "I can't fix the terrible damage you've done to you and Stingy. That's something you're going to have to work out between yourselves. There might be a way, there might not…I hope there is, Trixie, because you have loved each other all your lives and I would hate to see that destroyed. No, please, I'm not saying this to make you feel worse. But there is one thing I can fix for you. The thing I can fix - the one thing I can promise - is that James Thornton will not come anywhere near you again. He won't speak to you, he won't call you, and he certainly won't tell Stingy anything that he should be hearing from you yourself."
"No." She shook her head. "That's so nice of you, but no. I got myself into this, it's up to me to get myself out. I'm a grown woman now, not some little kid who's trapped in the tree-house."
"And I think this is a little bit more serious than you getting trapped in the tree-house. Don't you?"
"I can sort it out for myself, I know I can - "
"But you don't need to," he said gently. "Let me help you, Trixie, please. This is what I do."
"But how are you going to - "
"Trust me. But in return, will you promise me something? I want you to promise that you will tell Stingy about this."
"I can't, I can't…"
"Why not?"
"Because I'm afraid," she blurted out. "I'm afraid that he'll leave me…I'd leave me…"
"But do you want to live your life with him knowing that you have this terrible secret, lurking like a time-bomb? He already knows there's something wrong, Trixie."
"How do you know that? Has he talked to you about it?"
"I think we both know that's really not his style. But trust me, he knows. He loves you. How could he not realise?"
She blushed deeply, and he smiled a little.
"You know what Stephanie would say to you, don't you?"
"Stephanie's never done anything remotely as awful as this."
"Nevertheless," he said. "She may still be right."
--
James was sitting hunched over his laptop, reviewing blueprints for the Quarry Hill project. In the corner, Molly was curled up in an armchair, plugged into her ipod, nibbling on a plate of fruit and absorbed in a strange Japanese comic that she seemed to be reading from back to front. At least she's eating, he thought to himself uneasily, looking at her. Maybe I could cancel the therapist…do I dare risk it…? Dangerous either way…Absent-mindedly, he opened the folder which contained the layouts for the publicity materials, and re-ran Mick's rough animation of the film footage he wanted with the sound turned down.
There was a knock at the door and he went to answer it.
"Sportacus," he said blankly. "Hello."
"Good evening."
"Erm - what can I do for you?"
"There's something we need to discuss," said Sportacus. "May I come in?"
"Yes, I suppose so…" James led the way to the living-room. Molly uncoiled herself from the chair and put down the comic. She gave Sportacus a radiant smile, her cheeks rosy.
"So what's the problem?" asked James.
"Actually, I think this is something we need to discuss alone."
James shrugged.
"If you like. Molly, can you clear off upstairs, please?"
"Oh - of course - " Molly gathered up her comic and her plate and disappeared, brushing against Sportacus as she left the room.
"Right. Now we're alone."
Sportacus glanced over at the chair by the window for a moment, frowned, hesitated, then shrugged.
"So tell me what I can do for you, Sportacus?" asked James shortly.
Sportacus looked straight at him.
"You need to stay away from Trixie."
"What?" James laughed out loud. "Are you serious? You're - you're actually warning me off, not even from your own wife, which I could at least understand, but someone else's girl? Are you for real? How is this even any of your business?"
"People in trouble are always my business."
"And that's what she said, is it? That she's in trouble? And now she wants you to sort it out for her?"
"Since you ask, no, she didn't ask for my help. She doesn't need to. It's hers without asking, as it is for anyone in this town. Even you."
"And why the hell would I stay away from her? She's free to sleep with me if she wants."
"And what happens when she doesn't want?"
"What the fucking hell are you suggesting," shouted James furiously. "Are you actually accusing me of - ? I might not live the same boring, vanilla-flavoured life you do, Sportacus, but that doesn't make me a goddamn rapist. Trust me, pal, even if that was my thing, which as it happens it isn't, I didn't need to. She was as hot for it as I was. Absolutely nothing happened between us that she didn't choose - hell, that she didn't beg me for - "
The movement when it came was simply too swift for James to see, or to understand afterwards how it had happened. Suddenly his arm was twisted up behind his back, and something slammed him hard against the wall and trapped him there, completely immobile. He tried to flex his muscles to free himself, but it was like trying to push against solid rock.
"Now tell me that you have a choice," said Sportacus calmly, right in his ear. "Tell me that you can choose what happens to you next."
"Are you fucking queer or something, you freak - "
"If I were, Mr Thornton, I can assure you that you wouldn't be my type." He forced the arm up a little higher. "Have I made my point yet?"
"A little - explanation - would be good," James managed through gritted teeth.
"You now have exactly as much control over what I do to your body as Trixie had over what you did to hers. I thought it would be - a useful experience for you to realise how that feels."
"Oh, very fucking deep," James gasped, trying to ignore the growing pain in his arm. "What happened to violence being the last bastion of the intellectually bankrupt?"
"Be quiet, please, because I need you to listen to me. She has made her feelings more than clear. Whatever was between you, is over. You need to leave her in peace. And you don't try, ever again, to blackmail her into being with you when she doesn't want to be. Do we understand each other?"
"Fuck me, you really did have a heart-to-heart, didn't you? Ouch - hell's teeth, man, what's the matter with you - all right! Maybe I was a bit over-eager to keep seeing her. Clearly this matters a lot more to you than it does to me, so on that basis, yes, I'll promise."
Sportacus let him go.
"Don't stand there looking at me like that with your arms folded, acting like you don't know why I wanted her," growled James, rubbing his arm. "Your lovely wife is exactly the same age as she is…"
Sportacus looked at him with undisguised contempt.
"I would rather live the rest of my life lonely, than force someone into my bed knowing that they didn't want to be there."
"Easy to say when you've got that angel girl of yours next to you every night…and don't imagine I'm agreeing to this because I'm scared of you, because we both know you had your chance the other day and you didn't take it. Trixie was getting boring anyway. Don't think you're going to stop me from taking whatever and whoever I want from this town, Sportacus, because - Jesus fucking Christ, that hurts, what the hell do you think you're doing, you - "
Sportacus slammed him up against the wall again. This time the arm was wrenched higher and harder.
"Just so we're clear," he said softly. "I swore to protect everyone in Lazytown, and that includes you. However much I despise you personally, my oath comes first. So, most unfortunately, you are absolutely right; if I have to, I will give my life to protect yours." He paused. James gritted his teeth: he was sweating with pain. "But if you ever, ever do anything to hurt Stephanie… I will forget every principle I have ever tried to live my life by, I will forget my duty to this town, my loyalty to you, and the laws of this land where we both live, and I - will - kill you. Do we understand each other, Mr Thornton?"
He closed his eyes in agony.
"And that's you giving me your sworn loyalty, is it? Let go of me and then fuck off out of my house."
"You have my loyalty as the Deputy Mayor, to help you care for and protect the people of this town. And I will protect them. Especially from you." One more brutal twist, and then James was free. "Goodnight."
--
At the end of the street, Sportacus stopped and turned around.
"I know perfectly well that you're there, Robbie," he said wearily. "I have no idea how James Thornton couldn't see you, but clearly it doesn't work on me."
"Well, you're in a charming mood tonight." Robbie looked him up and down. "Why didn't you tell him I was there?"
"It didn't seem like any of my business."
"You mean you hate him even more than you hate me."
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Robbie, but I don't hate you."
"What a shame. After all my hard work, too…mind you, I can't say I'm complaining about being around to watch the show. That was just - well, frankly, it was all rather impressive. I saw a side of you I'd never suspected the existence of before." He sat down on a nearby bench. "It was really quite a turn-on, to tell you the truth," he continued thoughtfully. "What a pity I never managed to rile you up enough to persuade you to slam me up against the wall like that. We might have found a whole new…understanding of each other."
Sportacus couldn't help smiling.
"You sure I can't tempt you?" continued Robbie, deliberately flirtatious. "It would be a damn shame to die wondering…"
"Well, Robbie, if I ever do wonder, I promise I'll come and knock on your door first. Although I imagine David might have something to say about it."
"Oh, he's had a crush on you since the day you saved his life. Trust me, you'd be fighting us both off…oh, do stop laughing. Must you be so goddamn tolerant and understanding all the time? Is just a little old-style macho homophobia too much to ask for? It really makes it very hard to tease you…so, do you want to talk me through that little performance in there?"
"And why on earth would I want to do that?"
"Aha. And now I've found the raw spot…" Robbie sighed in satisfaction. "It makes you feel uncomfortable thinking about it, doesn't it? How good it felt, I mean. You finally let yourself off the leash and pushed him around a little bit. Now he knows he isn't the biggest dog in town after all…maybe you should have done it before now. It might have saved us all some trouble…"
"No, Robbie, I really don't think so."
"No? You got what you wanted, didn't you?"
"What Trixie needed."
"So you didn't enjoy doing that to him, even a little bit? Now that I find hard to believe. Anyway, silly girl, she should have known better than to fool around with him…."
"Do you have any idea what he - "
"I can imagine," said Robbie, shrugging. "What can I say? Some people like to play rough. But will you at least concede that a little judiciously applied violence might occasionally have a role to play in keeping the peace?"
Sportacus looked at him bleakly and shook his head.
"Oh, don't beat yourself up about it. It was absolutely marvellous. I have a new-found respect for you."
"Actually I think I may have made a terrible mistake. All I've done now is make him furious."
"So?"
"So now he's going to try and prove himself."
"Well, he isn't going to take you on again in a hurry," said Robbie with feeling. "My God, now I finally know what you're like when you're really angry, I'm almost wondering about hanging up my super-villain boots once and for all. You're one scary bastard when you're upset, you know that?"
"Well, thank you…I think…but I am not in the least bit worried about him coming after me."
"So who are you worried about then?" asked Robbie curiously.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I'm afraid he is going to do something…terrible…"
"Good thing we've got you to keep us all safe then," said Robbie, shrugging.
--
"Sanctimonious mother-fucker," muttered James, glaring at the closed front door. His arm and shoulder were on fire; it felt as if he might have torn a muscle. He hated to lose any sort of fight, but a physical fight most of all. It reminded him of the days before he had power…
…that terrible year when he turned twelve and his grandfather told him what he referred to, awkward and embarrassed, as the facts of life. And then afterwards his sister, stoned and laughing like a lunatic, told him what James had always thought of as the other facts of life, about what had happened to their father and why…and he had wished fiercely that he could have known at the time, that he could have stopped what his father had done to his sister, that he could have been a man for the women in his life…
He desperately wanted to get laid. He wanted the power and the release that went with having some beautiful young thing writhing in his arms, crying out, begging him…he reached for his phone. I could get in touch with Trixie. Just because I promised doesn't mean I have to keep it…no. It's run its course anyway. Even to himself, he would not admit that he was afraid.
"Dad?" Molly was hanging over the banisters, her eyes wide. "Is everything all right? Has - has Sportacus gone?"
He looked at her in silence for a long time.
"Go to bed," he told her at last.