First of all, sorry for the long wait! Took me longer to get this chapter just the way I wanted it… sorry.
Now, I have several people to thank. First my ultra-awesome betas Sarah and Natalie from Team Beta. Also, Caius whose ultra-hawt banner has attracted so many readers that otherwise would have skipped the story, and Sue who considered my story interesting enough to interview me for her blog So You Think You Can Write, go read it guys!
Last, but oh-so-not-least, everyone who has read, reviewed and enjoyed this story. You guys are just ultra-ultra! Thanks so much.
P.S. Sarah, did you notice I did change that word you hated? ;)
As always, let me know your thoughts!
Chapter 12- Trust
I stepped inside the darkened room. A metal door closed with a deafening clang behind me. My instructions to meet Edward alone had been obeyed. Even though they couldn't really consider him any threat to my safety in his current state, armed men stood guard on the other side of the heavy-looking door. I could hear water dripping into something hollow, and even though I couldn't see the source, I very well knew where it was situated. The place was muggy, oppressing and had a foul smell. No windows provided a clue as to the time of day. The only dim light came from a single bulb hanging from the low ceiling.
I used to come down here often; many years ago when I was still a child playing hide and seek with the help. No one could ever find me, not expecting me to dare take cover in the gloomy underground rooms that resembled a medieval dungeon to a child's eyes. I had spent hours on end exploring the place, making up stories about a princess being held by an ogre, and her prince charming coming to rescue her.
I never thought I'd play the part of the sappy, valiant prince.
There was a single piece of furniture in the room, a chair, supporting the lifeless shape of a man. His hands were bound against his back, each leg strapped to the chair, his whole upper body bent over, and his eyes closed. It was impossible to tell whether or not he was breathing from were I stood. A pair of pants was his only piece of clothing; his true coverage consisting of purple and red bruises and deep cuts. Blood flowed freely from a particularly nasty looking cut just above his forehead, blood dripped in steady drops that fell on his lap.
I stood there motionlessly, not making a sound, almost without breathing. Whatever inner struggles I had last night, they were quickly dissipating with the sight before me. I hurt just looking at him, so helpless and torn to shreds. I was gradually starting to feel the fatigue brought on by no sleep and endless worrying and deliberating. The rush of adrenaline I would have expected refused to come and aid me on my feet. All I felt was exhausted and slightly sick from the penetrating smell of his blood.
It had been a sleepless night. One of those nights where you toss and turn until finally you give up and get out of bed, trying to clear your mind of such pestering thoughts. I spent most of the night gazing into the darkness from my window, thinking about what to do, thinking about Edward.
My father would have Edward killed no matter what I said to him, of that I had no doubts, and the thought made me want to rip out my own heart. My only alternative was to somehow help him escape. But did I really want to aid the man who almost killed me once, and was about to attempt it a second time? I kept thinking about everything Joseph had told me last night, trying to make sense out of it all, and how it might give me some answers as to Edward's motivations to his actions. But I ended up just where I began: confused and angry, angry with him and my father and myself. The anger left me lost.
Edward abruptly coughed and inhaled in short, broken gasps, his whole body contorting in evident pain. I breathed a bit more easily; at least now I knew he was still alive. I took a few steps to get closer to him, my high heels echoing against the stone cellar. His face moved up slowly and looked at me from one open eye, the other so bruised and swollen it was completely shut. His face was bloody and sweaty and he was shuddering visibly, either from cold or pain, or maybe both.
"Hello, love," his pathetic attempt at a smile resulted in a new painful set of coughs. I swear I could hear the blood pooling in his lungs.
"Joe is waiting for you. He can get you out and back to safety." I was desperately trying to keep my voice calm and steady. I inhaled deeply, painfully, but it was not my body that was hurting. "But I need you to give me a good reason to help you."
"I'll not ask for your help." His voice was low and hoarse, and he seemed to linger on the verge of unconsciousness.
"Why the hell not?" My attempt at keeping any control in my voice was fast failing. I wanted to scream at him. I was suddenly so enraged. How dare he have any pride left when he was stripped of every hope?
"You owe me nothing. And you shouldn't help me." His chin dropped to his chest once again, and for a moment I thought he had passed out. I moved closer and when I stood directly to his left he moved his head in my direction.
"Love the shoes, Miss Francon."
"Don't fucking call me that!" His only response was a small snort. I took a deep breath to calm myself. I knew what he was trying to do: he was trying to make me so enraged I'd forget any desire I might still have to help him.
Focus, Bella. You know what you came here for.
"So you want me to let them to kill you then? Is that what you want?" My voice had at least regained some control. "This is your only chance to escape, once I leave this room, they'll only return to finish you off."
He began shaking visibly, at first I thought it was either from fear or from his body going into shock from the brutal beating, but I slowly realized the son of a bitch was actually laughing. He stopped and looked up once more.
"Why wouldn't you want them to kill me? When exactly did you stop wanting to do it yourself?" I stared at him with my mouth half open. "Come on, Bella, don't disappoint me now." Of all the directions I had imagined this conversation taking, this was not one of them.
"Here's the thing, love." He continued without much hesitation. "If you want me to live, you're going to have to give me a good reason for it. You can't just help me out of the kindness of your heart… again."
"What are you talking about? Have you gone mad? YOU are the one who is supposed to beg for my mercy now! It is YOU who must convince ME! You are powerless here. I'm your only means of escape." I stared at him fuming. I wanted to shake him until his teeth rattled. I wanted to slap him until he began making some sense. Was I trying to reason with a man too far gone?
He looked at me smiling and shook his head. "You'll have to do better than that, Bella."
"Better than what?! You have this backwards, Edward, it is you who is bound and beaten. It is I who hold power over you now. It is I who will set the fucking rules!"
He closed his good eye and breathed deep in what seemed something close to contentment. "I love to hear you say my name. Have you ever said my name to me before? I don't think so. Maybe in my dreams, and you are always in my dreams," he sighed. It seemed he was speaking almost to himself, his gaze far away. "Ever since I was a boy."
I was sure he could see the surprise in my face. I was sure the torrent of questions was written all over it. Save his life again? Ever since he was a boy? Who was this man?
"You don't remember me, do you? Ah- but I remember you well." He began coughing once again, a thread of blood dangling from his swollen lips and remaining there, suspended.
I was about to open my mouth when a loud knock on the door brutally brought me back to where we were. The door opened and one of Charlie's gunmen stood before it.
"Miss Francon, is everything all right in here?" He asked while eyeing Edward suspiciously.
"YES! Everything's fine, don't come in unless I tell you to. I need more time." I looked directly at him leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. He nodded his head once before making a hasty exit and closing the door once again.
Silence engulfed us. It seemed we had but mere minutes before I was forced to make a final choice. But I needed to know; it was perhaps my only chance.
"Who are you, Edward? When did we meet?"
"You were ten, and dressed in purple." He closed his eye and swayed a bit on his chair. My eyes fell to his left shoulder where a deep gash was beginning to look almost black.
It was painful to watch him speak; I couldn't understand how he was even capable of it. He pulled instinctively at the restraints every once in a while, and each time he'd hiss from the pain it caused. I wanted to release him, but knew this conversation might go better if he remained held down.
"Your father had just murdered my father. Did you know that? Charlie himself killed him, shot him point blank in the face. Such an honour…"
My stomach turned from the images his words roused. "Yeah, Joe told me," I said quietly.
"Hmmm." He frowned, perhaps questioning when exactly this conversation took place. "I'm thinking I need to have a very long conversation with Joseph."
"Let's leave him out of this for now. Go on with what you were saying." My voice had become softer. I couldn't find it in me to be harsh under the choice of subject.
"Yes, well as it was, I became convinced it was my duty to claim revenge. I took the gun my father kept in the kitchen cupboard for the family's safety and headed for Charlie's townhouse. This very townhouse." He laughed silently making the blood from his mouth now stick to his chin, running down his neck. "Such a silly boy, thinking I could kill a mob lord all by myself, just walking into his house and emptying a gun to his face. I didn't even know how to get the safety lock open on the gun."
I had spent the entire night thinking about Joseph's recount of Edward's past, and not once did I think about the desire for revenge he must have harboured for my father. How the hatred must have grown and rotted that young boy's heart. I knew such hatred killed people - it killed their spirit and ate away at their insides, shifting slowly into an unquenchable thirst for revenge.
"His men apprehended me before I even made it to the main entrance and took me before him. Just as one of his men was about to beat me into a bloody pulp with my own gun, you entered the room. You, you with your purple dress and school bag, looking all happy and excited until you saw me being held by the collar, a heavy weapon about to be smashed into my face."
I remembered that boy, his eyes still haunted me every now and them, the same colour as the eye that was looking at me now. Green, how I want you green. I had always thought the boy had the eyes of a fairy creature. I was sure he could see into your soul.
"Charlie was furious, yelling at everyone for allowing you to come in at such a time. Turning back to you, he tried to hide the truth by telling you I had been caught trying to steal from the house, that it was only fair I should get a good beating. One of the maids came in and tried dragging you away. But you cried and begged your father to let the boy go, to let me go, no matter what I had done."
I never knew what happened to the boy after that, but Charlie gave me his word he'd go unharmed. Over the years, I had often wondered whether the episode had ever really happened. Charlie and I never talked about it afterwards. I suddenly wondered why I didn't connect that episode to my father's real profession after I found out about it. It had been the first time I had witnessed his brutality firsthand. And a brutality directed to a helpless and grieving child.
"What happened after?" I asked softly.
"Life. A very intricate series of events that finally lead us here." He shut his one good eye and took a sharp gulp of air, obviously trying to endure whatever was causing him pain for the moment. His muscles were strained and his skin glistened faintly from the sweat and blood that covered it. I was surprised to realize I was admiring him, I don't think he had ever looked this beautiful. Or did it seem that way to me simply because this might be my last chance to ever lay eyes on him?
"What happened to your brother and sister after your mother died?" My fingers ached with the need to brush his damp hair out of his face, to smooth out his tense forehead.
He took a deep breath. "My sister moved to Spain and my brother came with me to Russia." I knew he was growing too tired to continue.
I could hear the men outside grow louder. I knew what was happening: I knew a riot had risen someplace near the city docks and some of them were being summoned away. I could hear their muffled arguments over who should stay. My safety was not a concern to them. Although I'm sure Charlie would want his daughter closely protected, I knew they thought I was in no danger from Edward and there was no way for the prisoner to escape in his current state. But there was the matter of who should remain to finish off the business at hand: Edward. And for that purpose, only one man was necessary.
I smiled inwardly. Joseph had pulled it off.
I looked back to Edward whose head was turned in the direction of the door. He must have wondered what was going on out there. Did he think the argument was over who should kill him? We were both silent while listening to things unfold. Finally we heard several steps walking away, growing ever fainter. I knew at least one of them had had to remain behind, but it was impossible to tell.
My mind was a daze of questions I knew I had no time to ask. Maybe I'd never have the time to piece this man's life entirely together, and perhaps I would never know exactly why he had behaved the way he had towards me, why he had decided I was the most suitable victim. But there was one thing I desperately needed to know in order to make a decision.
"We don't have any more time, Edward. Things will be moving fast from this moment on. Charlie's men are leaving to meet him and only the executioner will linger. And I don't think he'll give us much more time to chat." I took a deep breath and watched him closely, watched for his reaction to my next words. "Just answer me this and I'll help you out of here." I waited for his sight to be fixed on me.
"Were you really going to kill me?" I asked in a hushed whisper. I realised it was such a futile question. If he wanted to live he could simply lie, whatever he answered, I knew I couldn't very well believe him.
"You think you don't know me at all, but you may very well know me better than anyone else, maybe even better than I know myself." He smiled again, broadly, teeth stained with blood. "You know the answer to that, love. You can just see right through me, can't you?"
I saw the pleading in his eye, not a plea to stay alive, but a plea for recognition.
"I will not beg you for my life, Bella. It's been yours for longer than I care to admit, ever since you walked into that room looking like an angel. Do as you must, I only ask one thing of you."
We were silent for a long time. It felt like I was holding my breath in expectance of his next words. But whatever those words might be, I knew I had already made up my mind.
