Chapter Fourteen - Bad Moon Rising

A/N: Okay, I hardly ever do the A/N thing, but this time I think it's really important to give you a heads-up. This is a reminder. This story - and especially this chapter and those following - is rated M for a reason. It contains VERY dark themes which are absolutely not intended for a young audience, and deals explicitly and in some detail with subjects that are…well…a very long way from entertaining. I'm serious, people.

--

(Four hours before the death)
Molly leaned against the railings around the quarry-hole and gazed dreamily out at the afternoon sky. She noticed that there was now a gap in the rails at the far side to allow the trucks bringing the building rubble to fill in the hole, but it was now past five in the afternoon; no more trucks would come until tomorrow. She had the place to herself…

She pulled her red hoodie closer around her and shivered in the late autumn sunshine, wondering why the warmth did not seem to penetrate to her bones. She was cold, cold all the way through, with a chill that nothing and no-one would warm, and she wanted to die.

Right now, this afternoon, this is finally the time, she thought, unless…I wonder how quick he is? How good he is? If he'd be able to…?

She climbed slowly over the railing, then sat down on the other side and watched the sun gradually sinking in the sky.

Is this really the last time I'll see the sun going down? I don't remember ever actually watching a sunset before. Always been so busy with other stuff. I'm only fifteen; is this really all there's ever going to be for me? Is this…? Am I really going to…? Yes, yes I am…this is it…I just can't stand any more…not now that it's happened again...She felt the burning ache deep inside her and moaned a little; she had forgotten how much it hurt, how you felt sick all the way to your stomach with it, how you wanted to die afterwards…

Slowly, gathering her will, she took a step forward towards the edge.

She heard the whir of the airship's engines above her and looked up to see the rope-ladder tumbling down from above, between her and the edge.

Are you going to save me, Sportacus? Are you going to bring me back to life and warmth again? Or are you still going to see me the way you want me to be, the sweet, sexless, innocent little girl, and not realise what's right in front of your eyes?

"Molly! Come away from the edge right now, it's dangerous!" he shouted as he climbed down the ladder.

Defiantly, she took another two steps forward.

"Molly! Can you hear me! Molly, that edge is going to crumble if you walk on it, please come away now!"

"I'll make a deal with you," she said calmly. "If you stay where you are, I'll stay where I am."

She saw him turn pale, but his voice remained steady.

"Molly, what are you doing?" He slid down another rung of the ladder and she took another step forward.

"If it's dangerous for me, it's even more dangerous for you," she pointed out. "You'll be closer, and you're heavier."

She might as well not have spoken.

"Molly, please, this is a very dangerous place. Didn't your father tell you what happened to him? He was lucky not to be killed."

"No," she contradicted him, "he was lucky to have done something so stupid in Lazytown. You rescued him, didn't you? But I wonder…are you going to be quick enough to rescue me?"

"Molly, please don't do this. Talk to me. Tell me what the problem is."

"You sound just like my therapist."

He looked up into the ship. "Rope!" he called out, and hastily seized the coil that tumbled down into his hand. "Tell me about the therapist. Molly, please, keep talking, and keep still. Tell me how it's going."

"Don't you dare move any closer."

"I won't, I promise. Now talk to me. What is the therapist like? Yesterday was the third session, is that right?"

"He's…he sees a lot…"

(Lying on the couch in that dimly-lit room, not wanting to look at him. His voice was gentle and soft, in contrast to the apocalyptic nature of his questions, and the seismic tremors they set off in her head. "Tell me about you and food, Molly. Why are you starving yourself like this? Do you feel you deserve to be punished? Who are you angry with? Do you resent the changes your body is going through? Are you trying to turn the clock back? Do you want to stay a little girl?" He saw a lot; he was quick and scarily perceptive; he seemed to know things about her that she no idea how he could possibly know; but he still hadn't guessed. Or if he had, he hadn't been able to stop it…)

"And is it helping?"

She laughed bitterly.

"Do you think I'd be standing here if it was helping?" She took another step forward. Now she was only a couple of feet away from the edge. She saw his eyes widen.

"Molly, you're standing on about ten inches of soil hanging out over a sheer drop."

"Do you think I don't know that?" She heard the faint rattle of soil crumbling beneath her. He was busy with the rope now, frantically knotting it tight, first around the pole of the platform, then around his ankles.

"Don't you try and stop me," she warned. She spread her arms wide and moved a little closer to the edge.

"You told me you'd stay where you are if I stayed where I am," he reminded her, testing the strength of the knot.

"I'm human…I'm allowed to lie." She smiled dreamily. "It's a pity…I'd have liked to find out where you're really from…is it true you're not human?"

"I - well, no, not exactly. Molly, if you'll step away from that edge right now I'll tell you all about it." She saw him stand up straight on the ladder, balancing gracefully as it blew in the breeze.

"Are you going to catch me?" she asked him.

"If I have to."

"You might not be quick enough."

"Maybe not. So please, Molly, please step back just a little bit…"

"Aren't you going to tell me I have so much to live for?" she asked him maliciously, and took one more step, knowing it would be her last.

The earth gave way beneath her with frightening suddenness, and even though this was what she had planned, she still felt a moment of paralysing panic…oh, mum, she thought to herself as she plunged downwards, will I see you when I get there? Will you keep me safe at last…?

As she fell, the picture that floated through her mind was the view out of the window of the Physics lab back at St Cecilia's in New York State. The distance travelled by a falling body is directly proportional to the square of the time it takes to fall. She could hear Sister Immaculata's voice, the rich, warm accent of the Caribbean, reciting Galileo's law as the girls drowsed in the sunshine. Which means, girls, that it would be impossible to catch a falling object by jumping after it. She could hear the exact and beautiful inflection of her voice as she spoke the critical word: im-possi-bull. She didn't see him dive with her, but she knew that he must have jumped at exactly the same time that she fell, because his arms closed desperately around her and she was held firm and close against him.

She kicked and screamed and scratched, not sure if she was fighting to get free, or simply driven by the adrenaline rush. She bit him very hard on the arm and felt him flinch with pain, but his grip never wavered. He turned her in his arms so that she was lying with her back against his chest, and fastened something tightly around her waist, pressing her close and tight against him. Then she felt the blood rushing through her ears as he began to pull them both back up the bungee rope towards the airship. She briefly caught sight of the drop below them, and closed her eyes…

"Molly," he said softly to her, and she felt the firm grip around her waist loosen. "Molly, it's all right. You can let go now. We're on the airship. You're safe." She opened her eyes, and realised she was clutching onto his hands so tightly that her knuckles were white. When she released him, she could see the marks where her fingers had pressed into his skin…she felt her knees buckle beneath her, and he caught her under her arms.

"It's all right," he said reassuringly. "I've got you. There's no need to be afraid any more. Chair!"

"What?" she whispered blankly.

"I was talking to the ship…it works on voice-commands. Let me help you…" he half-carried her over to the chair that had folded silently up from the floor. She was shaking so violently that she could hardly move without his help. Without hesitation he put his arms around her and held her gently, stroking her back. She felt every touch of his hands sweep through her body like fire, bringing warmth to the centre of her where she had thought she would never be warm again, bringing her back to life, thrilling her…maybe he can save me, maybe he really can make it all right again…

She took a deep breath. Before she could lose her nerve, she put her face up to his and kissed him, full on the mouth, winding her arms around his neck, sliding forwards off the chair so that she could press her body against his.

--

He saw her as soon as he brought the airship in over the quarry-hole, but it wasn't until he was halfway down the ladder that he realised what her intentions were. Molly, he thought desperately to himself, please don't move, don't jump, don't do anything for just one more minute, just until I can get this rope fastened…he was barely aware of what he was saying to her, focused completely on two things only; watching the steady, relentless trickle of soil and pebbles from the earth beneath Molly's feet; and the knots in the rope, which would have to take all of his weight, plus all of Molly's, plus the acceleration of their fall…

He saw the trickle of soil become a rush, and dived gracefully into space, straight into Molly's path as she fell. He caught her around the waist and held her tightly against him, barely registering the agonising jolt as the elastic recoil of the rope took the strain of their combined weight. As he had known she would, she fought and struggled, biting and scratching like an angry cat. He held her still until the first shock passed, then turned her around in his arms and fastened her securely against him. She lay passive and quiet against his chest and thighs as he pulled them slowly back up the length of the rope to the safety of the ship.

He murmured reassuringly to her as she shivered with shock and spent adrenaline, and carried her to a chair. She's so young, he thought to himself, still just a child…what can possibly have driven her to…? There was absolutely no doubt in his mind that she had meant to die; that if he had not been there she would have stepped off that ledge into empty space and allowed herself to fall to her death on the rubble and rocks below.

As he held her steady and safe, comforting her, he could feel her gathering her strength for something. Then, to his total shock, she slid forward off the chair and was in his arms, pressing herself against him, pulling him down towards her, kissing him deeply.

--

She could feel almost straight away that it wasn't any good; there was nothing coming back from him at all. He didn't push her away immediately, but that was simply because he hadn't been expecting it. His hands reached up and took hold of hers, he removed them from around his neck, and then he sat her gently back on the chair and moved away. In his eyes was the tactfully oblivious look she had seen so many times before.

"Don't you dare try and pretend that didn't just happen," she whispered, utterly humiliated. "We have to talk about this - "

"I think there are far more important things for us to talk about," he said calmly. "Tell me what's happening to you, Molly. Tell me why you were out there by that quarry-hole."

"Tell me why you don't want me," she challenged back. "Tell me why the only man I want doesn't look at me the way every other man does…"

"I don't think that's going to help."

"What the fucking hell would you know about what would help?"

"Clearly, not nearly enough. So, please, Molly, talk to me."

"Not if you won't talk to me. I mean it. You want to know? That's the price. That's what my dad taught me. You never give anything away unless you're getting something in return."

She saw the sigh travel right through him.

"All right, Molly, if you insist…what is it that you want to know?"

"Why won't you kiss me back?"

"Because - "

How could he explain it, tactfully but truthfully? Because just the thought of touching you in that way, a girl of fifteen, fills me with cold horror? Because I know, as much as I know anything, that you don't really want this to happen, that it's something totally different from desire that's driving you on? Because I love my wife?

"Because," he said at last, "because however you see yourself, Molly, to me you're just a little girl. Now tell me why you were out there."

"Because I wanted to die."

They stared at each other in the warm white light of the airship.

"I know that. I could see it in your eyes. Tell me why. Please."

"How old was Stephanie when you noticed her?"

"She - what? What on earth does Stephanie have to do with anything?"

"Tell me."

(The gradually dawning knowledge, bone-deep and almost painful, that she was the love of his life. The fierce vow he made, renewed daily and sometimes hourly, that he would never, never let her see it, unless he had some sign that she might feel the same. He would not allow her to be caught by the relentless natural laws of his people; he would not let her tie herself to him forever unless, by some miracle, she looked him straight in the eyes and told him that it was what she wanted. The endless, relentless discipline that he forced on himself, to continue to see her, to spend time with her, even to dance with her and hold her and touch her, without allowing himself to think of her as his lover. The sweet and unbelievable shock of the magical time when they finally found each other…)

"I don't remember exactly when," he said truthfully. "It didn't matter anyway, it was never about what I wanted; it couldn't be. What mattered was how she felt about me. I didn't want her to feel she owed me anything just because I was in love with her…"

"Oh, you're just a regular hero, aren't you," said Molly, with venom.

"Just right now, no, not much of one at all. Not unless I can help you. Tell me what I can do, what it was that sent you to that place. Please, Molly."

"So…if how she felt was so goddamn important…why doesn't it matter to you how I feel about you?"

"Molly - " he turned away to hide his embarrassment. He had spent upwards of ten years successfully avoiding this conversation, and now, of all people, this lost little girl in desperate trouble had finally forced his hand. "Whatever it is that you think you feel for me - I promise you - it's not about me at all. What you - what you admire…it's just the uniform, the airship, the - well, the job I do for the town - "

"And the muscles and the good looks and the beautiful smile."

He threw up his hands in despair.

"Oh, all right then, if you are going to make me say it, then yes, I suppose all of that too - but that's not love, Molly, that's just - "

"Hero-worship?" She stood up and tried to take his hand. "Who said sex had anything to do with love?"

"And that is certainly not a conversation we're going to have right now. Molly, I can see what is happening to you. I can see that you're not eating properly, I've seen those scars you try so hard to hide. Now if you don't want to talk to me, then of course I understand that, but I will not watch you tear yourself apart like this. Where can I take you? If you can't tell me, then who? Do you want to be with your father?"

She shook her head violently and he saw her shudder.

"Not your father? I - Molly, I know he is not a perfect man, but he loves you…can he really not help you?"

"I could lie, you know," she said suddenly, tears pouring down her face. "I could tell everyone that you dragged me up here and forced me…and they'd believe me, too…"

It sounded like a threat, but her eyes were huge and pleading.

"So," she continued, wiping her nose on her sleeve, "you might as well try it out with me, to be honest, because…I don't care about all that love nonsense, not any more. I know you're not in love with me, for God's sake. Why would you be? I'm just - I'm not even - but I thought - I still wanted - " her voice broke. "I wanted, just for once, to be with someone who's caring and beautiful and considerate and gentle and - someone I'd chosen for myself - just once, just to prove it doesn't always have to be ugly and horrible and - "

She's not threatening me at all, he thought, as with a dawning sense of horror he finally began to see the truth. She's trying, in the best way she can manage, to tell me...now I have to be careful...and gentle...and somehow find a way to help her say it...

He took her hands gently between his.

"Molly," he said softly. "Please listen to me…you're absolutely right, you could do exactly that, you could tell them that I lured you up here and took advantage of you. And yes, they would probably believe you and not me. And they would send me away, or more likely lock me away somewhere here, in your world, and that would be the end of my life. But that doesn't matter. What matters…the only thing that matters...is that there is a reason they would believe you, isn't there?" She looked at him then, a quick, frightened look, and he knew he was right. "Tell me who, Molly. Please, just tell me who and, I swear to you, I will make sure he never touches you again."

"What will you do to him?"

Kill him, I think, he thought to himself grimly.

"You don't need to worry about that," he said out loud. "Let me take responsibility."

"He made me promise never to tell - he said he was sorry, he'd try to do better - and if I loved him I'd never tell - "

"Whoever he was, he had no right to ask you to make that promise. Time to let it go, now, Molly. Be brave now for just one moment and tell me his name, and I give you my word that I will do everything else that needs doing."

She looked at him beseechingly.

"Can't you guess? Don't you know?"

And the terrible thing was that he did know, he had always known; some part of him had recognised it almost the second he had laid eyes on him. That moment, months ago now, when they had shaken hands for the first time in Mayor Meanswell's office, he had looked at him and he had seen it. Their eyes had met, and the word that had crossed his mind, for that fleeting instant before he dismissed it, was, MONSTER…

All these months I knew there was something wrong, all this time it was there in front of my eyes, and yet somehow, I didn't realise…how could I not see it? How could I leave her in danger like that?

"It's your father, isn't it?" he whispered, and her face crumpled and she flung herself into his arms and howled.

"Don't hurt him, please don't hurt him! He's my dad, he's all I've got, he couldn't help it, he didn't mean it…please, please, just - keep him away from me, don't let him do it to me again…"

And then he held Molly in his arms while she cried and cried and cried, clutching painfully at him, telling him about it in broken, disconnected fragments that turned him sick and cold. And as she sobbed and choked until she was painfully, helplessly sick on herself and on his lap and on the floor of the airship, and he peeled the soaked and filthy hoodie off her too-thin body and saw the dark bruises on her arms where someone - her own father - had held her brutally still and helpless while he raped her, the thought came to him again; truly, I think I am going to have to kill him for this.

--

As the wife of the town hero, Stephanie had long ago grown used to Sportacus bringing home the waifs and strays of the town from time to time - for a hot bath, for a nap, for a bandage, occasionally for a firm but gentle talking-to. Nevertheless, something in her husband's face as he carried Molly, profoundly asleep in his arms, towards the house, sent a shiver down her spine.

"What happened to her?" she asked as he carried her into the house.

"Her father happened to her," he said grimly. He took Molly upstairs and laid her gently on their bed. Without waking, she turned over onto her side and curled herself into a ball, pressing the side of her thumb against her mouth in a gesture that reminded them both almost painfully of Emma. Then he went into the bathroom and began going through drawers and cabinets, tossing bottles of painkillers, Emma's baby paracetamol and a pack of razors into a basket. She saw what he was doing and her eyes widened.

"Where did you find her?"

He went to the kitchen and began sorting methodically through the drawers, removing anything with sharp edges. "We're going to have to keep these in the airship for a while, I'm sorry…I found her by the quarry-hole."

"That doesn't matter, you know that. She wasn't - she wasn't going to jump, was she?"

"She did jump…or, at least, she walked off the edge…I caught her."

"But - why? I knew she wasn't happy, but, - oh my God, she's still just a little girl - "

He looked at her despairingly, wishing with all his heart that he didn't have to burden her with the terrible heartbreak of the story Molly had told him.

--

When he had finished, he lay full-length on the sofa with his head in Stephanie's lap. She stroked his hair and face gently.

"So what are we going to do?" she asked him at last.

"Sweetheart, before I can answer that, I need to understand something first. If we go to the police…if we tell them what he did to her…what will they do? What will happen? To Molly, I mean?"

She thought for a minute.

"Well…first they'll have to examine her, I think. To make sure it's true, and to see if they can find any evidence to use if it goes to a trial…"

Bright lights and sharp instruments. Officers standing by while a woman with a soft, resigned face and gentle hands examines and explores. "Just a minute now, honey, be brave for me just a minute longer. I know that's uncomfortable, but you're doing really good…" Stretching her open with a speculum and scraping with an unforgiving spatula at the delicate hidden tissues, already brutally bruised and torn, probing and invading where already so much damage has been done, looking for evidence. After that, the more subtle invasion of the camera, the flash going off again and again as the wounds are photographed and catalogued. "Turn over, please, hon, I need to get a shot of those bruises…good girl…now back this way again, please, so I can see those scratches…okay, that's fantastic…you're doing really well…" A desperate perversion of the modelling dream of so many pretty young girls. "Okay, honey, you can get down of the bed and go and take a shower now. Remember, you're safe here, there are officers just outside the door…"

"…after that, I suppose it'll depend on whether he admits it or not."

That man, that self-made and utterly ruthless man, who thought he could conquer his demons, who thought no-one would ever know: what are the chances that he will admit to the terrible damage he's done? That man who moved to Lazytown because he must have realised, in the end, that he couldn't stop himself. So he found me…to do for Molly what he couldn't do himself - to keep her safe from her own father. He moved here, to my town, so that his daughter would be under my protection; and then, if he was tempted to touch her again, I would be there to stop him…but I failed her. Because, when the monster that he hides inside of him became too strong, he took her out of the town, so that I wouldn't see or know what he was doing…

Did he plan it? Did he intend, when he booked that room in the Metro Grand Hotel - one room only, for a girl of fifteen and her father - to rape his daughter that night when she came home from the therapist? Or did he believe that he was strong enough to resist?

No, he'll never admit it to the police, I am sure…maybe not even to himself…

"And if he won't admit it?" he asked her as she caressed his forehead tenderly.

"Then - well, I guess it will have to go to trial…"

The two of them, that poor, damaged girl and her monster of a father, facing each other in the courtroom. All are equal under the law. That's how they told me it works, and maybe they really believe that it can be that way, these people I live among. But how can they ever be equal, a lost little child and her powerful father? Molly, angry and inarticulate and with no idea of what outcome she wants, because whatever happens, she's going to lose; Molly, who kissed me because she doesn't know any more how to be a little girl asking for help from an adult; Molly, who made excuses for him, even as she sobbed on my lap and told me how much it hurt when he forced himself inside her; Molly, who still loves her father. And, on the other side of the courtroom, James Michael Thornton, urbane and plausible and utterly charming; the seventeenth richest man in America, with the legal team that resources like that can buy. The horror of the cross-examination; some well-trained lawyer expertly taking Molly apart on the stand, looking for holes in her story. "Are you sure this really happened, Molly? Is it possible that you are just desperately unhappy and looking for attention? Was it truly your father, or was it someone else? If your father is convicted, you know that he will go to jail for many years? He'll be destroyed, body and soul. If you need to tell us now that it was all a mistake, Molly, no-one will be angry with you, you can go away and live your life in peace and this will all be forgotten…"

And even if she's strong and righteous and stands her ground and the jury believe her, even if he's actually found guilty, what will happen to her then? He's a giant of Wall Street, a true power in the land. His fall from grace will resonate across the country…his name and his crime will be front-page news across the world, the press will bribe or steal their way into possession of the photographs, and everyone, everyone will know all the ugly details what was done to her…

"I don't think that can be the right way," he said softly, looking up at Stephanie. "After what she's been through already…thirteen years old, Stephanie, she was thirteen that first time…the things they'll have to do to her to get the evidence...the questions they'll ask her...I think, sweetheart, that your law has its limits, and this is one of them."

"What other way is there?" she asked him, but he could see from the look on her face that she knew what was in his mind.

"Justice," he said, grim-faced. "I know where he is. I can find him, now, this evening."

"And when you've found him, what will you do?"

"She asked me to keep him away from her. I owe it to her to try and do that, at least. I'll…make it clear to him…that he has to go far away from her, and never see or contact her again."

"But what happens if he won't?"

He looked at her steadily, and after a moment she nodded firmly.

"Yes," she said. "Yes. You're right."

"I can't do this unless you're absolutely sure that you agree," he said, taking her hand and kissing it. "Because, if I have to…if it comes to that…this is going to have - consequences - for all of us. Not just for me. Not even just for you and me. But for Emma as well, and for the whole town."

"I know," she said. "It's okay. I'll be ready. Whatever it takes. Whatever you need to do, you know I'll back you to the hilt."

"You're absolutely sure? You know what I'll do if I have to, if there's no other way - and you're still absolutely sure?"

She looked at him for a moment, and he found himself remembering the expression on her face on the afternoon she had punched James Thornton on the jaw and knocked him out cold.

"We have a daughter too," she told him fiercely. "So yes, I am absolutely sure."

He sat up and kissed her, then held her very tightly against him for a moment.

"Get ready to run," he whispered in her ear, and left her.