Author's note - Oh, goodness. I don't even know what to say, except that I am so incredibly sorry for slacking on updates. I've been busy with my newest Harry Potter fanfiction, March Malaise, which is no excuse for leaving you all hanging, but an explanation nonetheless. I hope you like this chapter - I've kind of given up on POVs for the time being, so assume this is all in third person omniscient. I know this is all haphazard in terms of formatting, primarily due to my inconsistencies in posting, but I promise when I'm done with the entire fic I'll go back and fix everything; I just wanted to give you at least something so you know I'm still working on it.
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His name was Damon. He was an ex-Ten Man, and Cleo was his daughter. Understandably, Rhonda and Number Two were suspicious of the guy; however, the pressed urgency in his voice was undeniably sincere.
"You know the children?" he asked swiftly. "You're the little one's... parents?"
"Constance," said Number Two; a pained look crossed her face, and her hands went inexplicably up to her chest. "I hope she's -"
"No promises," said Damon shortly, and felt about for an exit, a latch, a vent, anything.
Rhonda piped up, "If you're looking for an escape, there's a window here that's been painted over. We couldn't get it undone because of our hands. Do you happen to have anything...?"
"Oh. Uh, yes," he said, and ruefully produced one of his pencil darts. Both women flinched. He felt terribly guilty - it wasn't as if he wanted to make the elephant in the room (namely, that he was intimately affiliated with the tyrant who was directly responsible for their plight) any larger. Regardless, desperate times called for desperate measures. "Where is it?"
They led him to the location, dissolving into whispers once he turned his back. No one could blame them for this; the situation was a particularly uncomfortable and precarious one, so he kept quiet and made fast work of scraping off the putty and prying the flimsy frame off of the wall.
"Come on, then," he said tersely, and hurried the women through. The threesome stepped blindly into the gaping hole and found themselves on a sand bank. To be more precise, a seashore. The water lapped at their feet and waves undulated, swaying to a rhythm orchestrated by the breeze.
"What is this place?" asked Number Two in wonder, inhaling the salty air.
"I've no idea," murmured Damon. "We never - they never knew about it."
"You're the Ten Man, aren't you? McCracken's right hand man?" Number Two said keenly, squinting at him.
"I -"
"Yes, yes, I remember now. You took us away from the house," said Rhonda, stepping gingerly over cracked seashells and driftwood. "I saw your face for a split second."
"Yes, but -"
"I'd say you owe us an explanation," Number Two said sternly, crossing her arms.
"The children," he said pleadingly.
He shifted self-consciously under Rhonda's scrutiny until she nodded curtly. Placing a gentle hand on her companion's arm, she said, "He's right. We can interrogate him later."
"Hmph." They ambled about the small island in peculiar quietude.
"What's this?" he said presently, and ducked beneath a moldy beam. "It's been opened."
"Looks like a secret passageway to me," Number Two said smartly. "Should we go in?"
"You don't know what kind of traps McCracken might have set up," Rhonda pointed out, stepping away.
"That doesn't matter," Damon said offhandedly. They stared at him.
"Excuse me, our lives are in jeopardy here, and we won't be much help to the children - and your daughter - if we're chopped up into pieces," snapped Number Two indignantly.
"No, no. All the Ten Men have electronic cards that protect us from our own deadfalls. If he's set any up, and it's quite likely he has, I'm able to override the trigger signal." He whipped out a credit card and handed it to them. "You'll see the back glints ever so slightly, and there's a faint beeping noise. Hear that? It will alert us if there's a trap, and I'll swipe it against a hidden target to disengage the threat."
"You certainly do a thorough job," said Rhonda wryly. "Think of how all these skills, this genius, could be used for good."
"Yes, well," said Damon, and didn't continue, for a lump had developed in his throat that he dearly wished would disappear. Coughing, he gestured for them to follow him into the dank, shadowy cave laid bare by the removal of a clumsily thrust-aside trapdoor.
As soon as they'd taken ten steps inside, the card began to glow and vibrate in Damon's hand.
"Ah, yes," he said in a hushed voice, and tapped something on its front. A box descended from the ceiling, with a blinking bulls-eye at the center, and disappeared when he brushed the piece of plastic against it. "All safe. It was a laser beam, nothing big."
"A laser beam can cut off your ears," Rhonda pointed out.
"I suppose you haven't been privy to the button, then?"
"Of course, we've been researching it for the past year, we knew you were up to no good, you lousy scoundrels," stormed Number Two. "Rhonda's just saying that even compared to that godawful contraption, a laser trap isn't 'nothing big.'"
Damon didn't know what to say: he knew his handiwork was responsible for wreck and ruin - possibly that of his own daughter - and he didn't need anyone to tell him so. Instead, he plodded along silently, pledging to fight to the death to free everyone he'd worked so diligently to imprison.
They reached the entrance - a simplistic porthole, no bells and whistles - and opened it.
"Empty," Rhonda said, flinching as her voice echoed around the hollow atrium.
"I know this place." Damon's brow furrowed. "This is - this is the nucleus of Quadrant II. How did that tunnel...? Never mind."
"I wonder where the others are?" said Rhonda. "The Ten Men, I mean."
"Probably wherever he took Cleo," he said grimly. "I have a nasty hunch that we'll find your children there as well." A kiosk was erected in the center. He hastened to it. It was locked, but opened at the wave of his hand, and he beckoned them inside. "We've all got tracking numbers and electronic identifiers. Problem is, they beep every time someone's locating us. It will arouse suspicion for sure."
"Will it disclose your identity?"
"No. Even so, I'm certain McCracken would know it's me."
"Is it worth it?"
He thought of Cleo, and of Lissa waiting at home. He thought of birthday cake and cinnamon sugar toast and snow days and hot chocolate. He thought of hugs and kisses and Friday night movies. He thought of family, of love, of friendship, of hope. And he said, with the most utterly genuine conviction of his life, "Absolutely."
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"What?" Kate said, not knowing what else to say.
"What are you doing here?" asked McCracken pleasantly. A score of Ten Men surrounded him, all leering.
"You're disgusting," Harper said savagely; her face contorted in unnameable grief. "You're despicable."
"Am I, then?" McCracken smirked at her, idly stroking the pencil in his hand. "I see. You know, I don't believe we've met. I'm -"
"McCracken, loathsome fool. I'm well aware. Harper."
"That's rather harsh, wouldn't you say?"
"No."
He sighed. "Alas, you can't impress everyone. Now, shoo."
"Pardon?"
"Was I not clear enough?" A wave of cologne suffocated her as he moved closer, until they stood nearly nose-to-nose. "Get. Out."
"No."
"You're not wanted here," he said in a bored voice. "You and your pathetic pity party out there at the beach? You think I didn't see you? Oh, I saw you, alright. I decided to humor you - it's such fun to watch people fruitlessly pursue their unattainable dreams and desires." This he accentuated with a flourish of his gloved hand. "Despite that, I've had enough now. Take her away, men."
"No!" cried Kate, jumping in front of the woman. "Don't touch her! She didn't do anything!"
"Oh, Katie, Katie, Katie." He clucked at her. "You truly are something."
"Don't touch her. I know you've got that awful button. Don't you so much as think of using it on her."
"And you think you're going to stop me now? With all the back-up I have, and your precious friends sound asleep? How adorable. How perfectly charming. No, sweetheart, I'm afraid I'm going to have to -"
Milligan stirred in the corner groggily, a motion that only Kate, with her acute vision, glimpsed. When he opened one eye to peer at his daughter, his gaze was alert and calculating. He winked. Imbibed with a new confidence, she straightened up, taller and stronger than ever before. "You won't get away with this, you know. You won't. You can try to kill all of us off - I dare you." Words could not describe the adrenaline rush surging through every inch of her body; she was ready to fight, to end the corruption, the villainy, forever.
"Do you double-dog dare me? That, my dear, is the real question."
"Oh, you deplorable -"
Milligan sprang to his feet; the Ten Men encircling him jumped immediately and reached for their weapons. He was too agile for them, though, and when he casually threw three off his back, he was staring at Harper.
"Milligan!" Kate reached for him.
It was as if she didn't exist. "Harper," he whispered. "Harper."
Tears filled the woman's eyes as recognition dawned, puzzle pieces clicking into place. Her hands trembled, lips quivered; he touched her arm gently.
"I can't believe it," he said wonderingly. "It's - it's you."
"It's you," she repeated softly.
"Who am I?" he asked, and ran a finger lightly from her temple down to her chin, catching a teardrop.
"Dave," she said. "Dave."
McCracken watched this interaction, an expression of the deepest emotion clouding his face. Something had punctured his defensive walls. Something prevented him from pouncing, easy as it would be to take advantage of this opportunity. They were both immensely distracted, and his men were ready to act the instant he made his command. Something stopped him in his tracks as he reached for the button, something broke inside of him as Kate said uncertainly,
"Milligan?"
"I'm Dave," he said; then, louder, "Katie-cat! This is - this is your mother."
Kate looked at him blankly for a full second. She stammered several incoherent things, and finally settled on, "What?"
"Harper - Harper - oh, Harper - she's your mother, she's my wife, she's - I'm Dave, not Milligan - this is -"
"You're my mom?"
"I am. I am, I am, I am. You're my daughter, my darling Katie!"
"You're - I have a mom?"
"You do."
Kate ran a shaky hand through her hair. "Wow," she said, exhaling a puff of breath, "we sure have a lot of catching up to do."
Milligan laughed, a crazy, ecstatic guffaw, and gathered his family into his arms.
Just to put a bit of a damper on things, McCracken conveniently chose this moment to slip his tie from his neck, aim, and strike Kate with the metallic bullwhip at its tip. Its blow was dealt instantaneously: she barely had time to cry out before crumpling to the ground.
"What a shame," he said coldly, stepping over her body and kicking it carelessly to the side. He advanced on the couple, both members of whom were horrified. "What a positively dreadful shame."
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Footnote - I have already storyboarded the next two chapters. I am going away in two weeks, and will try to have both chapters posted before I leave. Thank you for your patience, please don't forget to R&R and F&F! I adore you all.