A/N: Thanks to each of you who has added Dfly P to your favorites list! Whether you're silently enthralled (yes, the reaction to the story is keeping me very humble –lol) or reviewing with your thoughts and theories, I want you to know:
It thrills this scribbler immensely!
Now, where were we? Ah, yes. Ivan just threatened…
"Don't you dare yell for help."
Chapter 51 – Dead Men
She tried to gulp against his hand, tightly locked on her neck. Her brain continued to scramble for a means of escape, trying to avoid his fixed stare. In a hoarse whisper, she uttered the first idea that came to her: "Think about Deanna much?"
His expression didn't change. "Yeah, I think about her all the time. And that wouldn't save you, little girl." He let go of her, picking up the bone and the pouch housing Glader. "And I want my shirt back."
"As soon as I can go back for my shirt…"
"No. You can pick one of these." He pointed to the mud-crusted clothes on the floor as he reached for the Zource container. "I want my shirt before I leave tonight."
"At least let me use the rest of the Zource to clean another shirt," she said. She felt humiliated, but tried to act unmoved by what he had done.
He handed her the Zource container; and, as she tried to take it, he held on. "I wasn't going to do anything. I was trying to show you-,"
"That you are stronger than I am."
"No, Casey! I mean, I am – that's not it. Look. What could you have done? Nothing."
"You don't have any right to threaten me." She was on the verge of tears, but blinked them back. He would not see her cry; she would not show how he'd made her feel.
"Really? What are you gonna do? Call the police? Am I going to go to prison? There's no law here that gives you any rights. You have no protection. Neither of us do; but I'm not a naïve little fifteen-year-old, batting my eyelashes and listening to someone who calls himself the dragonfly prince tell me he's going to help me go home."
The emotions inside of her were raw and churning. He had betrayed her trust again in a way which had crushed her inwardly. The pain of it was profound. She wanted to hurt him back. "I'd believe Oliver over you anytime."
"You'd believe a Gread if he handed you an apple and smiled."
As her eyes narrowed, Casey shook her head. Bitterly, she said, "I wish I could-," She stopped to swallow the lump in her throat. He was so hateful and belittling.
"You wish you could what? Kill me? Poor Ethel. You already told me that. Drink your Zource and stop being so predictable." He turned to go, but whirled around again. "And you're not going anywhere with Oliver." Casey looked up at him quickly.
"You can't-,"
"If he comes for you, Casey, he's a dead man." His words seemed to reverberate in her head as he disappeared around the corner.
"You can't tell me what to do. It'd be different if I had Glader," she murmured, her back to the opening as she sorted through the clothes. Lifting a shirt, she gave a half-sigh of distaste. There were spots of stiff mud and holes all over it. She threw it from her in disgust and turned to grab the Zource. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ivan's figure behind her, his shoulder leaning against a pillar of rock. Her heart dropped in trepidation, wondering what he would do next. It suddenly occurred to her that she was subject to his whim; he was determined to force her to surrender to his way of thinking.
She tried to keep her voice from shaking as she spoke. "You're not going to tell me what to do." He was staring at something in his hand. She followed his gaze. It was Glader. Her heart stopped, and she felt as if her legs would have given out if she had not been sitting on the floor. He was going to kill her, wasn't he?
"You really think you'd have the guts?" She understood then that he had overheard her muttered threat.
"Ivan, I – I didn't mean it-"
"Either it's me or it's Oliver. If you think Oliver's the one who's telling you the truth, then you'll have to get through me. I'm not letting you go with him." He held the weapon toward her. "Take it."
Her first instinct was to beg him to stop. She couldn't understand why he was so volatile. "I told you, Ivan, Oliver is not dangerous. If he was going to do something, he would have done it." She stood and took the few steps toward him. "I didn't mean it about your Glader."
"Take it, Casey. You won't get another chance."
Without knowing why, she reached for the razor-like weapon he held out to her.
"Hold it here or it will slice through your fingers," he directed. Lifting it, she stared at it briefly before looking at him. "If you kill me, you're free to go. Otherwise, you're going where I tell you to and you're doing what I tell you to do."
"Why, Ivan? Why are you being like this? What if you're wrong about Oliver?"
"I'm not wrong, Casey. He's going to use you, but he can't as long as I'm here. So, either you're going to be the bait for this guy or you'll have to aim Glader right at my neck and stab."
"Why are you telling me how to kill you?"
"I know you won't do it, but I'd almost be proud of you if you did."
"No you wouldn't. You'd be dead. Dead men aren't proud."
"True. They also aren't dangerous. That's the point. Who's the danger to you, Casey? Me or the dragonfly freak?
"He's not a freak. You're the freak. You always think everyone's lying. You tell me I'm crazy, but you're the one who's all messed up in the head. Look! You're willing to risk that I won't do it." She held the weapon up to his throat and began to twist it in midair. He watched it carefully. His arms, which were raised at his sides, twitched inward; but he remained still and waited. "You think you know me so well. So, who's going to stop me? When I go home, nobody's going to know what I did. As far as your family's concerned, you're already dead."
"That's right, Casey. No one's gonna know what happens here. We are entirely on our own, living by our own rules."
"No. Not 'our' rules. I'm not living by your rules."
"Oh, yes you are." He grabbed her wrist and tilted the weapon toward her heart. "I can make you." She struggled to turn the sharp glader tongues away, but he merely met her resistance, causing her to stumble backward.
"I really want to kill you," she spoke in a rush of breath as he steered her into a corner.
"I know. So do it." With measured control, he loosened his grip on her hand.
"I just have to make one jab. It's really sharp; it's not going to take much." He lifted his gaze from the knife and looked at her.
"You're crying."
"Shut-up!" She let out a howl of fury, reared back and drove it into the wall beside his head.
"NO!" He went for her arm, but the tongues sliced into the stone. Her fist hit the rock harder and sooner than she had expected. She let go. Her knuckles were scraped, and she knew they were bruised.
"Look what you-," Ivan grabbed his head in his anguish. "I should've known! What am I going to use for Kapyn now?" He reached around and clutched her neck with both hands, shaking her vehemently.
She dug her nails into his fingers. "Stop ih-uh-ih-uht!"
He let her go abruptly and she fell against the wall. Rubbing her neck, Casey watched him try to dislodge his treasured weapon from the rock. It only resisted briefly. "Look at it!" he exclaimed, holding it gingerly. The tongues were mangled on the tip and edges. "Give me that bag!" He snatched up the Zource container before Casey could stop him. She considered fighting him for it, but didn't. It wasn't worth it. She would rather wear a filthy, torn-up shirt than deal with repeating whatever had just happened.
Bringing her weary body to the floor, she grabbed at one of the shirts and crawled into the alcove where she had hidden from the Gread. She laid her head against the jutting rocks on the ground. The floor was knotted and uncomfortable, but the darkness was what she sought. Casey curled her head tightly to her chest and allowed the waves of pity to draw her under. If he had just given her a challenge that hadn't been so extreme! She hated herself, hated everything inside of her. It went completely against everything she was to kill someone, especially someone who had saved her life. She hadn't really wanted to kill Ivan at all, but wished she'd never known him. It seemed like a punishment that he had saved her. The thought of being trapped there with him was unbearable. She wanted to run away. Now! She sat up, wringing the dirty t-shirt in her hand. Yet, in her pitiable state she found no courage to go. Even if she escaped, she couldn't risk being spotted by the Greads.
She was too tired to sleep, too full of fear of what Ivan might try next; and she was so angry, coupled by a need to vent that verged on the hysterical. Her mind galloped at a dizzying pace, striking against the walls of her limitations, looking for a way to react and find peace again. Every scenario she played out in her head seemed to lead from bad to worse. Again and again she saw Ivan's face in her mind's eye as he had pushed her chin in his hand. His eyes had always held a certain aloofness, as though he refused to allow his thoughts to dwell on what he would do next. Yet, this one time, he'd stared straight at her. He had been watching for her fear; he had hoped to find it there. Had she really believed there could be anything good in him? Oh, she was stupid and naïve.
Oliver knew that, too. He had alluded to the immaturity of her mind; that she hadn't grown up enough for her thought rhythms to form the impasses that mature minds had developed. How she longed to find a way to prove to Ivan he was wrong!
She slid the large shirt over her head and replaced it with the old one. Its gritty surface chafed against her skin. For a split-second she reconsidered giving up Ivan's white shirt, but balled up the material and tossed it away from her. She huddled in the darkness, nursing her injured fist, and moving to keep her legs out of the path of daylight. Her lids felt puffy and she shut them, experiencing a burning relief. Her back and arms sagged, feeling a mental weight rather than a physical one. Whether Oliver was good or bad, she wanted to go with him. She'd rather believe the lie that she was going home, if it was a lie.
She finally fell asleep, wrapped up in her own morbid wrangling. When she awoke, it was still day. She yawned and crept out of her cubby timidly. Her nerves were still tattered; she could tell by the way she reacted on seeing Ivan's shirt on the floor of the cave. She picked it up. He hadn't come back for it. Her eyes traveled out of the recess, and she saw the knee of his pants on the ground just beyond the opening. He was keeping watch. For a moment, she considered scurrying back into her hole in the wall; but, then she lightly tiptoed toward him. He was sprawled out, his body bent to afford the best resting place. His position didn't look comfortable; his head was hung over as he snored quietly. Keeping her distance, she studied one of Ivan's loose fists; it was oddly clean with nails smooth and white. What had he been up to?
His head fell forward too quickly and jerked upwards. As it came back to rest against the stone, his breathing changed and he relaxed again into open slumber. She stared at his expression, wanting to find the cruelty there that deserved her hatred. His face was softened in repose. How could this be the same guy who had given her Glader to kill him? She wanted to wake him, to ask him to think his actions through. Yet, he was Ivan; being distrustful was just his way. Whether he thought he was helping her, or just trying to scare her into doing what he wanted, he was still completely unendurably controlling.
She had to get away from him! She had to leave the cave.
Without knowing why, she dropped his shirt before stepping cautiously over his leg to leave the small chamber. The doubts about whether she could set out on her own were many, but she had to take her chance. Just as she reached the shallow passage of pillars leading toward the outside, the light shifted in front of her. She halted, cautiously taking in the silhouette which came into view.
She recognized the figure instantly. Though the gentle light scattering through the cloud-cover behind him made it impossible to view his expression, she knew his quick eyes were searching hers. He was clothed the way he had been when she'd first met him.
Oliver had come for her. He had kept his word.
A/N: So… If you were in Casey's shoes, how would you feel about Ivan?
Backroads: "Big 50! Congratulations!" Wow, I didn't think about it. Thanks! *backs away as screaming commences* Okay, okay, calm down. I was only trying to write a story here, and this is what I was warning you about. This is Ivan in all his rattle-headed glory. "Is he affected by something?" Yes, he's affected by his own life experiences, and doesn't want Casey to be hurt by what he believes is a threat to her. So, he hurts her emotionally, thinking he's helping, when he's really taking out his own feelings of inadequacy on her… or something like that.
Iliana11: *plugs ears as screaming commences yet again* "Apparently Ivan finds it necessary to threaten her. Meanie head!" Ah, you seem to understand him, even if you don't agree with him. It's a tough pill to swallow to know the portion of this story that has been such a challenge to write will receive the least positive feedback. Yet, I shouldn't look at it that way. The reaction is proof it was written well enough to get the characters across. Right? *sniffle*
Lady Thorne: "Well Ivan's a weirdo now isn'te he." xD! Whatever he is, he's been so for awhile.
Hazelcloud! *waves to you maniacally* "Its nice for Casey since Ivan and Oliver seem to be mostly opposites." One of the biggest differences is in the way they treat Casey. "She's so straight forward all of the time, she doesn't even lie much." Yep. Oliver cherishes that; Ivan can't understand it. Oh, my friend, you might be on to some things! So happy to know you're still reading!
EstrangeloEdessa: Yay! You made it to chapter 50! "Casey seems a whole lot like a damsel in distress to me." Ivan made it clear he was boss from day one. She tried him a couple of times, but couldn't succeed in 'dethroning' him. She was smart enough to accept that and cater to his ego, though it was constantly vexing for her. It proved beneficial. I mean, he saved her life again. With Oliver, she has never felt the antagonism she and Ivan feel for each other; so, she welcomes Oliver's guidance. So, what kind of muffin does this chapter get? :D
Quiet Mindreader: "…I think maybe he is just trying to scare some sense into her…" You're right. Yet, he's pushing her away, pushing her toward the prince. And the question remains: is he right about Oliver? The rough drafts had Casey wondering if he was going to kiss her. There's that love/hate ambiguity between the lines. Even if the thought flitted through his head, he wouldn't act on it. Ivan's still ruled by his savior mentality. He is frustrated that she is so 'gullible' – easily led by the Dfly P - while he doesn't receive that same blind trust from her.
