A/N We finally get to meet our villain…

Some violence and threat, but nothing too graphic.

Enjoy!

Chapter Thirty-nine

Breathe.

In…out…in…out…in…out…

Save me.

Aimee repeated the mantra over and over, the focus required for such repetition the only thing keeping her panic at bay.

Gradually, her breathing began to even out somewhat and the shaking of her hands dissipated a little. With her senses once again vaguely under control, she remembered some advice given to her by the theatre director: movement of any kind was constructive in removing fear, the action drawing your conscious thoughts onto something other than the negative emotion.

Swinging her legs off the high bed, she staggered to her feet, her sense of balance still impaired by the after effects of whatever drug had been used to subdue her. Experimentally, she twisted this way and that, stretching sore muscles and attempting to ease a little of the tension from her unconsciously hunched shoulders. As she rolled her neck to the side she caught a glimpse of herself in a large mirror that hung on the wall opposite the bed. A wide-eyed, pale figure stared fearfully back at her, hands clenched into tiny fists and hair drooping in disarray.

Helpless.

Defeated.

These were the only words she could find to describe herself at that moment, no matter how much she wished it were not so; that she had some hidden reserve of defiance and inner strength. But all she felt was fear and exhaustion of the deepest, most draining form. Ashamed of the tears welling in the reflection's eyes, Aimee wrenched her gaze away and studied more extensively the room that was to be her prison.

The looming furniture was heavy, far too heavy to have any use as a weapon and the accompanying furnishings were of as little help: the candle holder, a large crystal vase, and a stuffed bird perched unmoving in a glass case. Its' glass eyes with their sightless stare unnerved her and she turned her back on it, instead paying interest in the window casement. In an act of hopelessly positivity she crossed to the door and turned the handle, hoping against hope that it may have been left unlocked. It was of course locked.

The curtains were drawn, the heavy velvet keeping out any noise or light that might indicate the time of day. The drug had removed all sense of time for her; she may only have been unconscious for a short while or she may indeed have been insensible for hours and hours. On uncertain legs she tottered towards the window and fought to heave aside the imposing curtains. Instantly she reeled back as bright sunlight attacked her sensitive eyes, forcing her to throw up a hand protectively. As the glare eased and the swirling blindness cleared she was able to peer out of the window, shifting and squinting to make sense of the world outside through the uneven panes.

The neighbourhood was far removed from the world she had been living in, with huge houses lining each side of the boulevard. The thick foliage of alternating oak, chestnut and beech trees gave the street a cool, sophisticated air. Standing straighter she peered across the skyline for any landmark to aid her in finding her bearings but found none. Allowing a small sigh to escape her, she rested her head against the glass, a pang of loneliness overcoming her. Oh, how she longed for Enjolras' embrace now! Her eyes fell shut for a second of respite from the fear as she allowed herself to remember her lover's touch, but she was rudely jolted from the daydream by a far more disturbing thought.

Did Enjolras even know that she was missing yet? Did anyone? Eponine might not expect her back for a day at least and only then would she begin to truly fret. As for Enjolras, well, he would only have just arrived back today and he no doubt had important things to attend to with Le Faucon before he could make time to go and seek her out. It would take time for Eponine to go to the boys for help for she would no doubt do a search for Aimee herself before she caused worry among their friends.

Her hands covered her face in a bout of distress as she realized just how helpless she truly was at this moment: lost, trapped, and, for the moment, probably unmissed. A flame of hope stayed alive deep within her at the knowledge that at least she had people who would eventually look for her, people who loved her and looked out for her. So maybe she wasn't quite so alone after all…

"Ah, you're awake."

Any trace of a warm comforting thought was banished by those few words. A shard of cold fear trickled down her spine, her heart rate doubling as slow footsteps stalked across the room towards her. For a single moment, clouded by pure panic, she considered throwing open the window and leaping out. The plummet to the ground two stories below seemed far preferable to remaining in the presence of the monster of her nightmares come to life.

"When I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil. For You are with me…"

The passage sprung to mind quite suddenly, a verse of a psalm she had been reading the day before from the small black book given to her by the priest. The words whispered to her through the fear and drew her twitching fingers away from the window latch.

"I truly do stand in the shadow of death, Heavenly Father," she prayed. "Save me now." Taking courage she turned around, determined to finally face her fear. He was far closer than she had anticipated, standing only a step or so behind her, his continued movement across the room completed on panther-quiet feet. She unconsciously cringed away into the corner of the cushioned window seat as she stared up at the maliciously smiling eyes of her captor.

"Really, my dear, is that any way to react to the presence of your host?" His tone was light and teasing, a playful smirk curling the corner of his handsome mouth as he held out a hand to her. When she made no movement to take it he sighed sharply before grasping her hand himself and pressing it quickly to his lips.

"I would like to welcome you to my home," he announced grandly, thankfully stepping away a little. "I'm afraid the furnishings are a little sparse; this room is unused most of the time and your arrival was a little…short notice." He smiled brilliantly at her, his affable manner confusing Aimee greatly. The elegantly attired gentleman standing before her was not the evil spectre that she recalled from her memories and nightmares. If she did not know better, he could easily be introduced as the hero of an Austen novel. But she recognized the glint in his eye, the twisted triumph shimmering beneath his every movement, and she knew that despite his outward appearance, his soul was black and rotten to its core.

"Nothing to say?" he queried, cocking an elegant brow, obviously enjoying her discomfiture.

"What could I possibly have cause to say to you?" The words came unbidden and she was both surprised and pleased at how little her voice trembled.

"Ah, she speaks!" He clapped his hands together in delight. "I thought you might attempt to haughtily ignore me, an action that would lead to my vexation…and that is something we do not want." In the space of a few syllables, his voice turned low and cold, the threat in his words unmistakable.

"What is there for me to say, sir?" she asked, making a conscious effort to not choke on the words as they emerged.

"You do not even wish to know my name?" He laughed softly, sounding similar to how he had the night of the ball, charm tempered with menace. "Well, it is not as if I would give it to you. Where would the fun be in that? I have remained as a shadow in the corner of your sight for so long now, why must I turn a light on myself? Not all of us enjoy the glare of the spotlight, dear Aimee, at least not all of the time. Address me as The Patron if you require some form of label, but the term 'sir' shall please me just as well." Expectantly, he waited for her to reply. "Come now," he cajoled when she remained silent, "surely you have some questions to ask your patron?"

"Are you some pantomime villain that needs so ludicrous a pseudonym?" The biting words shot off her tongue without warning, her fear becoming anger for a breath-length of time. "And I have no desire to rely on my kidnapper for anything, let alone the answers to the situation in which I find myself."

"So courageous! So self-assured!" He was mocking her, of that she was certain. "You rely on me for everything, you silly girl, whether you like it or not. You are now, finally and completely, at my mercy. No more panting fops to whore yourself out to for protection. No more burrowing away in the dirty back-streets or the theatre." He stepped in once more and pinched her chin firmly between thumb and forefinger, pulling it forwards so that her eyes were forced upwards to meet his. "As far as you are concerned, I am God to you; I hold the power of life…," his hand slipped lower and curled minutely around her throat, his forefinger brushing against her leaping pulse point, "and death over you." As quickly as it had been put in place, he removed his hand, stepping back once more, although she still felt his eyes on her.

Aimee said nothing. What could she say? Any questions she wished to ask made her appear even more vulnerable than she already was and only gave him another opportunity to gloat.

"And she retreats once more into silence." He did not sound pleased, but she did not even glance up from where she studied her lap. Some of the trim was pulling off the waist of the dress she noted absently, a heartbeat before she was wrenched to her feet by an agonizing grip on her hair. Against her own volition, prompted by both the pain and the shock, she let loose a cry and instinctively pulled away, the action only prompting him to shake her fiercely, like a terrier with a rat, and continue to drag her towards the door.

"I will not be treated so by the likes of you," he hissed venomously in her ear as he viciously twisted the handle and flung open the door.

All thought was driven away by another harsh yank on her tender scalp as she was pushed ahead of him into the corridor, the pressure then thankfully easing as he released her.

"Walk," he commanded. "I have something I wish for you to see."

And so she walked, for there was nothing else for her to do. Escape was nigh impossible for the layout was unfamiliar and her captor was no doubt far swifter than she in her weakened state.

She was hurried down a curving staircase under the dead eyes of hunting trophies mounted on the walls. The carpet was thick beneath her feet, unworn, as though it was barely trod upon. Rooms filled with expensive furnishings and more dead animals – lion, elk, buffalo, wolf – passed in a blur, all impersonal and lifeless. Flitting through empty rooms Aimee caught vague impressions of servants, perfectly and formally attired, melting away into the shadowed rooms to avoid the cruel eye of their master. It was a house of ghosts and fear…and she was trapped within it. The hand gripping her shoulder drove her around another corner, his fingers digging in to the sensitive flesh as she winced. The last male hands on her shoulders had been Enjolras', his fingers softly caressing where her captor was now bruising.

They turned another gloomy corner – it seemed that despite his wealth, The Patron was disinclined to light his house – and she was met with the sight of a large door, battered from use and dark with age. Standing beside it was a monster of a man with a hard, ugly face disorganized by bulging eyes and a too often broken nose.

"Hello again, lovely," he growled, leering at her as she got closer.

It took her a moment to understand his greeting, but then all she could feel was the remembered roughness of brick at her back, numbness in her knuckles and blood on her skin. A whimper escaped her that did not go unnoticed by either man.

"Seems you made quite the impression on Mademoiselle Lyon, Gueulemer," The Patron said, a chuckle of perverse delight reverberating through his chest.

"Seems I did," he smirked in reply, dragging down the neckline of her dress to reveal the scar in her shoulder put there by his knife.

"Ah, ah, ah," The Patron chided, guiding her away from the brute's prying fingers. "Is that anyway to treat our guest? We want her looking at well-presented as possible to her introduction to our other…friend."

Gueulemer grinned, a second later backhanding Aimee across the face. She gasped at the impact, feeling her lip split; her eyes watered in pain.

"Excellent," The Patron said, assessing the damage done. "No more, though; we want him to be able to recognize her."

Still reeling with shock and pain, Aimee hung limply from his grasp as the door before her was opened, his cryptic words confusing her. Who was she supposed to be meeting? The thought that they may have captured Enjolras crossed her mind briefly, but she kept the fear at bay by reminding herself that he was safe with Le Faucon. Several stairs, curling sharply to the left, were revealed by the open door, stairs that she was urged towards. Steadying herself on the wall, feeling the slightly damp texture of the plaster under her fingers, she obeyed, stepping carefully down towards the light showing at the bottom.

She was pushed through another doorway, this one bare of a door, and into a small, dim room, the only light provided by a single oil lantern sat on a wooden table. Two other men were sat at the table, playing cards, but they arose upon seeing their master enter the room.

"Perhaps you would like to provide her with a little…illumination, Babet," The Patron suggested, finally releasing his grip on her shoulder.

Babet did as he was bid, lighting lantern after lantern until the room was almost too bright. As her eyes adjusted, Aimee saw that there was another occupant of room. His hair was long and tangled; his arms were pinioned to the chair with thick lengths of tightly tied rope. Slowly, as if in great pain, he lifted his head, revealing bruised and bloodshot eyes. A jolt of recognition ran through her, swiftly followed by a dropping sensation in her belly and tears welling in her eyes.

"Papa?"

Alexander Lyon did not look anything like the man that she remembered, and yes, now she remembered. She remembered everything that had been eluding her, the sight of her father acting as the catalyst that returned the memories to her. The pulsing headache that accompanied the onslaught of forgotten sights, sounds, and smells made her double over in pain, coloured lights swirling behind her eyes.

"Such an emotional reunion, it really is enough to bring a tear to your eye."

Aimee ignored the jibe, instead dropping to her knees before the mangled human that was her only living relative.

"Papa?" she repeated, reaching out to gingerly cut his bruised cheek. Her stomach roiled as she took in the injuries spread across his body.

"My little love," he croaked, hazel eyes trying to focus on her face. "My Amorette."

Tears sprung into her eyes but she smiled through them. How right it is that the first person to say her name, her real name, was the man who gave her life.

"Yes, it's me Papa, it's Amorette." His brown hair had grown long and despite the height of his lanky body – he was at least three inches taller than Enjolras – he looked small and frail in the chair.

"Didn't want them to find you," he slurred. "Tried to keep you safe…tried to keep them off your trail…but they found you, they got you…" He broke off to cough weakly, each breath rattling in his throat.

"Why would they want me, Papa?" she whispered, ducking down to try and catch his eyes again. "Why would they want you?"

"Ah yes," The Patron sneered, stepping further into the room, his polished shoes looking distinctly out of place on the filthy stone floor, "it seems that you dear Papa has kept some secrets from you, Amorette dear."

Her name sounded wrong coming from his mouth and her jaw tensed involuntarily, some courage coming to her from her father's presence by her side.

"Tell her, Alexander," The Patron coaxed cruelly. "Tell her about who you were, what you did? All those robberies, all of those forgeries, all of that stolen wealth. Why don't you tell her the truth…old friend?"

A/N My apologies for the long wait, but college work is ramping up and university visits have taken over my life.

I assure here, right now, that I will finish this story. There may be long gaps between uploads, but I promise I will finish it. I have worked too hard for too long to give up now and besides, I owe it to all of my amazing readers who have taken the time to read and review my work. It means so much and I cannot thank you enough.

Until next time, mes amis (whenever that may be…)

Libz xxx