Squeezing her hand gently, Philip frowned again, as the nurse melted out of the door. If he hadn't been here, where the hell had the git gone?
Sighing, he turned his attention to Rina.
Outside of the window, he heard the wail of a siren breaking the silence of the night, a light breeze rippling the curtains at the window.
Rising, the actor went and closed the window, gazing out at the twinkling lights of the city. The city that had suddenly become a much more frightening place to live. A city where anything could happen and probably would.
Sitting down on the edge of Rina's bed, he ran a hand through his short sandy hair with a low sigh.
Rina was one of his best friends from the CATS cast along with Menke with her wild, outrageous personality and hyperactive attitude to life. The two of them were the only ones that had ever been able to actually wind Menke up during a show.
It tore him apart to see her lying there, motionless, in a coma, wired up to all kinds of machines that didn't seem to being doing any good at all. More than anything, he wished he could just snap his fingers and make everything go back to the way it was only days before.
But things were never that easy.
And now, Menke had disappeared along with Demi. It didn't look like things could get any worse for him now.
"How is she?" The voice from the door made him turn, hot tears burning in his eyes.
Shrugging, unable to find the words to answer, he sagged down as Annie came around the bed and slipped her arms around him reassuringly, her head resting between his shoulder blades as the tears ran silently down his cheeks.
"She'll be okay." Rubbing Annie's hands, Philip turned to face her slowly, finally finding his emotion-filled voice. "This is Rina we're talking about. Anyone else that beaten up would have lain down and died where they were...she managed to go for help ...she's stubborn...she'll live...she has to..."
Moving to the doorway, he leaned wearily against the frame, pinching the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb with a low, shuddering sigh of despair.
"Geezus, Annie...why did things have to go so wrong? Why did this happen to them, of all people? Menke...Demi...Rina...they're the best people in the world...they didn't deserve this at all."
"I know." Touching what skin of Rina's face she could, her face contorted in anger. "I hope the bastard that did this rots in hell...even though that would be too good for him."
"Agreed." Going to her side, they sat silently beside the bed, watching over the comatose body of their friend throughout the night, both worrying about the whereabouts and well being of the missing couple.
*
He didn't move, his eyes fixed on the floor, his head lolling forward, catching the occasional glimpse of the feet of his tormentor as he lazily strode in circles around the kneeling prisoner.
"You know, Menke," McCafferty spoke as he walked, his voice as calm and sensual as ever, his hands folded gravely behind his suited back. "You should have tamed that wife of yours some more...she's a wildcat...all nails and screaming..."
"Shut up..." Grating between loosened teeth, Menke managed to raise his hate-filled eyes to the suave businessman, the pain almost unbearable as his head lolled forward again. "Shut the hell up..."
"You don't want me to tell you what I have planned for your little lady?" Squatting down, McCafferty's smile was glacial. "You don't want to know how often I've had Demi screaming my name?"
Pressing his eyes closed, Menke's face contorted in pain, his fists balling tighter, his knuckles white. The wire cable bit into his wrists, blood rippling down his hands, his fingers sticky and crusted with dark red.
"What? No reply?" Cupping Menke's face, McCafferty tilted his chin up and regarded him clinically, his intense stare making the actor feel like some kind of pathetic lab rat being prepared for an experiment. It wasn't a good feeling.
"What do you want me to say?" He mumbled weakly. His jaw was still agony. Broken, he guessed, from the beating he had received from McCafferty's two goons. Several ribs too, by the feel of it. Feeling had all but fled his hands, the wire cutting off his circulation as much as it was tearing into his flesh.
Tracing the pad of his thumb across Menke's lips lazily, McCafferty smiled slightly. "I don't know." He murmured absently, catching his own lower lip between his teeth, a wickedly sexy smile on his face.
"Oh, please." Menke turned his face away, trying to hide his disgust behind the mask of boredom he had developed. "Give me some credit for having some taste."
Growling, McCafferty jabbed his fist upwards in the tiniest flick of a gesture that carried enough power to shatter Menke's nose, sending the actor tumbling over.
On his side, he stared dully at his assailant's feet, ignoring the warm stream of blood running from his nose and mouth, matting his dirty mane.
"Now, I'll have to punish your wife for your behaviour." Bending, the copper-haired villain, brushed a blood-crusted strand of hair back from Menke's cheek. "I thought you would have learned a lesson by now, darlin'...but apparently not..."
Fighting back a wave of nausea, Menke twisted his face, the pain ripping through him with an intensity that matched his guilt.
As much as Demi's betrayal hurt him, he didn't want her to get anymore hurt than she necessarily needed to. Especially not because of him.
But it was too late now.
The door slammed shut, the light flickering off, leaving him slumped on the floor, alone with only his thoughts of his wife being injured because of him and spreading puddle of blood for company.
*
I hate being given this responsibility. I don't see why I should be depended on just so Macavity can get what he wants from both of them. And most of all, I don't know why I'm still involved with such a perverted sexual predator.
I know what he can do. I've seen it. He caught me out before. Still does, when he's bored. It...amuses him to play with people, like he plays with me. I was just a simple businessman until he came along. I could have had a nice simple life, but no. McCafferty decided to use me. And not in a good way.
He's an expert at manipulation. He knows that all of us depend on him to give us the satisfaction that no one else can. That we can't leave him because he's the only lover that'll be good enough for us.
Lover.
Maybe that's the wrong word.
Just going through these videos, I know lover is the wrong word.
He never stops hurting her, with his words, with his body. He did it before, but nothing as bad as this. There's only so much you can do as a feline...as a human, there's no limits to the injuries.
The way he twists the truth into whatever he wants...the way he uses them against each other, playing with their emotions...their love must be incredible to have held them on for this long.
And yet, he doesn't stop. Never even pauses. Goes from torturing one, to torturing the other without the slightest bit of conscience showing itself.
It's horrifying.
I want to get out of this bloody circle, but I know that one way or another, it would kill me. Like its slowly killing both of them.
They're strong to have lasted this long, but I know I wouldn't be able to be half as strong as they are. I know that I'm going to be stuck like this forever.
I only wish I had the nerve to help them. They don't deserve all of this. Maybe I could help them out in some way. Reassure them, but I'd be risking my own life and I just don't want to do that.
But these videos...I have to show them to him. Her husband. I have to let him see what he believes is being done. How much it hurts. And it's not just them. It's their friends and family too. The redhead – she has to die. Die because of HIS plan. Because she's just a flaw. Because she's in the way.
I can't let it happen.
*
Rubbing his eyes wearily, Philip mumbled a yawn, ignoring the firm finger that was prodding his shoulder repeatedly, getting harder and harder with every poke.
Finally the low spoken, exasperated hiss of "SIR!" in his ear stirred him enough to weakly open his sleepy brown eyes and shift his stiff neck, blinking in the sterile light that flooded the room.
"Whu...?"
"Are you Philip Tenant?" She whispered, a note of urgency in her voice. As he nodded, she gestured towards the door. "There's been a phonecall for you at the front desk, Sir. They said it was important..."
Shaking himself awake, he tried to place himself, gradually recognising that he was still in Rina's hospital room and Annie was curled up in the seat under the window, her head resting on her forearm on the arm of the chair.
"Did they say who was calling?" Pushing himself shakily to his feet, he followed the nurse into the hall, where another nurse was sitting at the desk, the upturned phone beside him.
"No, sir."
Immediately, Menke rose in his head, but when he lifted the phone to his ear, he knew instinctively that it wasn't going to be him.
"Hello?"
"Is this Philip Tenant?" The voice that rang through the phone was muffled, but had an undeniable accent – something like the old-fashioned gentlemen in the old black and white movies. Very proper and sophisticated...but this one had something else. A tone of frantic fear.
"Yes...who is thi...?"
The speaker interrupted hastily. "There's no time. I need to warn you not to trust the policewoman, Melinda Issy. She is not what she seems. She works for the men who attacked your friend."
"What do yo..."
"I can't say any more." There was a click as the phone was hung up, then the dull tone of the phone.
Laying the receiver back down, Philip scratched his stubble-coated chin with marked confusion.
Whoever that was, he sounded sincere and frightened enough to be telling the truth, but was it possible? Could that chief inspector woman be playing for the other side? If so, it would go a long way to explaining why nothing had been turned up on the villain. And why Menke had vanished after meeting her.
Picking up the phone, he wondered briefly who it was that had called to tip him off about the woman's treachery.
*
Pressing play on the video player, Phipps slid his mobile phone across the counter, a small smile playing across his lips.
Supposedly going out of the lair to make a reservation for a restaurant on his mobile, he'd finally done what he'd been trying to find the nerve to do for months now.
It was up to Tenant if he believed him. There was nothing more he could do for the time being. It wasn't much, he admitted, but at least it was something. It was better than letting another murder take place when he could have prevented it.
Settling back to edit some more of the videos, he glanced at the phone again.
Yep. Definitely a lot better.
*
The metal was cold on her wrists. Made a great change compared to the prickling, hot sensations of her skin, the running bruises all over her body leaving her aching and burning up. And the delirium.
"Now, now, poppet." His voice was a hot breath on her ear, left her shivering. "Unless you give me some sign that you're awake, we can't get this over with..."
Wincing as strong fingers dug into the swollen, red flesh of her neck, her eyes slowly opened, filled with all the pain and hatred she had been carrying from the moment she was snatched.
"That's better." He cooed approvingly, releasing her neck and dropping her, letting her sag in the chains, her weight falling on her chaffed, bloody wrists, blood running down her bare body in swirling ripples.
Her eyes never left him as he made his way across the small stone room to a box on the table, opening it and gazing ponderously at the contents before turning back to the chained girl.
His eyes swept over her body. "I think we're going to have some fun today, you know, Demi." He remarked, lifting what looked like a cat-o-nine-tails out of the box, a cruel smile of anticipation crossing his face.
"Go screw yourself." She rasped, her mouth bone dry from fear and thirst.
Trailing the whip around her neck, he tilted her chin, forcing her to look at him. "I would do that, you know I would, petal." He purred, his sharp thumbnail sinking into the flesh of her lip, marring the near-perfect skin of her face for the first time. "I would love to have a lover as good as me, but I'm afraid that's impossible...so it looks like I have to have my fun with you."
"Lucky me." She narrowed her cat-like eyes at him.
"Indeed." He smiled sweetly at her, his fingers flexing around the handle of the whip, his eyes never leaving hers as his intentions became clear.
Bracing herself, she couldn't withhold a scream as he jerked the whip down, the jagged tips snapping around her body, ripping runnels in her flesh as he released her body, the pull of her skin tearing deeper cuts as she sank down.
"You know," He mused, licking a trace of blood off the whip. "This isn't much fun anymore...not really. How about I tell you what I did to your sister? The pretty, fiery, red-haired one..."
"Rina?" Through eyes blurred with tears, she forced herself to look at him, the stinging pain of the whip spreading across her bare back.
Leaning against the wall beside her, he nodded.
"How old is she? Twenty? Twenty one?" Shrugging, he swept the whip out, catching the back of her thigh. "No matter. It's a shame, you see, but I'm going to have to kill her. She interferes with my plans."
"She's not dead?" For once, Demi felt a swell of hope. If Rina had survived, maybe she had got to Menke in time to tell him what happened...before he...NO! Menke couldn't be dead. She wouldn't let him be!
Breaking through her thoughts, he chuckled. "No, Demi, she not dead...yet..." The whip caressed her spine cruelly. "But she will be soon. I'm going to give an order to kill her. Isn't that nice? I tell you before I bother. I'm so courteous."
"Please...Don't kill her." Demi grimaced as the whip head's snapped over her stomach, tears running unnoticed down her cheeks. "I...I'll stay with you...just don't kill her...I..." Faltering off, she lowered her head. "I'll do anything...just let her be..."
"Sorry, darlin', but you'll be doin' anythin' I want anyway..." McCafferty purred in her ear, his tongue flicking her lobe. "I need her out of the way. Nothing personal, to be sure, but I can't have my plans ruined by some chit who refused to die..."
Ignoring Demi's sob of despair, he stepped into the hall, leaving the door open and let Demi see him pick up the phone, dialling the number he needed quickly, a cruel smile crossing his lips as he spoke.
"That's right, Missy, darlin'...tonight...and be as quick about it as you can...adore ya, pet." Hanging up, he turned to his prisoner, her shuddering sobs arousing him as much as the fear often did.
"You bastard...you bastard...you bastard..." From that moment, he never heard her say any other words, but he didn't care.
It was still fun.
Mental torture.
Torture of the best kind.
*
Head aching much? Ow is a good word to describe this feeling. And then we add the darkness and the bloody annoying beep- beep-beep of that bleeding machine. I tell ya, if I could move or talk or anything, I would make sure that thing was gone. Or off. Or muted. Or anything as long as I didn't have to deal with the beep-beep-beep.
I want to open my eyes, but some twat – I think that professionally, they're called Doctors – put some kind of bandages across my eyes.
Helpful...when I do wake up, they won't be able to see cos I have great big bits of cloth over my face. And they wonder why I'm just lying here...the only thing I can move is my eyes and now I can't even do that cos of the blimmin' bandages.
Still, least I know I'm alive. Sore. Tired. Playing the Mummy. But alive.
Alive is good.
Now, I can help Demi more.
Or at least, I will be able to if some git gets these bandages OFF me!
*
I heard the door open, but I couldn't move. Didn't have the strength or the guts to do it any more. He'd left me lying on my side and that's just how he found me as well. He thinks it's hilarious, being a sick, twisted bastard.
What I wouldn't pay to wrap my hands around that neck and squeeze...but I can't. I can barely even move anymore, let alone lift my head.
He thinks that's priceless as well.
He likes watching videos of him and Demi together with me. Likes to watch me for any kind of reaction to him screwing my wife. What does he expect? Me to jump up and dance and say 'How amusing! My wife's a filthy whore.'? I don't think so.
I thought he was bad as a cat, but he's worse now. So much worse. And...damnit...he's sexy as well. He knows it. He's one of those men that appeal to everyone sexually, whether they're gay, straight or whatever. And he knows how to use it.
The way he prowls around the cell...around me...it makes me dread what's in store. No qualms. He's the kind of guy who would do anything to anyone and get away with it scot-free without a care in the world.
And I know this makes him even more dangerous.
The way he keeps leering over me, making all kinds of subtle suggestions...it's enough to make me sick to the stomach, but then there's that dangerous appeal. The kind that arouses all my animal instincts.
I hate the bastard! I hate the way he makes me feel about myself...about my wife...about him...about everything!
*
Pushing the door open nervously, he glanced around. Seeing none of the other agents about, he quickly stepped into the room, flicking the light on, one hand instinctively rising to shield his eyes from the harsh brilliance, the other lowering the bag he carried to the floor.
"Bugger off." A weak voice mumbled, full of pain and despair. The voice of someone who had completely given up all hope.
"Demeter?"
The moment those tear-filled gold eyes rose to his, full of crushed hopes and misery, he felt as if he'd been torn apart. His eyes took in the rest of her defiled, beaten body and he wanted to tear Macavity's heart out.
Approaching her slowly, he winced as she cowered away, afraid that he was going to hurt her...which wasn't a completely surprising concept, looking at what she'd been going through in the last few days.
"Don't be afraid." He whispered gently, lifting his hands and undoing the ropes and manacles around her bone thin wrists, carefully supporting her as she slumped free of the bonds that had held her half-standing for hours now, her legs too weak to hold her upright any longer.
Cradling her gently, he stared at her, searching for some reaction, which came when she launched herself upwards, tearing her nails weakly into his face.
But she was too weak to even manage that, falling back with a hollow sob.
"You killed him!" She raised her trembling hands, covering her face, as Phipps gently stroked her hair. "You killed my husband...my sister...my life...it was your fault...your fault..."
"No, Dem," Shaking his head, his lips close to her ear, he spoke softly. "That's not true...they're not dead...neither of them are dead..."
"What?" Her eyes – suddenly full of hope – swivelled towards him, gleaming between her thin fingers. "You're not lying?"
"Trust me, Dem...but now, you need to eat...get your strength back..." Listing some pieces of food out the bag, he fed her, slipping tiny scraps between her swollen lips, helping her get it down, tears of gratitude running down her battered face.
"Why are you doing this?" She whispered weakly, as he lifted some water to her lips, trickling it over her tongue.
Shrugging, he smiled gently. "I don't like to see people getting hurt...I only wish I could do more."
"Menke...?" She left her question unasked, her eyes closing as she swallowed painfully, her first drink in days.
"He's been beaten, but he's doing okay. He'll be better if he knows you are..." He glanced towards the door. "But you can't let on that you know...you have to pretend you haven't heard anything about him."
Nodding, she slowly swallowed some more of the refreshingly cool water, finally opening her eyes, a minuscule smile of appreciation edging around the scabbed corners of her lips. "Thank you."
"My, my," A snide voice interrupted. "Isn't this a nice scene to behold?"
Phipps stiffened, a shudder of fear scooting down his spine. Demi's grip on his arm tightened, the terror returning to her eyes.
"I thought you might like her with some more energy, sir." Phipps spoke softly, loosening his grip on Demi's ice-cold hand. "It can't be very much fun for you if she keeps passing out."
"How considerate, Phipps, darlin'." The sardonic curl of McCafferty's lips told Phipps that his master didn't believe a word he was saying.
A fact that was emphasised when the Irishman's powerful hand locked around the back of the businessman's neck, pulling him to his feet.
Kicking the bag of food out of the cell, McCafferty prodded the cowering Demi with his foot, chuckling cruelly as she hunched over a small scrap of bread like an animal. "That's right, ducky." He propelled Phipps towards the door. "You eat up. I've got some... business to take care of."
*
He's alive! My Menke! Alive!
McCafferty was lying! I knew it all along! Menke couldn't have been dead! I would have known about it if he was and he's not! He's alive! So's Rina! We're all alive! He hasn't killed any of us!
When that bastard showed up and dragged the other guy away, it was all I could do not to jump to my feet and start singing...at least, I would have if I could stand.
I hope the other guy didn't get into too much trouble though. He's the only person who has done anything even kind of nice to me. The way he untied me...gave me something to eat...something to drink...told me what I knew was true...I hope he's okay.
I really do.
*
The next blow caught his solar plexus, all the air rushing out of his lungs in one long gasp, doubling him over with a grunt of pain.
Blood gurgled in his throat as his jaw connected with a vicious fist, several teeth cracking off their roots, leaving bloody stumps, a new burst of crimson erupting from between his lips.
"What did you think you were doin', darlin'?"
Sinking to his knees, the metallic taste of blood still warming his tongue, Phipps lowered his head with a painful wheeze. "I explained, sir." He forced his burst lips to co-operate and form the words, uncalled for tears brimming in his eyes.
McCafferty tutted severely, pursing his lips with a low sigh. Going on one knee beside Phipps, he cruelly grabbed his agent'' jaw, squeezing the shattered bone as he huskily growled. "I told you to stay away from her. Like I told everyone. She's mine."
"Yes, sir." Swallowing a sharp cry of pain, Phipps balled his swollen, crushed hands into fists, fighting the agony as best he could. "But..."
"But?" Narrowing his dangerous green eyes, McCafferty's other hand snapped up, locking around the battered Phipps' bruised throat, squeezing hard enough for his victim's windpipe to crackle ominously, flecks of blood splattering on his uncaring hand with every one of Phipps' ragged pants. "Never say 'but' to me."
Strands of bloody saliva drooled from Phipps' slack jaw, his chest pumping in a frantic search for air, his eyes bulging in their sockets. "Yes...sir..." He gagged, the skin of his face purpling.
"Very good." Dropping his victim, McCafferty calmly wiped his hands on the back of Phipps' expensive jacket. "Now, my twisted little poof," Twisting his hand into Phipps' hair, he forced the wheezing businessman to look at him. "You know what'll happen if you dare to disobey my orders again." Rising, he released the fallen man's hair, savagely punctuating his words with a kick to his ribs. "Don't you?"
With a weak nod, Phipps let himself slump forward with a muffled gurgle, a stream of crimson vomit erupting from his crushed mouth.
Unable to lift his head, he sagged – prone – in the congealing pool of blood, moaning weakly.
McCafferty gave a satisfied grunt, kicking him the crotch for final emphasis, then pivoted on heel and left the shuddering agent lying limply on the cold, stone floor in a puddle of his own blood, vomit and urine.
*
That bastard. He's pushed it too far this time. I can't let him do this to anyone anymore and get away with it.
Seeing that girl in that state was enough to make me do something really crazy, but when he turns on me like this. I don't care if he screwed me to keep me on side, but battering me definitely wasn't on the contract.
Picking on the guy who has the most power in his empire after him was just the worst thing he could have done.
Especially after I've managed to go and find myself a pair of the proverbial brass knackers. I don't care what he does to me anymore, as long as I can stop him from doing it to anyone else.
Starting with the videos.
Revenge is sweet, or so I've heard.
Let's find out...
*
"Mr Tenant?" Leaning out of Rina's room, he saw the nurse waving the phone at him and ran lightly over, picking it up. "Yup?"
"Mr Tenant," The voice was calmer and firmer than it had been that morning. "Melinda Issy is on her way to the hospital now to complete her mission to 'remove' Rina, so I would suggest you take the necessary precautions to save your friends life."
"Thank y..." There was the click again and Philip glanced into the ward where Rina lay, plans running through his head. Tossing the phone into his other hand, he hastily dug through his pockets, finding a business card with a familiar number on it.
Dialling, he aloud himself a smile as he heard the familiar voice on the other end of the line. " 'Ello, mate. Got a job for you to do...hush hush and completely legit...get your 'arris over here A.S.A.P...matter of life and death...gotcha..."
Hanging up, he slowly rubbed his hands together, a sigh of relief escaping him. "Bring it on." He murmured in anticipation.
*
The wards were deserted, not a nurse in sight as she made her way imperiously along, badge firmly in hand.
No one doubted her presence and she was confident that this was another crime she could add to her record of dirty deeds that she had successfully done for McCafferty without being caught.
Pushing open the door, she smiled confidently. The higher the tally, the more Maca bed-time she would have. And she wasn't talking sleep here.
Checking the clipboard at the end of the girl's bed along with her wristband and the name at the head of the bed, she nodded. It wouldn't be good practise to kill off the wrong woman.
Glancing at the bandaged figure in the bed, her fingers slipped to the capsule in her pocket, her hand wrapping around the vial. The girl was still unconscious. This was going to be a cinch.
Stepping around the bed, she looked at the young woman's unbandaged face as she lifted the small syringe out of her breast pocket, brushing back her golden hair as she inserted the needle into the vial, drawing the measured dose into the syringe.
Bast had been clear.
It had to be a very specific dosage. Enough to kill swiftly, but not enough to be traced in the bloodstream.
Tapping the side of the syringe, she traced her finger along the tube of the IV to the intersection of the two tubes, uncapping the small opening and carefully sliding the needle in.
Pushing the plunger down, she exhaled slowly, watching the clear liquid dispersing into the tube and joining the flow of antibiotics into the comatose woman's bloodstream.
In a matter of minutes, she would no longer be a problem.
Another job, well done.