Her hand resting on the edge of the bed, Missy looked at her watch impatiently, the steady beep-beep-beep of the moniters starting to grate on her nerves.
Glancing at the patient's face, she felt a shiver of fear, as the swollen eyes seemed to flicker, almost as if they were about to open. Moving a step away, she lifted her hand, her eyes never leaving the woman's still face.
A shriek exploded from the police woman's mouth as a hand locked around her wrist and the dark eyes flicked open, staring accusingly up at her, the expression saying more than a thousand words could.
Shaking the thin hand off, Missy backed towards the door, unable to tear her gaze away from Rina's blood-shot, pain-filled eyes.
"Where do you think you're going?" A dangerous voice growled from behind her.
Whipping around, the blonde agent stared in despair at the group of police that stood there, set expressions on their faces. Searching her wits for some reply, she pointed over at the half-conscious woman in the bed.
"I came to visit her." She said lamely, weakly wondering why she hadn't been informed of the girl's return to consciousness.
"Yeah right." The dull croak from the bed startled the agent, her carefully laid plans suddenly crumbling around her ears. "We know who you are. What you did. Why you are really here."
"You...but you..." Pointing a trembling finger at Rina, she slowly shook her head. "You should be..."
"Dead?" Philip put in from his position behind the group of police, as one of the undercover men stepped forward, reading Missy her rights, snapping cuffs around her wrists. "If you had noticed, you pumped that stuff into a closed off tube. Not a good idea if you're trying to poison someone."
"Nice try, bitch." Rina spoke thickly through scabbed lips. "Next time, don't mess with my family."
Casting a vicious glare at the young woman in the bed, Missy let herself be dragged away, leaving Rina and Philip alone in the room, Rina's drip being removed for closer examination.
"You okay?" Sitting on the edge of the bed, he gazed down at her.
With a slow, weak nod, she forced a painful smile up at him, a low groan of agony escaping her lips. "I'm okay." Her shaking hand found his, squeezing it feebly. "And at least I'm alive."
"That you are, Rina." Cradling her hands between his, he smiled, tears welling in his eyes. "That you are."
*
Slamming his fist viciously down on the massive desk-top, McCafferty's eyes blazed with unspoken, deadly fury, the fiery green orbs sending a shiver of fear through Tony Steward's body.
"She failed?" He spoke softly, his body taut, tense. It was well renown that when he seemed to be at his calmest and most casual, that was when the boss was the greatest threat to his agents or enemies alike.
Steward cleared his throat, taking a slow step backwards, towards the door. "Ye...yes, Sir." He replied falteringly. "The police were waiting for her and the word is that Bast's drug didn't work at all."
"So the red-haired bitch is alive and well." Sinking into his seat, McCafferty propped his feet on the desk, steepling his fingers in front of him thoughtfully, long swathes of copper-red hair falling over his face. "What a shame I have so many alibis."
"What do you want us to do, sir?" Steward's hand slid behind his back, groping for the door handle. "Do you want that we kill her?"
Not lifting his head, McCafferty gazed up at his agent from beneath hooded brows, tapping his steepled forefingers against his chin pensively. "No." He finally replied. "Just leave her. I have other things to take care of."
"Yes sir." Shakily twisting the door handle, the agent stared hopefully at his master. "Is there anything...?"
McCafferty gestured him away with a wave of his hand. "Go."
Jerking the door open, Tony ducked his head and bolted out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him.
It wasn't that he was at all afraid of McCafferty.
He was just terrified beyond comprehension.
*
I don't know how long I've been here now. It could be days. It could be weeks. I just don't know. Every minute seems like an hour, time stretching on and on with no distractions but those videos, playing over and over again.
Surprisingly, though, the telly has been off for a while now. The screens been blank whenever I've been conscious and Ronan...he's not been in for a good few hours at least, which is something, I s'pose.
Damn. I just had to push my luck didn't I?
The screen's all lit up nice, showing the usual bedroom...wait a minute...this isn't right at all. In this video, there's no bed, no beautiful, expensive-looking room, no Demi lying happily amid silken sheets.
Instead, I can see a cell identical to mine.
And Demi.
Only, it's not the Demi of the usual videos. This is the Demeter that I found when the Jellicles raided Macavity's lair all that time ago: Battered, bloody, terrified.
I know it's the first night – a fact that is emphasised when that copper-haired bastard strides into the room and attacks my beautiful, terrified wife. Then the volume increases and I hear his words clearly.
"Sorry, pet. As of..." His voice was as low and dangerous as ever, with the horribly mocking note tinting it " Ten minutes ago, your precious husband is nothing more than a bloody smear in a wrecked car."
My stomach twisted at those words. He was using me against her. He'd been playing with us, like the sadistic bastard he is, but in a far crueller way than even I had dared to try and imagine.
What I wouldn't give to have the strength to face him down. I would love to beat the living crap out of him for what he's done to me, my wife, my sister-in-law and our normal, happy life.
But there's something else...these new videos...I don't know why Macavity would show me them, but its making sense out of a lot of things.
There's my beautiful Demi again. Only there's a stranger with her. A posh bloke. And he's unchaining her? Something's gone rotten in the state of Macavity's lair, I think. And whatever it is, it has to be good for me and my Demi.
"You killed him!" Her words hit me like a fist. She really did believe that lying bastard. She believed I was dead! "You killed my husband...my sister...my life...it was your fault...your fault..."
"No, Dem, That's not true...they're not dead...neither of them are dead..." I was intrigued by this chap. Here he was, telling my wife that everything Macavity had told her was a lie.
Now, that was simply weird.
But at least it gives me something to hang onto. Demi knows I'm alive and I know Demi's alive. We have some kind of ally somewhere in this hellhole, but I don't know if its going to be enough to get us out.
I hope so.
As if that isn't stating the obvious.
*
"So, what's the buzz?" Rina tilted her head at her Doctor, her speech much clearer than it had been earlier that day. "Will I be able to play the piano when I get out here?"
"I'm sure you will."
Rina gave a painful giggle, her hands clenching into the sheets around her. "That's weird." She murmured to Philip. "I couldn't do it before."
The Doctor glanced over at the dancer who was holding his patient's hand. "Miss Terre." The seriousness in his voice sent tingles of fear shooting through Rina's mind. "I think we should discuss something with you."
"Yeah?"
"Your condition at present..."
"Is bloody crap." Rina's vision swam, tears blurring everything in her line of site. "I don't think you really need to tell me that, do you?"
"It is very serious." He acknowledged, gazing down at her with a clinical interest of a whacko scientist looking at a nice, fat lab rat. "But I'm completely certain that you will make a good recovery."
"And I'll be back dancing in West End shows before the year is out." She whispered painfully, closing her eyes, twin tracks of tears running down her bruised cheeks. "A recovery means nothing. My life I knew is over. I can't go back."
"That's a little drastic." The Doctor put in. "I mean, West End shows...you may have dreamed of..."
"She's a dancer, you pillock." Philip scowled at the doctor. "She works in the current production of CATS in the West End and she's been in theatre longer than you would know." Squeezing her hand gently, he glared at the doctor once more. "You have no idea how bad this is for her."
"And I didn't save her." Choking on a painful sob, she opened her eyes. "I let myself fall when I had to keep going...I couldn't help her..."
"Sh, Rina, sh." Stroking her cheek, Philip shook his head vehemently. "You did as much as you could. You got Menke out of his car before it...it exploded. You saved Menke's life, Ri."
Swallowing hard, she tilted her head with a frown. "Where is Menke? And Demi? What happened? Didn't they get 'em back?"
"We don't know." Philip whispered, holding her hand against his cheek. "We were hoping maybe you could tell us what happened at the house...who did this to you and Demi. We need to know, Rina."
Nodding slowly, she dampened her cracked lips, the tiny droplets of blood metallic on her tongue. "Get the police guys..." She whispered back forcefully, her eyes harsh. "I can tell you everything I know."
*
The bastard's not happy. Not happy at all. His plot to kill the red-head failed. Oh my. I wonder who could be to blame for that. Not me, of course. I would never inform the police or anyone about my master's activities. Nuh-uh. Not at all.
At least not with the intention of getting caught and put through the fires of Hell that Bast will, no doubt, be facing within the next half an hour.
Since he's out of the way, maybe I'll finally be able to get some stuff done. The lair's deserted, with all his agents out on reconnaissance, trying to find any break in the chain around Demeter's sister.
That gives me at least half an hour...maybe an hour if he's feeling particularly brutal.
I better get on with it before he gets back.
*
Ick.
You know, once you've gotten passed the fear and the anger, disgust is what pretty much covers it…that and the crusty, dried-on, blackened scabs of blood and hideously black bruises that just won't fade away.
But at least I can walk again.
Kind of.
Having no food in goodness knows how long didn't help, but now I've got some bread in my belly and I've drank something, I can stand without to much ceremony…and walking with a slight wobble is better than not walking at all, isn't it?
And I have the fact that Menke is alive to keep me going. I just want him to open that door and take my hand and I know everything will be all right.
At least, I wish it was that simple.
I just hope that he's not hurt. I know what Macavity is capable of. I've seen and felt it first-hand and I know he could turn all our minds to mush if we let him. That's what he's been doing, but the trick is not to let him get to you.
Which he had been doing until now.
I should have remembered.
Bombalurina went through all this when we were still felines and she warned me. She said not to drop my guard, not to believe a word the lying son of a bitch said, but in my fear and stupidity, I forgot.
Not any more though.
I don't care what he does to me, no matter how much he hurts me. He crushed me before, but he sure as hell isn't going to do it again. I'm tough enough to get through this with my sanity at least semi-intact.
I just hope Menke is the same.
*
"Who the hell are you?" Half-sitting, half-lying, Menke sprawled against the wall, his eyes focused on the figure standing in the doorway.
Phipps spread his hands, showing that he was unarmed. His face was as battered as Menke's if not more so, pale blue eyes barely visible slits under the purpled swelling of his lids.
"You saw the video." In the silence of the room, his rasping whisper echoed off the walls softly. "You can trust me."
Menke narrowed his eyes painfully, indecision etched on what was left of his face. "I don't know." He breathed painfully. "Why would you want to do this?"
A bitter laugh rippled from his throbbing lips, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "I have my reasons." The Englishman murmured, walking towards Menke slowly, his eyes fixed on the floor.
"Don't we all." The dancer could see the bloody stains that smeared the older man's shirt and the darkening of the skin below the white material, suggesting that he had received one mother of a beating. "What happened to you?"
Phipps shrugged pensively, raising one hand to scrutinise his once-perfect nails. "I was Macavity's prime agent." He answered nonchalantly, a slight note of pride in his voice. "I was the best of the best, but that wasn't enough for that bastard."
"Huh?"
"He started doing things that were unnecessary. The greatest criminal mind and all he could think about was you and your wife." Shaking his head, Phipps sighed. "Such a waste of such genius."
"Ya think?" Menke growled impatiently. "What changed your mind?"
Nodding towards the video, Phipps spoke softly. "That. Your wife. I had to tend her wounds and I saw what he had done to a totally innocent, normal young woman out of spite and hatred for you. I couldn't let him hurt either of you anymore, but I got…punished for my efforts."
"Won't you get punished again now?"
The elder man shrugged elaborately, a smile twitching at his lips. "Probably." He replied. "But at least I'll have the satisfaction of doing what I know is right and pissing the boss off before he gets to me." Meeting Menke's eyes, he murmured. "All I ask is that you trust me."
*
Adjusting a dropper, Belinda whipped round as the door crashed inwards, practically torn off its hinges to reveal the silhouette of McCafferty standing in the frame, his long hair loose around his face.
Seemingly examining a scalpel with cool, clinical interest, he didn't look at her as he spoke. "Missy failed."
"Oh." Her back to the worktop, Bast's fingers frantically groped in the drawer behind her for some kind of weapon. Something to defend herself against him. Anything vaguely good for hitting someone with. "How did it happen?"
"We did get one explanation." Stepping into the room, he laid the scalpel down on the small table, running his fingertips slowly across the chilly surface, his eyes never once rising to meet hers. "Would you like to hear it?"
Fumbling through piles of scientific equipment – all of which was useless now – the Doctor stared frantically at him, her hand closing around what felt like some kind of wire cutters. "Wh-what?"
From looking down at the scalpel, he raised his eyes to her, a tiny smile creeping onto the corners of his lips. "They say," He murmured, his voice so low she could barely hear him. "That your formula was at fault."
"What?" Little less than a shriek of anger, she yelled at him, hoping her false bravado didn't look as pathetic as she felt. "That's impossible! I tested it! It worked! It worked ten times on the testers! How is it possible that it didn't work?"
"Who can say?" Turning, he leaned against the table, the scalpel once again in his hands, running the blade over his left palm, he glanced at her. "Either way, I'm not amused by this. She was the only reliable witness and she still lives."
A tremor of fear shot down her spine, her hands tightening around her weapon as she straightened up, swallowing hard. "Do you want me to kill her now?"
With a soft little laugh, McCafferty shook his head. "I'm afraid its not that simple anymore, darlin'." He murmured, sounding almost regretful in a way. "She is fully conscious and has police protection all the time."
"Then what…?" She didn't need to ask, slowly edging around the room, feigning disinterest and shifting various trays towards the shelves near the doors, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
Without warning, he was behind her, his hands on her hips. Making his way across the smooth floor with less sound than a big cat, he grabbed her so suddenly that she let out a scream, her feeble weapon falling from her hand with a clatter.
"I think you know what, love." He purred in her ear, his lips brushing lightly across the sensitive spot on her neck, a tremor running through her. He jerked her body back against his, one arm snaking around her waist and holding her in a vice-like grip.
"Please…" Gasping as his other hand slid around her throat, the small blade held between the surface of her neck and his palm, she felt the tears in her eyes. "Please…I'll fix it…I can…"
"I doubt that, pet."
Unable to fight his physical dominance, the hot tears splashed down her cheeks, the knowledge that death was inevitable reducing the once-strong doctor to a hollow, weeping shell.
"Now, now, what's this?" His finger brushed her cheek lightly, his hand never leaving her throat. "Crying?" He tutted with disapproval, shaking his head. "You know, Bast, even my little Demeter doesn't act like this."
"Please…" Nothing else seemed right to say. Nothing could save her now and she knew it. And it was terrifying.
"Hush." His low, husky voice was a light breath in her ear as he tilted her head back forcefully, her body tensing. Moving his hand up her throat, he traced the pulse-point with his fingertip. "Hush, darlin'."
The icy sting of the cool metal against her unprotected skin lasted barely a moment before the blackness set in.
*
Phipps sighed with hidden relief at Menke's subtle nod. He had successfully managed to disconnect the microphones, but the hidden cameras around the room still filmed every motion of himself and the actor.
Dropping on his knees in front of the dancer, Phipps gave Menke a warning glance, his eyes directing the younger man's attention to the three cameras, a desperate look on his face. "Act disgusted." He whispered urgently, before covering Menke's lips in a kiss.
Trying to pull back, the actor whimpered in shock, feeling a pair of arms sliding behind his back, to his hands.
"Trust me." Phipps hissed sharply, brushing his lips against Menke's ear in what – to all intents and purposes – looked like a seduction. But the loosening of the wire on Menke's wrists gave him the explanation.
Feigning a struggle, he thrust his shoulder against the older man's chest as Phipps demanded. "Give me your foot…quick…" Twisting his body, he yelped in pain as the agent grabbed his ankle and twisted, as if to stop him sliding away.
The chill of metal against his foot inside of his trainers startled him. "What the…?"
Phipps' covered the actor's mouth with his hurriedly, his hands still working at the wire, Menke's blood staining both of them as the circulation returned, sending spasms through the actor's numb fingertips.
"You have a switchblade in your shoe." Phipps nuzzled at Menke's hair, whispering urgently to him. "Use the blade to break the lock. Your wife is in room 314, down the hall and is strong enough to walk."
"Is there anything else I should know?" Menke growled, struggling again.
Phipps drew back, regarding the dancer. "Would it help if I told you that you've got more chance of dying than escaping?"
"At least you're honest." Menke grimaced. "Now, help me get this wire off."
*
So she's dead.
One less agent to worry about.
It is a bit of a waste though, I can admit it. She was good. One of the top set of my agents, but after that screw up at the hospital, someone had to be punished personally and since I won't have the pleasure of finishing Missy, Bast was the next best thing.
I keep on forgetting how messy blood-letting is. To shoot her or poison her or even strangle her would have been so much simpler, but its too late now.
She can be a beautiful, bloody reminder to all my agents just who is in charge. Although I will miss having her fiery little body in my bed.
Death does that to people, you know. Makes you think of sex in the most obscure and bizarre situations.
I mean, standing in a puddle of cooling blood, my clothes dotted with drying drops of crimson…you wouldn't believe that could make you think of anything other than whether the shirt is dry-clean only…but it does…
Now, which agent to choose to…take the pressure off me. Phipps needs to be punished, so no treats for him tonight. Steward is faithful, but beefy and tough…I think I want something fresh and tender…almost sounds like a slice of beef doesn't it?
That's what my agents are.
Simply animals.
I own them all.
But, wait a damn minute. I know the perfect little victim. All of the agents deserve some punishment for tonight, just to teach them a lesson about misbehaving, but I do have…other company. Perhaps its about time I showed my precious prisoner just how…dangerous I can be.
Time to put someone well and truly in their place.
*
With his chest pressing against mine like it is now, I can feel his ribs shifting and crackling with every breath. Several must be broken and his face is a myriad of bruises and badly inflamed skin.
He's horribly injured, but you wouldn't think he was anything more than a little bruised because he just seems so cool and relaxed about it – or as cool and relaxed as you can be when you're held prisoner by a homicidal maniac.
I've never seen such strength in a single person before.
He really loves that girl. You can tell when you look at what's visible in his eyes. The green fire that burns there at the mention of her name…its incredible. The kind of love that everyone longs for but only the blessed few ever find.
Having seen him now, I can freely admit that I'm jealous of her. Even with the mess his face is in now, it's still obvious that he is a very good-looking man. Not many look that good with blood crusting their eyes and hair, but he pulls it off.
I shouldn't be thinking like this.
I know one of the two of us is going to die soon. When McCafferty's involved, death always comes into play, but its up to me whether I die or he dies.
That's a big responsibility…someone else's life being in my hands at the cost of my own. I can't let him die though. He has more to live for than I ever did.
Plus it will only infuriate Macavity even more if his prized prisoner and wife escape. It would be worth it to see his face.
Priceless.
Like a life.
*
The wire's slid off Menke's wrists painfully slowly, his cramped arms slowly pulling apart, the pain of scabs tearing making him wince as he separated his hands for the first time in days.
Splashing some water over the cuts, Phipps made certain he blocked out all the cameras with his body, wincing as he took in the deep lacerations that scarred the younger man's thin wrists.
"Sorry." He uttered, noticing the pain in the actor's green eyes. It wasn't surprising how pained his expression was. The cuts went almost to the bone. It was a miracle he hadn't bled to death before now.
"I'm okay." Menke gritted between his teeth. "Its just the feeling has come back…" He winced again, his hands twitching. "The pain'll fade soon…"
"Is that so?"
Both men tensed at the chillingly familiar voice, Phipps' eyes meeting Menke's, the horror and stomach-lurching fear clearly visible.
"Sir…"
"Phipps." The tone in McCafferty's voice made Menke's skin crawl. "Get up, turn around and get the hell out of this room now." Dripping exaggerated sweetness, he added. "There's a good boy."
Lacking the strength to refuse, the businessman stumbled hastily to his feet with a final helpless glance down at the Menke. "Sorry." He mumbled feebly, turning and racing out of the room.
*
Outside the door, Phipps slumped down against the wall, a nauseous feeling rising in his stomach. He recognised the expression that had been plastered on McCafferty's cruel features far too well.
"I'm sorry." He whispered, covering his head with his arms, wishing for the hundredth time that he had the strength to fight for the actor. "I'm sorry."
*
This is not good.
Definitely, two-hundred percent not good.
Now I can see why everyone in this dump is so terrified of that evil son of a bitch. He does exactly what he wants to do to anyone and he always gets away with it.
I know I'm weak from loss of blood, but if he comes anywhere near me, I swear I'll do what I can to kill him, tear him limb from limb if I have to.
If I had the strength to.
He went down on one knee, cupping my face in his hand and squeezing my jaw. The jaw he broke barely hours ago. Or was it days? I can't remember and I don't care, all I know is that it bloody hurts!
There's something in him that thrives on pain. If anyone could get beyond it, the Macavity we all know and detest would crumble.
But nothing can get passed it.
He's evil and I can see it shining in his eyes.
"I'm goin' to make you scream, just like your precious little Demi screams for me." He purred, forcing my face up, making me look into those deadly, brutal eyes. "I'm goin' to enjoy every minute, my darlin' boy."
Diving forward, I smashed my skull off his, dropping him – half-conscious – to the floor. The problem with that technique is that I'm half-conscious too, but at least the door is still open…
*
Shakily getting to his feet as fast as he could, the pain ripping through his body beyond any comprehension, Menke raced for the open door, his fear and anger spurring him on, oblivious to the shadow looming behind him.
Like Demi, he just wasn't fast enough.
Smashing the actor against the stone wall, McCafferty viciously kicked the door closed, one of his powerful hands twisting Menke's bloody wrist up between his shoulder blades until the bones crackled.
"That," He growled softly in Menke's ear, thrusting his knee savagely up between the dancer's legs. "Was very, very stupid."
Releasing the snapped wrist, he stood over the dark-haired man as he sagged heavily to the floor, a spurt of bloody vomit erupting from his swollen mouth, his low groan of agony grating on his broken ribs.
"I thought you might say that." Raising one hand shakily, the South African swiped a tendril of blood off his chin, his broken left wrist clutched to his chest defensively, his legs pulled tightly up to his body.
Green eyes gazed penetratingly down at him.
"My, my." The copper-haired villain murmured, pacing calmly back and forth, seemingly oblivious to the throbbing swell on his forehead. "This is an…interesting situation, wouldn't you say?"
"I think I would prefer to watch paint dry." Menke growled, blood-shot eyes blazing.
McCafferty threw back his head with a chilling laugh. "Oh yes, " He sneered, "But that would be a measure of how boring and pathetic your life is without me." Squatting down, he cocked his head, regarding his dark-haired victim coolly. "You may have the looks, but without me, your life is worthless."
"And now you start coming on to me?" Trying to mask his fear with disdain, Menke swallowed another flow of burning nausea.
"Comin' on to ya?" McCafferty pursed his lips, his smooth brow furrowing with silent thought. "What makes you think that, my fine darlin'?" Viciously punching Menke across the face, he forced the half-conscious dancer onto his stomach, twisting his arm up his back again. His voice was a low whisper."Do you know what I'm going to do now?"
Twisting and struggling as much as he could, Menke shuddered painfully, a wave of bile rising in his throat.
Staring helplessly up at the leering face of McCafferty, the actor reeled in and out of consciousness weakly, searching for the strength to fight back. To fight what he knew McCafferty had been planning for a long time.
There was no mistaking the cruel curl of his lips and the sadistic predatory gleam in his lustful, evil eyes.
Menke knew exactly what McCafferty had planned for him.
And he knew there was no escape.