He just sits there, bloody and silent. It's all kinda disappointing, really. I had hoped he would scream and cry as much as his precious little wife did, but I guess that I'll have to suffice with the single scream.
Damn, did it feel good, knowing I had him and there was no escape, no refusal. He was mine and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. And he enjoyed it.
In spite of the pain and humiliation, he's just like everyone else. It's there in the eyes, every single time.
He looks just like a girl, just like his wife did the after the first time.
Crouched in the corner, he does the rocking back and forward thing so well, his arms wrapped around his bloody legs. Those eyes of his are fixed on the floor, blank and empty, but for the pain.
So, I go over to him. See him flinch. That's what the power does. Makes people scared of you, leaves you in control. It's something that feels so good, no one has been able to find a way to make it marketable. It's inside.
I pat my little puppy on the head, his blood-crusted hair still remarkably soft, in spite of the beads of ichor sprinkled through it.
Now. Now he cries.
The rocking grows more and more frenetic, as I kneel and catch his chin in my hand, forcing him to look at me, meet my eyes. The tears break from those terrified green eyes, rolling silently down his cheeks, just calling to be licked away.
"Now, that wasn't so bad, was it?" I stroke his thigh, give him a smile, feel him try to pull away, but there will never be any escape. Once someone has had my attention, never escape it.
Demi learned that, Menke will too.
"Please..." He whispers, jerking back against the wall.
"Please what, darlin'?" A tremor goes through him, my hand sliding up his half-bare chest, the tattered remains of his t-shirt hanging from his muscular shoulder.
"Let...let me go..."
I can't accept that, so I give him a good, solid punch across the chin. It makes an impressive cracking noise. Almost as impressive of the sound of my nose breaking all those days ago.
A spurt of blood runs from between his burst lips, his face turned from mine. He won't ask again. He'll be a fast learner, I can tell.
"I'll be back for you later, darlin'" I tell him. He winces. He won't defy me or stand up to me now. Once someone is in my control, they never get away. Not even if they were second-in-command of the Jellicles.
One last bloody kiss sets me on my way. I think that today is going to be a very good day after all.
*
Oh God.
I never knew it was possible. Never imagined anyone could feel as disgusting and dirty and used as I do now.
Now, only now can I see why Demi was so broken when we found her. I'm heading towards the broken into tiny little pieces far faster than I want to. I just want to shatter and forget all about it, hide in the shelter of my happier memories.
But I can't.
He's coming back. He knows I know it. He knows that it puts the fear of God into me, more than anything else. In spite of the threats, the mocking, the...flirtation, I never imagined he would...could...
I just want to curl up and die, cry, find a bath of acid and burn my skin off, get rid of his filthy, disgusting, painful touch. Get rid of the memories...the sensations. For the second time in as many lives, I think that jumping in front of a car will be good, right about now.
Which is what he planned. He's smashed everything I was. I'm dirty, I'm worthless and I'm nothing. Nothing to anyone but him. He's the only one who gives a damn about my existence. I'm his plaything, his tormented toy and nothing else.
I can barely move. Not just from the fear - although that is a minor reason - but from the pain. Gut-wrenching, blood-drawing, body-splitting agony. I've never felt anything remotely like it.
But Demi has.
And from the look in his eyes, that man that tried to help me...he has too.
That man who tried to help me.
He's been hurt, used, like me. He got through it, so did Demi, so I have to. He left that knife in my shoe. He left it for a reason and he knew he would be in trouble for helping me, but he did it.
I have to get me and Demi out, for his sake, if no one else's. The knife, the loose wire on my wrists. It's all for that purpose, nothing more.
I just have to ignore the pain and get to Demi's prison, then she can help me and we can get the hell out of this place.
We have to.
*
Stalking down the hall, McCafferty threw the door of the office open, the handle smashing against the wall, the ringing echoing down he hall, as Phipps raised puffy bruised eyes to his employer.
"McCafferty, sir."
He knew courtesy wasn't going to save him this time. He had defied the red-haired bastard one too many times and he knew he wouldn't live to see another day. It remained to be seen if it would be a quick or slow end.
To a betting man, he knew the odds would be on the slow, painful, tortuous ending.
"Hello, my darlin' fella." Standing in the doorway, McCafferty's copper hair swirled loosely around his face, his deep green eyes shadowed, his arms spread, palms resting against the doorframe. "Do ye have a moment to talk?"
Shakily pushing a pile of forms aside, Phipps nodded, his mouth dry. "Of...of course, sir." He managed to say, his voice sounding surprisingly strong in his ears. "What can I help you with?"
Pushing the door shut, the criminal mastermind turned his back on his employee, one hand caressing the wood, as his fingers wrapped around the key. There was a soft click as the door was locked, dark green eyes glancing over McCafferty's shoulder.
"Tell me, Phipps." McCafferty pivoted, leaning back against the door, his head bowed, his eyes seeming to be fixed on his toe that he was twisting into the carpet. "Have I been such a bad employer?"
Phipps mouth was bone dry. The familiar desire he felt for his boss was there. It was impossible to ignore, especially when McCafferty was dressed like he was on this particular day.
Apparently he had changed after the Menke incident, his tight-fitting jeans replacing his suit, an unbuttoned forest-green shirt revealing the muscled expanse of his smooth chest. His hair was loose; hanging wildly passed his shoulders, giving him that dangerous, animalistic air.
"You...you have treated me...well." Phipps forced himself to say, as the taller man straightened up, raising one hand to casually sweep his mane back from his face. "I am grateful, sir."
"Your actions say otherwise." McCafferty's attention seemed to be anywhere but on Phipps, as he jammed his hands into his pockets, lazily wandering across the silent room, the atmosphere seeming to grow increasingly oppressive to the older man.
Balling his hands into fists, a nervous sweat prickling his brow, Phipps cleared his throat anxiously. "I...I beg your pardon?"
"Beg." McCafferty slowly turned to face the brunette, the barest suggestion of a smile coolly curling his lips. "I like that word." He took a step forward until his face was barely inches away from Phipps'. "Don't you?"
"I...I had never really thought about it." Shuffling along the desk, the Englishman tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and the man who had become his Master. His hands fumbled over the surface of the desk, behind him, searching for a weapon.
McCafferty seemed to be observing him. Phipps had the unnerving feeling of being a mouse, being played with and - frankly - it terrified him, chilling him to the bone.
His hand stumbled upon a small letter-opener, his fingers closing around it, his pale blue eyes rising to meet McCafferty's uneasily.
"Don't even think about it." The copper-haired monster whispered, moving closer, his hands rising to Phipps' shoulders and gliding lightly down his arms, in a caress that sent a shiver of despairing lust through him. "I don't like being disobeyed." McCafferty breathed icily, his lips close to Phipps' ear.
In the blink of an eye, the Englishman was pinned - facedown - on the desk, one arm twisted viciously up between his shoulder blades. The feeble weapon slipped from the nerveless fingers of his other hand, clattering on the smooth surface of the desk.
Clenching his teeth, determined not to scream, he pressed his eyes shut, feeling McCafferty's bare chest pressing against his back, tendrils of red hair falling over his throbbing cheeks.
"Are you afraid, my darlin'?" McCafferty twisted the arm cruelly, his breath hot on the older man's neck.
"Screw you." Phipps growled, tears of pain coursing from his closed eyes, the half-healed wounds on his face and body straining from the pressure the other man was putting on him.
"That seems to be such a dramatic line for people to say to me." McCafferty sighed, as if bored. "They always say it." He ground his body against the other man's knowing where all the prime injuries were, how to inflict pain best. "Say somethin' new, darlin'. Say somethin' new for me."
"You were a crap shag." He grated out.
McCafferty nodded slowly, the dipping of his head sweeping his long hair over Phipps' face. "Well, that's definitely new." He admitted. He twisted the older man's arm again, felt it straining to breaking point. "But we both know it's not true, don't we?"
Phipps swallowed a surge of pain. He knew McCafferty was horny. He always got so, especially after tormenting someone. Sadism turned the bastard on. Sadism, torture, death and punishment were his fetishes.
"You wish."
"You mean I have to prove it, again?" McCafferty feigned a note of disappointment. "I thought you were smarter than that, darlin'."
Phipps bit down on his lip until he felt blood ticklishly running from the corner of his mouth. He had to make sure McCafferty spent a good long time with him, so that the prisoners had a chance to escape.
As long as the man hadn't broken.
That was the main thought that filled Phipps' head, as McCafferty smashed a fist against his temple, sending straight into the realm of unconsciousness, before dragging his inert body down to the soundproof, basement rooms for some...education.
*
Pacing, Demi felt the urge to growl again. Despite being a human, being trapped like this unnerved her, made her fall back into her pre-human urges. How she longed for her claws, to rip his face apart.
Slapping her palms against the wall, she whipped around, her eyes wandering the cell, as they did every day, searching for the tiniest sign of freedom, of escape, but – as always – she found none.
The only possible way was an air vent located in the ceiling, but it was barely inches wide, which only made her feel all the more trapped.
The rough surface of the floor grated against the bare soles of her feet, her body immune to the cold that always filled the cell. She hadn't seen a single face since McCafferty had dragged the dark-haired man out of her prison.
She didn't know whether to be grateful or unnerved. The solitude was grinding on her, the lack of abuse, torment making her nervous of every sound she heard, every footstep in the hall, every tap in the pipes.
Dropping into a squat, she stared at the floor numbly. Crossing her bare arms around her knees, her aching body was barely strong enough to hold her upright. Nibbling on the stale remains of the bread her 'friend' had given her, she winced, her stomach growling, her lips dry and cracked.
Every part of her body ached. One ankle was swollen to triple the normal size, her eyes so bloated she could barely see through them. Her back – she knew – was criss-crossed with narrow slashes.
McCafferty had a thing for whips.
And a talent.
Wincing, she rolled her shoulders, feeling the slim cuts on her back split, warm beads of blood trickling down the bare skin. Sooner or later, her whole body would just be one massive scabbed-over bruise.
Now, she thought bitterly, that's a really attractive thought to hold onto.
Outside, a sound made her jump, tilting her head warily. Something smacked against the outside of her door with enough violence to make it shudder. Immediately, she was on her feet, her hands balled into fists, ready for any attack that may be coming.
*
Swallowing hard, Menke gritted his teeth, leaning heavily against the door as he stared at the number. Either he was about to find what he had been looking for or he was about to walk into a trap.
His limp left arm hung uselessly at his side, blood crystallizing on the tips of his fingers, still oozing from the deep gouges in his wrists, remnants of the memory of the wire that had bound him for so long.
Pulling the latch, his shaking hand twisted the handle of the door, his fingers still curled painfully around the small - yet deadly - switchblade. Pushing the door open, he squinted in the bright light of the cell, his eyes settling on a slight figure.
Her body was stooped in a defensive position, rocking on the balls of her feet, her hands curled into neat little fists. Deep streaks of red darkened her pale skin, her blood-matted hair hanging wildly over her battered face, her split lips curled back from her teeth.
Meeting her fear-filled eyes, he gave a gasping sob, stumbling into the room, with a whisper of, "Oh, Demi."
Her golden eyes widened, her hands shakily rising to her face, a flood of tears running down her scabbed cheeks. "Menke?" She weakly whispered. "Is it really you?"
Staggering to her, he pulled her into his arms, his tears splashing down onto her thick hair, as her arms twined desperately round his waist. "God, Demi, I can't believe it. I can't believe it."
Clinging to him, she nodded weakly. "How did...how did you find me?" She whispered shakily, staring up at him.
"I'll tell you later." He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But first, we have to get the hell out of here."
*
Edging through another of the dark rooms, the couple exchanged nervous glances as they pulled the new door open, revealing a hall that was as dark and devoid of life as every other hall they had passed through.
Stepping slowly out into the dimly lit hallway, Menke carefully draped an arm around Demi's slim shoulders, her own arm around his waist.
Both of them were as battered as one another, their faces bruised, crusted with deep scars and swollen almost beyond recognition. Both limped heavily, using one another to support their own weight.
Menke's lower half was still encased in filthy, ichor-stained blue jeans. His torso was blackened, mould-coloured bruises tainting the patches of his tanned skin that weren't freshly beaten.
Like Demi, his shoulders were marred by bruises imprinted by vicious fingers, half-crescents of scabs from bites scoring the soft, bruised flesh. Knees and fist marks were scattered on their bodies.
Clad in the tattered remains of Menke's shirt, Demi rested her head against his shoulder, reveling in the feeling of being near him again. She could see he was in pain, but he pretended not to be.
"Which way?" She asked, feeling him falter against her.
"I think that way." Pausing, he tried to recover his breath, his ribs aching. The metallic taste of blood rose to his mouth with every pained breath he exhaled, his snapped nails sinking into his palms as he tried to fight down another swell of pain.
Clamping his jaws shut, he blinked several times, his pain-fogged eyes stinging with the burning sensation of tears that were threatening to fall.
"Do you want to stop for a minute?" Demi reached up, touching his cheek gently. She could see the pain in his face, despite his attempts.
He gave her a weak half-grin, his legs going shaky under him. "I...I'm okay." He managed to grit out, between his clenched teeth.
"Liar." She tried to help him to sit, but he forced himself to remain upright, leaning against the wall heavily, his free arm pressed against his aching ribcage tightly.
"We don't have time." He pulled her close, his arm tight around her body. "We have to get out of here. Now. Before he finds out we're gone." Inclining his head down the hall, he half-walked, half-limped forward, pulling her with him.
"I know." Gritting her teeth, she ignored the ripple of pain in her legs, putting all her effort into holding him upright. He was noticeably more hurt than she was, his limp far more pronounced.
He flashed her a taut smile, a bead of blood forming at the corner of his mouth and trickling down his chin. "You still love me when I look like Bruce Lee's punchbag? I'm impressed, sweetheart."
"Hey, like I could get anyone else looking like this?" She teased, butting her head lightly against his chin.
"Don't flatter yourself." Rubbing his jaw against her temple as best he could without hurting both of them, he gave her a crooked grin, his emerald eyes barely slits. "I missed you so much, Dem."
"We can get to reminiscing later, Menke." She returned his weak smile. "But we do have to get out of here before...you know..."
Menke stiffened, the muscle in his jaw twitching, a surge of sickened feelings surging through him. "Yeah," He muttered. "Before he gets us."
"And I want to see Starlight Express again." Demi whispered, a trace of her old sense of humour glinting in her half-closed eyes.
Menke looked down at her, a tingle of pride filling him. "You think I wanna get out of here to see that again?" He growled softly. "Dammit, Dem, if you wanna be like that, I'll take you back to your cell."
"Okay, okay." Giving him a wry smile, she nodded. "I'll behave...and force myself to go and see you prance around like a girl again."
"Sounds fair." He agreed.
A silence fell on them, as they gathered what strength and resolve they had left, staggering through the labyrinthine passages of the underworld of McCafferty's secret lair. There was no other way, they both knew. They had to get out.
Sticking to the shadows, they clung to one another, knowing that if they were separated, there was no chance for either of them.
It was a choice of death or escape.
And, at this stage, neither of them were entirely certain which it would be.
*
Licking crimson droplets from his fingertips, McCafferty lazily kicked the door shut, wiping his sweat-soaked palms down on the tattered shirt in his hand.
"Well," He remarked to himself, discarding the scraps of the shirt. "That was certainly stimulating." A puddle of red started to creep under the door, marring the dull grey of the floor. McCafferty grinned wickedly. "Bloody good fun."
Prowling down the dim hall, he frowned. There was something odd. Something felt distinctly wrong.
Rounding a corner, his jaw locked, a tic of fury twitching above his eyes, as he practically tripped over the inert body of Ghengis. The bruise on his temple indicated that he hadn't merely fainted, the whites of his eyes visible beneath his half-closed lids.
Squatting, McCafferty narrowed icy green eyes, rolling the unconscious man onto his back and grabbing the front of his shirt. Jerking him upright, the copper-haired man backhanded his employee repeatedly until Ghengis winced and tried to pull away.
"Mornin' darlin'. Got a nasty bump there." McCafferty smiled chillingly, as Ghengis cringed away. His eyes were dark. "Care to tell me what ye were doin' lyin' down on the job, me friend?"
One hand rose to touch the swelling bump on his temple, Genghis amber eyes widening with fear at the deadly expression in McCafferty's eyes. "Something...came from behind. It hit me."
"Is that so?"
Genghis nodded, trying to rise. The red head slammed his hand on the centre of the smaller man's chest with enough force to flatten him to the floor. "I don't know who it was, Sir, I swear."
McCafferty rocked back on his heels, a thoughtful look in his eyes. "And I would bet that every other agent on this level will say exactly the same thing." He grinned wickedly. "I know Phipps certainly denied everything."
"Ph...Phipps, sir?"
Rising smoothly, McCafferty nodded. "Poor eejit decided to play the hero." He sighed, shaking his head in mock-despair. "Then he decided to lie to me." The smile on his lips was one of sheer malevolence. "He had to be punished."
A shudder of fear shot down Ghengis' spine. Sure, he had thoughts Phipps was an ass-kissing little snot, but he didn't deserve to be at the receiving end of one of the boss' punishment rituals.
"I...I'll go and see what's going on, Sir." Ghengis suggested nervously, struggling into a sitting position.
"No." McCafferty's voice was icy, calm. "You'll come with me and we'll see if we can find out what has happened."
Nodding reluctantly, both men got to their feet, the red-haired criminal's expression neutral, his mouth a tight line. The small, oriental man ducked his head, desperately trying not to show the fear he was clearly feeling.
"Let's go." McCafferty nodded, Genghis falling into step a pace behind him, as they started through the corridors, only to find more agents in the same position as Ghengis had been in moments before.
Reaching Menke's cell, he threw the door open, a surge of white-hot fury sending tremor through him. Tony Steward lay dazedly on the bloodstained floor, his body contorted in pain.
"I'm guessin'," McCafferty remarked dryly. "That this means our prisoners have both escaped." All eyes looked away from him awkwardly and fearfully. "I take it that ye all agree with me, darlin's?"
No reply was forthcoming, so he stormed out of the cell, leaving the group of dazed and pained agents staring fearfully after him.
He was angry.
Angrier than they could recall seeing him before. Angry enough for them all to take the initiative and flee as long as their employer was otherwise engaged in the hunting down of his prisoners.
None of them wanted to get in his way. Anyone who crossed his path this day wouldn't live to tell the tale.
*
"This isn't good." Menke clutched Demi's hand in his, his eyes flitting around the dark building, the massive, high crates surrounding them on all but one side, high windows far out of their reach.
"You don't say." Demi whispered against his shoulder, a shiver running through her. "I think its safe to say we're in trouble."
Holding her close, he gave her a reassuring kiss on the temple, his arms warm around her body. "We got this far." He reassured her, grimacing as bolts of pain lanced through his back and ribs. "We're gonna get out of here."
"When you say it," She whispered weakly. "I find myself believing you."
"In that case," He flashed a pain-filled grin at her. "It wasn't me that put the frying pan in the microwave."
Demi's eyebrow rose. "Somehow I don't believe that." She remarked quietly, as they came to a crossroads in the piles of crates, with three choices of directions to go in, each looking as ominous as the other.
"You never believe me when I want you to." His grip on her hand tightened, his casual tone growing slightly more forced, as they glanced quickly in both directions, trying to choose which way seemed best.
"I know you too well." Demi winced, her ankle throbbing unbearably, the ache spreading through her body. She forced herself to think of something else. Something beyond these walls. "Menke?" Her voice was hushed. "Is...is Rina okay?"
Pausing, he glanced back at her, the desperate hope in her gold eyes sending a jolt of pain through him. "I think so, Dem." He gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. "She was safe in hospital when I came here."
Tears filled Demi's eyes. "I thought both of you were dead." She confided, her cheek damp against her husband's back. "He told me...he said you were both dead...he made me...I'm so sorry, Menke..."
"I know." Drawing her alongside him, he stroked her cheek gently. "He tried to get rid of me...of Rina...it just shows how badly he does his work. We're alive and together and Rina is probably bugging all the nurses." He smiled. "See. We beat him."
"I wish I could believe that." Reaching up, she took his face in her hands, rising on her toes to kiss his scabbed lips with her own.
"Believe it and it just might come true, love." Menke slipped his arm around her waist, pressing his cheek to the top of her dirt-crusted mane. "He lied to us, so if we can't believe each other, who can we believe?"
Demi laughed weakly, a coughing fit spasming through her, tiny beads of blood rising from her aching lungs. "You should have been a philosopher." She wheezed. "Too smart for the likes of me."
"I'm a dancer." He hugged her reassuringly. "How smart can I be?"
"Smart enough for me." Her smile made all his pain fade, knowing he had her back sending a burst of happiness through his battered body. "Unless involving frying pans and microwave ovens."
But the lingering fear that they were still trapped, still imprisoned in the lair and in the mind of a madman. He had died so he could get to them once before. There was no way he would let them get away easily.
No way he would let them get away at all.
And that thought terrified him more than the thought of death, of more abuse, of anything. Knowing there was no escape. Ever.
*
Sitting lazily on a girder, McCafferty watched them stumble through his maze. A cruel smile curled his lips.
He hadn't intended to release them into his mini-labyrinth, but – watching them from high up here – it was amusing, seeing their desperate attempts at flight, like so many others had before.
Many had entered the labyrinth, but none had walked away from it. It was his version of Theseus and the Minotaur. He simply waited - like the Minotaur - until his enemies came to him, lost and terrified.
And then, he wiped them out.
Simple really.
The massive crates proved a wonderful material for building the maze, easy to shift and maneuver, so the maze was never the same more than once.
And at ten feet tall, the crates were too high for the average person to climb.
Particularly when the damn good-looking average person and his equally gorgeous wife have both had the living crap kicked out of them, almost every single day, for almost a week and a half.
It was just a matter of time before the couple stumbled into the battle-square, the largest open area set in the middle of the maze of crates. That was where he waited, always waited for his victims, his enemies, his prey.
When they got there...
McCafferty allowed himself a lazy smile. he still had some tricks that would no doubt provide interesting reactions from the couple.
At the moment, they were still holding together far too well. They needed to be shaken up a bit, disturbed, weakened. Anything that would make tormenting them in the battle-square easier.
Fighting enemies whose brains had been turned into quivering mush was mush more effortless than fighting two people who knew they could completely depend on each other's support.
The maze wasn't just about breaking them by getting them lost and desperate for escape. It was all about manipulating the human weakness, turning it against them, using their fears and hurts to make them even weaker.
That was something - McCafferty noted dryly - he was a veritable expert at. That, torture, murder: all the good things in life.
Pushing his loose hair back from his eyes, he followed the tiny figures, as the couple continued to wind - in circles - through the dark maze, clinging to one another like a pair of lost children.
Slowly rising, he made his way silently along the girder, to where one of his little...gifts for the couple was waiting.
As soon as they were in position, they were going to see what lay in store for them and they would break, just as so many had before.
No matter what the others said, nothing could bring them back, once they had been shattered.
This was going to prove very entertaining.
*
"Menke."
Her golden eyes flick around desperately, as if searching for something she just can't find. I remember she used to do this a lot and it always meant the same thing. The rest of them thought she was crazy, but she was never wrong.
"Dem? You okay?"
She shakes her head, backing against me. I can feel her shivering right down to her bones, a chilling sweat rising on her skin. I can almost see her with her ears pinned back, her tail between her legs, terrified.
"He's here." She hisses, her grip tightening on my hand. "I know it." She stares at me, desperately. "I know it."
There's nothing I can do. Nothing I can say. We're at his mercy and it tears me apart knowing what he's done to her. What he's done to both of us.
What he can still do to us, unless we get the hell out of here.
I turn to Demi, but she's seen something. She's looking up towards the ceiling, her mouth falling open in a scream.
*
They didn't expect that.
Now that was what I call a scream. It echoed off the walls for what seemed like hours and she held it on for so long, I was sure she'd have run out of breath.
Mind you, it's not exactly what you expect to drop down onto you, from the ceiling, is it? I thought it would make an impression and I was definitely right. Good old Phipps was finally useful for one thing.
His screams were almost as impressive as that bitch's. Although, there were a good deal more screams from him than I've heard from her. It's just a pity I'll have to get rid of those shoes. Can't get the bloodstains out of the suede.
A tragic waste really.
I liked those shoes.
Still, time for a bit of fun.
My little pets are nearing my battle zone, unaware what they are running into. Yes, they're running now. Phipps scared them enough to make them get their bruised little backsides in gear.
I wonder...I wonder. Will they face me or will they run, like they did from his rank corpse. I don't know why they so fear a body. It is dead, gone, can't hurt them or play with their minds, as I can, but still they run.
Instead of staying and facing a faceless body, hung like a slab of meat on that silver-tinted hook, they will have to face me.
And in doing so, they face death.
*
Pushing Demi behind him, Menke growled softly, fighting all urges to run. There was nowhere for them to go. It was over. They had reached the end of the line and there was nowhere else for them to turn.
"Run rabbit, run rabbit, quick, quick, quick..." McCafferty emerged smoothly from the shadows without even seeming to move, his face masked by the darkness, but for his burning eyes. "What have I caught in my little trap?"
"Ronan." Clinging to Menke, Demi gasped. "Ronan...please..."
McCafferty tilted his head quizzically. "Ronan?" Shaking his head, red-gold hair swung in the light. "Wrong, little girl. I am Macavity and Macavity is all that I am and all that I ever will be."
"You're insane!" Demi breathed with growing realisation, her body trembling. "You won't get away with this, Macavity."
McCafferty flashed her a cruel grin. "Too late, Demeter." He purred, taking a slow step towards her, making her cower. "I have already gotten away with this. Nothing can stop me now." He paused, eyeing them speculatively. "But there is one choice."
Suspicious, they backed away.
"There's no escape," He examined his nails boredly. "But you have a choice. You can die slowly and painfully, torn apart like dear old Phippsy or..."
Both stared at him, terrified.
Instead of answering, he turned his attention away from them, one hand dipping into his pocket and fishing something out. A flash of moonlight glinted of the gleaming blade, the only light that seemed willing to near the dark monster.
Sending shards of iridescent light splintering off into the depths of the shadows, he laughed softly, cruelly, waiting.
"What?" Menke's trembling voice finally demanded softly.
"Hmm?" McCafferty lazily looked over at him, tracing the blade of the knife across his palm hard enough to open a thin rime of crimson.
"Or what?"
"Ah!" Tossing his copper mane back from his face, McCafferty grinned wickedly, his teeth flashing in the darkness. "I thought you'd never ask." Taking a step into the dull light, he spread his hands in a shrug. "You dies slowly and painfully or," He cleared his throat. "You fight me. To the death."
The couple stared at him in horror and despair. Even though they outnumbered him, there was no way they could fight, not in their conditions.
"I'd say it was generous." He drawled lazily. "So what do you choose? Death or..." He smirked. "Death?"