Looking from the smirking face of his enemy, Menke cast a despairing glance in the direction of his wife, her fear and pain mirroring his own.
He had fought Macavity before, many times. More times than he cared to remember. And each of those times, he had been at full strength, or as close to it as he could be.
Beating the ginger feline had been a challenge. That much was obvious from the fact that the evil cat had been able to survive so many encounters. Encounters that left many of the Jellicle tribe licking their wounds for weeks.
That was another factor Menke despised.
At least, as Munkustrap, he had had some form of support, help from other toms if he got in trouble. It seldom happened, but when he needed them, it was a boost to at least know they were waiting in the wings, just in case.
What he wouldn't give to have Tugger here with him, now. Despite hating the younger tom's attitude, the Maine coon was one of the best fighters in the tribe, although the flirty tom preferred to be famed for his free loving.
Now, Menke was here. Alone, but for Demi, who was in as bad a state as him. Battered, bloodied, aching from his pounding head right down to his crushed, broken toes. And expected to stand up and fight a man in prime condition.
When life dropped you in at the deep end, there was a non-refundable guarantee that there would be nothing to keep you afloat.
This was just one of those 'deep-end' situations: Placed in a 'Fight or die' scenario after being physically tortured to breaking point, with a mind that was teetering precariously on the very brink of sanity and insanity, where one push from the flame-haired man before him could send him over.
If it hadn't been such a desperate situation, Menke would have given in to the urge to fall to the floor in a heap and giggle maniacally until the men in white coats arrived to tie him up and put him back in his cell.
But, for now, he was still sane. Still prepared to defend Demi to the death...or to the being-a-prisoner-and-toy-of-Macavity-for-eternity ending. Naturally, death would be the better option, but he would prefer to live happily ever after.
And they say fairy stories don't happen.
"Come on, darlin'" McCafferty's voice rudely broke into the other man's thoughts, tauntingly. "I don't have all day and there are far more...enjoyable things I would rather be doing than fighting the two of ye."
Menke felt Demi's fingers curl around his, giving his hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze. A surge of love rose in him. Forcing his head up, he turned deadly green eyes towards McCafferty and smiled a chilling smile. "All right, Ronan."
McCafferty's jaw tightened at the use of the hated name. "Well, this is a surprise." He took a lazy step towards the dark-haired man. "All right, you say." He chuckled coolly. "All right. Let's see what kind of man you are..."
"Don't underestimate me." Menke grit his teeth, mirroring McCafferty's step forward, his hands balled achingly.
"How could I do that, darlin'?" McCafferty's sardonic, smug face was just begging to receive a punch and Menke was happy to oblige, the red-maned man's head snapping round. "That was a good starting note." He nodded, fingering his jaw.
The dancer spread his hands in an expressive shrug. "As the song said," He replied quietly. Things can only get better."
* * *
"Dem? Dem...whassa matter?" Philip raised his head from the edge of the mattress in concern, the sound of Rina's voice drawing him from sleep's snug embrace. "Dem! Stop! Don't go! Demi!"
Standing shakily, he leaned over the girl, her bruised face contorted. She was in the throes of some kind of dream, tossing and writhing in spite of the casts and bandages that covered her slender body.
"Rina?" Patting her cheek gently, a frown furrowed his brow. "C'mon, Rina, wake up...what is it? What's wrong?"
Her eyes snapped open, startling him. "Ph...Philip?"
"Yeah, Ri." Propping himself against the mattress, he gave her a smile. "You were having a dream. Are you okay?"
Squinting at him, she nodded once. "Where's Demi?"
Her fellow-dancer looked down at his hands guiltily. The police had thought it better that she didn't know how serious things had gotten, that both her sister and her brother-in-law were still missing and had been for over a week now.
"I'm sure she's okay..." He replied awkwardly, evasively.
Rina's brown eyes locked on his. "Philip." Her voice was hard, determined. "Tell me. What has happened. Where are they?"
His face turned away, eyes fixed on a spot on the bare walls. "I don't know." He said softly, unhappily. The emotion trembled in his shaking voice. "No one knows. Someone...tried to kill Menke after they got you..."
The muscles in Rina's jaw twitched as she tilted her head back on the pillows, her dark eyes closed. Tears broke from beneath her closed lids, trickling down her swollen cheeks to drip softly on the pillow.
"Something...bad is happening." Struggling to form the words, her breathing grew harsher, ragged. "If someone doesn't do something..." She turned to him hopelessly. "They're going to die. Both of them."
Philip tried to deny the words, but his own apprehension had been building, especially after Menke's disappearance. Why someone would target and actor-dancer and his wife was beyond his comprehension, but Rina was right.
Something bad was happening.
Worse than even he could imagine.
"What can we do?" He asked softly.
Her dark brown eyes opened, stared emptily up at the ceiling. "The police...what did they say about the description I gave them?"
"They said the description matches a man they've been watching for some time, but they've never been able to prove he was guilty of any crime." Philip exhaled a long sigh. "He goes by the name of McCafferty..."
"Ronan McCafferty?" He suddenly had her undivided attention.
"How did you know?"
A pained, hollow grin crossed her face. "Oh, I know him. Never met the guy, but he was a mate of Demi's. Was being the operative word." Pulling a face, she turned to her friend. "He tried it on with her. Apparently didn't take her answer very well. One of those alpha males with a 'No meaning yes' complex. I only found out after hearing her crying in the night. She said he was charming...she was drunk and almost gave in...and when she refused..." She trailed off implicitly.
"He attacked her?" Philip's face paled.
"He tried." Grimacing, she turned to face him fully. "You think we got ourselves a prime suspect here? He knew where we lived, he knew where Menke worked, he always was jealous of Menke, he was spurned by Demi...are we seeing a motive or two?"
"But he had an alibi!"
Rina gave a snort of disgust. "I'll bet all last years wages that he was the one who sent that bitch to kill me. If he can buy the cops, who's to say he can't buy other people off?" Her companion nodded slowly. "Call the police again. Tell them all this information and ask them why the hell I wasn't informed."
"Ri, they met you when you were in a coma...even then, you scared the pants off them." He flashed her a grin, rising and walking to the door.
Rina smirked. "As long as I scared the pants off the young, rich, good-looking ones, I'll be happy." Philip chuckled softly. "What? I'm not allowed to think dirty? What is this? A blimmin' church?"
"I'll go and make some calls, Ri. Just stay calm and quiet and don't torment the student doctors...remember, I know what you're like, comatose or not." The only response he got was a single fingered salute from the fragile-looking red head tucked in the bed.
* * *
Crashing down flat on his back on the hard floor, a mocking laugh rose - unbidden - from his lips, his green eyes glinting with devilish malevolence. A ripple of blood snaked from one nostril, staining his even, white teeth a sickening pink.
Taking a step closer, standing over his fallen enemy, Menke couldn't help but shudder at the memories that chilling laughter raised, a shiver of disgust scooting down his spine, making him want to back pedal, as far away from the man as possible.
"Now why didn't you fight like that before?" The Irishman sneered, leaning up on his elbows, making no attempt to get to his feet. Grinning scornfully up at Menke, he shook his head. "Ye didn't want to fight me, did ye?"
"Shut up." Menke's eyes narrowed, his fists clenching and unclenching furiously, a knot of anger forming in his throat. "Shut up!"
McCafferty smirked. "Tryin' to hide yer dark secret from the little woman, are ye?" He flashed a dark look at Demi, who stood opposite her husband, her gold eyes burning liquid fire. "Ye claim ye have such an honest relationship...yet ye keep this from her..."
"Stop it." The tone of the South African's voice had lost its angry edge, pleading.
"Menke?" Demi's eyes flicked to her husband's taut face. Something was shadowing those familiar green eyes, yet she didn't want to believe that McCafferty was telling the truth about him, to believe her husband had lied. "What's he talking about?"
The dark haired man roughly kicked the grinning McCafferty with all his strength, catching him in the gut and doubling him over briefly. Panting, exhausted, Menke swayed on his feet. "You bastard."
"That's me." McCafferty wheezed, shakily getting to his feet, his unnerving sneer never leaving his face. "Why bother telling your pretty wife what I did to you, when I could just tell you what I did to her...share and share alike, after all..."
Blinking, shaking his head to clear the spots of darkness blurring the edge of his vision, the younger man focused on his enemy furiously, only to come straight in contact with a double punch from the ginger haired man, sending him reeling.
Demi sprawled on the floor several paces away, her eyes half-closed, blood gushing from a freshly opened wound on her bruised temple. Raising his eyes weakly from her, Menke stared up at McCafferty.
"Ye really should let me tell her what fun I had wi' ye, darlin'" The Irishman purred huskily, his voice raising nervous goosebumps all over the actor's body. He turned, leaving Menke half-kneeling, half-sitting dizzily on the floor. "Ye see sweetheart," He murmured, squatting over the fallen woman. "When yer husband's a better lay than you, there really is somethin' wrong..."
A low moan ripped from Demi's throat, her eyes pressing shut, silent tears rolling down her cheeks, tainted pink by her blood. "M...McCafferty..." She breathed softly, her lips moving soundlessly.
"What is it, darlin'?" McCafferty looked over at Menke, his eyes taunting the half-conscious, concussed dancer, then back at the wife. Lowering his head close to her mouth, he listened for her words.
One of her hands weakly rose to his cheek. Then she spoke. "You," Her mouth brushed his ear lightly. "Are...dead!" Lunging forward, she sank her teeth into his strong neck, her nails tearing into his face.
With a bellow of fury, he thrust his fist into her gut, the air expelled from her lungs in a gust, her body contorting in pain, but she'd bought enough time for Menke to recover himself and dive at McCafferty from behind, tackling him to the ground and twisting a hand behind his back.
"There's me boy." McCafferty's wicked laughter rumbled through his body, not in the least intimidated by the practically snarling actor. The blood running from the gouges in his cheeks and throat only added to his own savage appearance. "So ye like to be on top, lover? Show me what ye've got..."
"Shut the hell up!" The hand behind his back was twisted a little harder, but the shudder that passed through the actor's body, atop of his, suggested his words were finally starting to cut a bit too close.
Chuckling, he tilted his head to grin at Demi. The woman was on her knees, eyes fixed on his face, filled with a hatred the likes of which he'd never seen before. "So, darlin', do ye feel betrayed? Knowin' that yer precious Menke let me play with him...mayhap he fought, but darlin', he loved it. He wanted it."
* * *
He's just trying to get to me.
He's using my thoughts and trying to twist them, trying to make me sound as depraved as him, trying to break me, to weaken me, to get Demi and me back in our cells so he can hurt us both all over again.
He knows what to say...how to say it...and God knows, he makes me feel like he's right.
Maybe he is.
Maybe I did enjoy it.
I can't tell wrong from right any more. Good from bad. Light from dark. Happy from sad. I just don't know and it scares me. This strangeness, this lack of control...the emptiness that I feel when he's around...nothing makes sense...
He gets in your head, you see.
He's turned the soft fluffy that me and Demi had into darkness. Nothing is right here. He makes us feel things we shouldn't and don't want to...convinces us we're wrong and he is telling us our true feelings.
I hate him for that.
I hate him for what he did to us: Taking me would have been bearable, but Demi...Rina...I hate him for that more than I imagined it was possible to hate anyone...then the abuse, the torture the pain...I never thought I could hate so much that it hurt, but I do.
And I want.
Want him.
Sick as it sounds, he's wormed his way into my head, convinced me that I need him, have to have him, need the pain and the torment and all that he's done to me, just to balance things out with Demi, to know what she went through.
To tell her it wasn't so bad.
God knows I would be telling the blackest lies in the world if I said those words to her. If I even dared to speak them to my own reflection in the mirror, I would feel guilty for being such a damned liar!
Why can't he leave us alone? Let us have some kind of peace? We died because of him and still, it wasn't enough!
Why doesn't he even pretend to be afraid? Why doesn't he give us the dignity of not mocking us every time we knock him down? Why does he just lie there and laugh and taunt and make me want to rip his heart out?
I would, you know.
Only I don't think I could even break the skin. No strength, no energy, no life. For him, it must be like fighting two very pathetic-looking zombies.
Any blows that we've managed to land have been lucky, chance, usually following the pair of us having a good, solid blow or twenty to the head. Mister professional street fighter never takes any time off, does he?
And even if we do hurt him, still he hurts us more.
His words are as harsh and cruel as brutally talented hands of his. With one word, he's broken both of us, but still we stand, even though there's nothing but hate left. Dagger after dagger of cruelty stabs at us.
He knows every chink in our mental armour, he knows *exactly* what to say to hit us where it hurts and leave us bleeding, he knows how to take us down, but still he wants to play his sick mind games.
He wants to take us down a bit at a time, make us watch each other weaken.
I don't know if that makes me want to fight him more or just make me tear my guts out and make a noose for myself.
All I know is that as long as I stand, I'm going to fight him, fight his words, not listen...anything that'll get me and Demi through this living hell...anything that leaves him dead...anything that gives us a thimbleful of peace in our lifetime.
And they say dreams are for rookies.
* * *
"What's going on? Did you tell them? Are they sending people? Are we getting some kind of junkfood on the menu?"
Phillip shook his head with an indulgent smile. "Yes, they're sending people." He replied, sitting down in the chair next to the bed. "They're sending a couple of C.I.D people to talk to McCafferty and some plainclothes officers are doing recon around his facilities."
"And they tell a dancer everything they're up to." She grinned weakly. "What is this world coming to?"
His hand wrapped around hers, squeezing her uninjured fingers gently. "I'm sure Demi and Menke are okay." He murmured softly. "They're tough and as long as they have each other, they'll kick whatever asses they need to, to get here and visit you."
Rina's eyes fell. "I know." Her voice was soft, barely a whisper. Her free hand smoothed the blanket that covered her from the ribs, down. "As much as I hate to admit it, I miss my dear old brother-in-law and his 4a.m. pranks...and I must have had one too many blows to the head..."
"Menke is pretty addictive company." Philip agreed, with a fond smile.
The red head's face rose, her brown eyes boring into his. "Do you think they'll find them?" Tears glistened in her eyes, threatening to fall, a lump forming suffocatingly in Philip's throat. "I need to know."
"I hope so, Ri...the police...they're doing all they can..."
"Can't they storm his buildings? Can't they arrest him? Stand him in front of a brick wall and use him for target practise? Can't they just bring them back to me?" Her shoulders shook agonisingly, her trembling hands rising to cover her face, burning tears streaming down her cheeks.
Sitting alongside her, Philip gently took her in his arms. "I wish it was that easy...if this guy's as bad as you say...as they say...he's probably got a hundred places he could hide them...a hundred different places, miles away from his main buildings..."
"You're about as reassuring and confidence-inspiring as a lemming on a cliff." She muttered against his chest.
"Lemming?" Drawing back, the young dancer looked indignant. He had to stop her crying, stop her thinking too much about all the bad things that may have happened to her sibling, make her insult him more if it helped. "Now, why didn't you tell me I was like some heroic kind of animal...something strong..."
"Like a gorilla?" She suggested.
"Do they throw themselves off cliffs for no apparent reason?"
A tiny smile quirked her pale lips. "Only if they saw you coming." She replied, a faint glimmer of mischief in her brown eyes.
"Why do I put up with you?" Rolling his eyes, the dancer dropped back into the seat. "I really don't know why."
Rina's shoulders rose in a shrug. "Could be that I got you that date with Annie." She remarked with a smile. "Or...it could just be my superior wit, brains, talent and stunningly good looks. I hear a lot of men find that attractive."
"Nah," Philip smirked. "They just come to stare at the woman whose head has inflated to ten times the size of her body."
Sticking her tongue cheekily out at him, the red head sank back against the mass of pillows wearily. Once again, her thoughts turned to Demi and Menke, her emotions dancing on the boundaries of complete hysteria.
They would be okay, as usual. There was nothing they couldn't survive, she was sure. They would come back and everything would be back to normal, as if nothing had ever happened and they would live happily ever after.
She didn't even want to dwell on the possibility of what would be happening to them, if she was looking to the pessimistic end of the scale.
They were going to be back soon.
They had to be.
* * *
He knew he was getting weaker.
Demi could probably tell too. She wasn't looking too tough herself.
As for McCafferty...he was probably basking in the reality that Menke's mind was dissolving into a mushy puddle, his body following suite.
An arm around her husband's waist, Demi glared bitterly at McCafferty. She was supporting much of Menke's weight, his body trembling, bathed in a sickeningly cold sweat, eyes glazed with fear and pain.
"What's the matter, darlin'?" McCafferty lazily addressed Menke. His shirt was long gone, his corded muscles standing out like steel bands in his chest and arms, the spread of his bloody copper mane fanning on his shoulders. He had never looked more deadly.
"Leave him alone." Demi snarled. She remembered this trick from her time with him...before. It was in this state that she had returned to the tribe, shattered and terrified, expecting Macavity to appear after every noise in the junkyard.
The other members of the tribe had whispered about her, concerned and confused by her paranoia, her fear, her ability to inevitably predict when Macavity was about to plunge out of the darkness and cause havoc.
Bombalurina would have been the same, if she'd let the bastard get to her, as much as Demeter had.
But Bombalurina had ignored him, laughed in his face, mocked his prowess and had been beaten repeatedly for it...but, she had also escaped, got a clean break from him and was never bothered again.
It was the lack of fear that helped her succeed, where Demeter failed. Fear was Macavity's aphrodisiac and, right now, the fear - sheer, unadulterated terror - was pouring off Menke in nigh visible waves.
Whatever the bastard had done to her husband, she guessed it was easily as bad as anything she had been put through. Only she could bring him out of it, shatter the hold McCafferty's words had on him...
"Come now, darlin'," Menke recoiled as McCafferty took a step towards them, his legs going out from beneath him, a shuddering sob ripping through his body. "Oh, sweet thing, what are ye cryin' for?"
"I said leave him alone!" Taking the risk, leaving Menke's side, she threw herself at McCafferty - the monster who wore the face of her friend - scratching, biting, kicking, cursing, anything to get him away from her husband.
McCafferty's hands locked around her wrists in a steely grip, his fierce green eyes meeting hers dangerously. "I don't think so, little one." His forehead cracked against hers with a hollow thump, her head snapping back, neck loose. "I'm wantin' some fun."
Depositing her carelessly on the floor, safely unconscious, he strolled towards the cowering figure of Menke. "Now, lover...is that any way to be actin' in front of yer old pal?" He squatted, arms resting on knees, eyes fixed on Menke's.
"Please..." Scooting backwards across the floor, hands raised in supplication, the dark-haired man's face was the image of terror itself.
McCafferty's lips curved in a smirk. "Don't tell me you don't want me, lover...I know you do. I saw the way you looked at me...how much you wanted me to touch you...you wanted me to hurt you like that...don't deny it..."
"No." His dark head shook in denial, his face lowered in humiliation.
"Don't lie to yourself, Menke...remember what I did...remember the pain...remember how much you wanted more..."
"NO!" Rocking back and forward frantically, Menke's actions reminded McCafferty absently of his wife's motion in that cell not so many days ago. One broken, but good-looking bed toy, coming right up.
Bending close, grasping Menke's jaw in his hand, he forced the younger man's head up, staring hungrily into dull green eyes. "Yes, Menke."
Jerking away, Menke whimpered, clamping his hands over his ears, shaking his head. "No." He repeated, sobbing the words harshly, his throat growing raw and ragged from the sound. "No! NO! NO!"
"You heard the man."
Spinning, McCafferty saw a flash of blazing golden eyes, a streak of something metallic sweeping quickly towards his head, an explosion of brilliant white stars in front of his eyes, then the blackness swallowed him.
* * *
McCafferty is damn good at hiding when he's getting weak.
That last hit of his downed me, but no more than an average blow to the head would. I'm going to have a stinking migraine for hours, but it didn't keep me unconscious like when he hit me with the handle of his latest weapon.
A weapon that the stupid git left lying around.
Most of them disappeared into some hidden doorway or something as soon as he finished whacking us around the head with it, but not this. When he dropped me, he didn't seem to realise just how close he dropped me to his toy.
A fire axe.
Now, I had a choice: Kill the body of the man who had once been my good friend, albeit a drunk one or knock him into unconsciousness, grab Menke and run like our lives depended on it, which – on reflection – they did.
I've never been the homicidal type, but lying there, listening to him taunting and mocking my husband, crushing the man I love, I've never thought hacking someone to pieces could sound quite so appealing.
But I can't kill Ronan.
In spite of everything, its not his fault a monster stole his skin. Its not his fault that we've been kidnapped, tortured, brutalised, beaten to within inches of our lives – and I've always wondered just how you measured that – and nearly killed by the creature with his face. It's not his fault I'm a sappy sentimentalist with no stomach for blood.
Ironic, considering the state I'm in.
So, I show mercy.
Of sorts.
"You heard the man."
Whack.
He falls.
Whack.
His head smacks resoundingly off the solid floor.
Whack.
The flat of axe catches him across the temple.
Whack.
The cut burst wide open, spilling scarlet blood all over the one clean patch of floor. Almost a pity. Note - I only said 'almost'.
Whack.
His body stops moving.
Whack.
Hey! Maybe I was wrong. I guess there are those little homicidal tendencies in all of us. One more hit and he's dead and its all over and we can go home...
And Menke will forever be left with the image of me smashing an unconscious, defenseless man's head in with an axe...
His hopeless green eyes are resting on my face, the upraised axe ready to fall for the last – and fatal – time. Warm liquid oozes over the smoothness of the handle, trickling over my fingers and bringing me back to reality with a bump.
This isn't pretend.
I'm about to kill a man.
His blood is all over my hands.
The axe falls for the last time, slipping from my grip. If anyone asks why I didn't kill him when I had the chance, I'll stick by my excuse...the axe got too slippery to hold on to, even though the blood was tacky and I could barely tear my hands from the wood.
It dropped with a thump beside the motionless McCafferty, the trickle of blood running down and dripping off the end of his nose, forming a neat puddle of dark, congealed clots around the tip of the axe head.
"D...Demi?"
Menke's terror-filled eyes are still fixed on McCafferty's fallen form. He's shaking, visibly shuddering, his knees pulled up against his chest, fingers digging into his flesh, is breathing uneven, ragged.
That's what I must have looked like. No wonder Munkustrap had been so angry, when Macavity attacked the yard. Just looking at my husband like that almost made me pick up the axe and finish the job.
But I have to get Menke out of here, out of McCafferty's grasp, out of the terrifying place he is mentally trapped in now.
It's hard to explain it, but when Macavity gets to you, it's like you're stuck in a world that is his and there's no where for you to go. You can run and run, but you never get anywhere. He'll always be there, right behind you, laughing and taunting.
It's a struggle to get out.
I can say that because it's taken me this long, two lifetimes, to see what I did wrong, to see that I could have done as Bombalurina did so long ago. It's all in the mind and once you get past that, once you defeat the bastard mentally, there's no going back.
Making my way to his side, I position myself between him and McCafferty's inert, bloodied form on the floor, grab his chin, force his head up to look at me. At me. Not at our attacker, not at the floor, not at a blank spot on the wall.
Directly at me.
If there's any of the Menke I love left in that shell of a man, I have to find it and haul it to the surface as fast as possible.
I don't want to lose him.
Not again.
* * *
I'm in my cell again.
Dark and depressing with plenty of shadows for me to hide in. No one's gonna find me. I giggle. I'm playing hide and seek, I tell myself, and no one's ever going to think of looking for me here.
In a nice, dark corner of a tiny, nice, dark cell.
Like that kiddy's poem we used to say...in a dark, dark land, there was a dark, dark wood and in the dark, dark wood there was a dark, dark clearing and in the dark, dark clearing, there was a dark, dark house and in the dark, dark house there was a dark, dark cell and in the dark, dark cell there was a dark, dark corner and in the dark, dark corner there was a...
"Menke?"
Ooh! Someone's trying to find me! But they won't! Heehee! I'm bad! I'm bad and no one's going to find me! Start singing now! No one's going to find me, no one's going to find me! I'm hidden good. So good that no one will ever find me.
"Come on, Menke..." Something touches my face, but they can't see me! No sir! No one can see me! I must be invisible or something cos no one is ever going to find me. Not even him. No one knows where I'm hiding.
"I'm not here!" I giggle again, wondering if I should be laughing or crying. "You can't find me! You can't find me!"
My chin is forced up by whoever has broken into my nice safe cell. Safe and dark. Safe and dark. No one can see me. No one can see me. Safe and dark. "Look at me." The voice says calmly, strictly.
Ooh! It's my mum, come to find me and tell me off. That's who it is. I'm bad and I'm in trouble, if they find me, but they won't find me. No one ever finds me cos I'm so bad and dark and hidden in the shadows, all dirty and nasty.
"Look at me, Menke." The voice says again. It's right in front of me, so I look anywhere but there. If I look there, they'll see me, find me, know I'm here, hurt me...hurt me so bad...so much...make me die...
Looking up and down and everywhere but the direction of the voice, I want to laugh and cry and scream at the same time. But I can't. I can't cos then they'll find me and they'll do all those horrible things to me again. Things they can't do when I'm hiding...
So I sing a song for my Demi. "Lean on me, when you're not strong..." Demi. My sweet, pretty Demi. I wonder where she. Maybe she's playing hide and seek too, all hidden in the dark of her cell. I hope not. Demi doesn't like the dark. "And I'll be your friend. I'll help you carry on..."
"For," A voice starts singing with me. "It won't be long," Oh God! They've found me! They know where I am! They know I'm here! They're gonna hurt me again! "Til I'm gonna need somebody to lean on."
Nothing to lose, nothing to gain, I look at the person who has found me, waiting to be hit, to be punished, to be hurt. Big, beautiful golden eyes look at mine. Eyes that only belong to one person that I know.
"Hey." She smiles, strokes my cheek with her soft hand and I know it's my Demi.
And suddenly, the cell...the blackness, the darkness has all gone. All that's left are me and Demi, sitting on the floor. Light falls down from the high windows, letting me see my mate's face. My wife's face.
"Demi?" One minute I'm sitting, the next I'm in her arms and I'm crying. Crying so hard I think I'm going to tear in half. Her small hands stroke my hair, my cheeks and I feel her shaking. My Demi is crying too.
"Menke..." She whispers my name, close to my ear. "We have to get out of here. Before he comes round..."
It's only when she says those words that I finally notice him. He's still there...it wasn't a nightmare...it was all real...all the pain, the hurt, the words...
"No..." I see my safe, shadowy corner. I have to get back there, hide again, where no one is ever going to find me. "NO...go away...let me be...go away..." I try to crawl away from her, from him, from the light. I just want to hide.
Her hands grab my arms, stopping me. She pulls my face close to hers, staring at me, her hand rising to wipe my cheeks. I must be crying again. Or bleeding. Something warm is running down my face.
"Menke, you can't hide again." She whispers, rose-tinted tears running down her face. Pretty. The same colour as her perfume back home. The one in the expensive bottle. I shake my head at her, just wanting my corner. "Listen to me."
"Let me go."
"Not a chance in hell." She's starting to sound angry. "Listen to me, Menke. If you run back to your hiding place now, you'll never get away from him. He'll always be watching you." I don't need to listen, don't want to listen. Hands over my ears, I stare at her, daring her to make me listen. I want to hide and she can't stop me.
But she doesn't.
She sits back, her eyes filling with big, fat tears. I take my hands down, wonder why she cares. I'm dirty. I'm filthy and horrible and sick and disgusting and I should be left in the dark to hide from everyone.
From her.
"I know how you feel." She says. She moves towards me. I want to run away from her, from her light, but I can't. "I've been there, Menke. I've been in the dark place...just take my hand and we can go somewhere warm, somewhere nice and no one will ever hurt us again..."
Her words are like a torch. The darkness starts to fade again, creeping away. My corner is no longer there, not waiting for me to curl up and hide in it. I'm with my bright, beautiful wife and she knows the darkness can't hold me.
If she says it, it must be true.
She stretches out her pretty hand and I take it, her fingers warm around mine and suddenly, everything makes sense. "I love you, Menke." She says. Then she kisses me, just a brush of her lips over mine and I know that everything will be all right a long as I'm with her.
"I know." It seemed like a good thing to say, as she helped me to my feet. God, I'm a mess. All covered in blood, guts and gore.
"Don't you go Han Solo on me." She wags a finger in front of my face, a smile lighting up the room around her.
"I'm better looking." I tell her indignantly, wondering where this strange sense of humour crept up from. I still just want to curl up and cry, but now...I'm cracking weird jokes about movies with my equally battered wife.
She smiles again, her eyes flicking around the dim warehouse, searching, questing for the way to the sun outside. "Don't flatter yourself." She says, her arm around my back. If it wasn't for her I'd fall again.
"Oh man..." A third voice interrupts our little joke-fest. Demi freezes, a thrill of fear surging through me. I recognise that voice. She recognises that voice. It can only belong to one person that we know.
And he's just dragged himself out of unconsciousness on the floor.
* * *
Clutching his head between his hands, trickles of crimson streamed between his fingers, dripping to the floor.
Whimpering, the monster that the couple had been fighting so hard suddenly seemed to be little more than a lost, frightened schoolboy. His bloody hands trembled, lowered from his face, tear-filled emerald eyes staring up at the couple, horrified.
"R...Ronan?" Demi's voice cracked, faltered.
Lowering his face, flinching at his name, the copper-haired Irishman shuddered. "Demi...you should have killed me...you've got every right..." Folding his hands in an attitude of prayer, a pained sob tore through him. "God forgive me, Dem, I didn't want this to happen. I'm so sorry."
"What kind of cheap stunt is this?" Barely able to remain upright, Menke narrowed his eyes, his full weight maintained on his wife's thin, shaking shoulders. "Another of your twisted mind games, is it?"
"No, Menke." Demi shook her head, her eyes locking with those of the man kneeling in supplication before them, crystalline tears streaming down his bloody face. "It's not Macavity anymore...it's Ronan...look at his eyes..."
The actor took a reluctant step forward, almost expecting McCafferty to lunge up at him, attack him, anything. Bending painfully, he grabbed the other man's chin in his hand, forcing Ronan to look at him.
"Oh hell..." The guilt, despair and shame visible in those misty, glass green eyes said more than any words could. "Ronan..."
Grasping for Menke's hand, Ronan's voice came out a strained choking sob. "I'm sorry, Menke. So sorry..." Lowering his head, he dropped the dark haired man's hand. "You have to get away from here. Away from me."
"We can all get out of here, Ronan." Demi said quietly, standing alongside her husband, seeing the wary, fearful look in his dark eyes. Speaking down to the man on the floor before them, she gripped Menke's hand reassuringly. "You can come with us...we can get to safe..."
"No." The copper haired head snapped up. "You two have to leave. Leave now. Get as far away from me as you can...he'll be back in control...I can't fight him...he's too strong. I don't want him to hurt you again...just leave me and get out."
Menke nodded, still suspicious and uneasy. "Tell us how...this place is a labyrinth..."
Ronan stumbled to his feet, distancing himself from the couple. "This way." He directed them a massive crate, pressing a spot on the side panels of the wood. Immediately, the slats slid aside, revealing an illuminated opening. "Turn left and follow the white line along the wall...it leads to the back exit..."
"We can't leave you here." Demi stared at Ronan hopelessly. "I don't want you to become him again...isn't there something we can do?"
Ronan nodded firmly, his expression set. "You can get the hell out of here...find the police and tell them everything." He gave her a timid smile, much like he used to when he had come to her for scraps of food in the past. "I hear that jails are quite comfortable now. I'll follow you out, as soon as I think you've got where you need to be and the coppers are waiting."
Stepping through the opening, Demi returned the smile sadly. "You take care, Ronan." She reached out and squeezed his hand.
"Go." Turning away, he disappeared back into the darkness of the labyrinth.
Sliding the hefty panel of wood shut, Demi blinked back her tears, reaching for Menke's hand in the dim light of the secret tunnel. "Let's go." She said quietly. Leaving her friend at the mercy of his evil side was tearing at her heart, but she knew there was nothing she could do for him.
Arm-in-arm, walking as fast as they could and as they dared, the couple started down the passages, not knowing where they were going or where they would emerge. All they knew was that an escape had been offered to them and they just had to trust that it wasn't another trap.
They didn't have any other choice.