Bare bulbs swung haphazardly from the low ceiling, illuminating the path they had to follow, the streak of white along the wall gleaming with a luminous quality, brighter than anything they had seen in days.
Weak, exhausted, barely able to remain conscious - let alone upright on their aching feet - they stumbled on through the bare passage.
The walls still made of wood were dark, dull, the only light in the tunnel from the glass orbs suspended from the panelled 'roof', which was nothing more than the third side of the massive crate.
McCafferty's concept of making the maze out of crates was smart, never even suggesting that the crates were hollow - or that they indeed contained the only exit from the nightmarish warehouse the victims were trapped in.
The concrete floor was stained with a bloody trail of footprints, made by the couple who were so desperately trying to find their way out.
It seemed like an eternity before the walls changed, moving from wooden planks into rough brickwork that shone a rusty-red tone, the broad strip of white paint slashed carelessly along it at shoulder level.
At that point, the passage was bisected by another, splitting into a choice of four paths, each looking as dark and ominous as the other, the concept of operating lights seeming to have been abandoned before this area of the tunnels was ever reached.
"Which way?" Menke straightened up, leaning against the wall to catch his breath, his bruised and broken ribs heaving with every inhalation he took. Demi was certain she could here a bubbling wheeze of liquid with every breath, but he was trying to hide it, trying to show he could go on.
Uneasily twisting her slender hand into the material of the shirt that covered her, Demi turned one way, another, frowning in concentration. "That way." She finally decided, pointing down the left tunnel. Menke raised an eyebrow. "Woman's instinct." She replied.
"And woman's instinct told you that Starlight Express would be good." Pulling himself from the firm support of the wall, he flashed her a pain-filled grin. "Why do I let you drag me into these things, Dem?"
"Because I pout and look cute?" Looping his swollen left arm over her shoulder, she slipped her arm around his waist, gently gripping his hip to hold him against her. "C'mon, ugly. I think we've had enough of this place's hospitality, don't you?"
A hollow chuckle sent a burst of pain through his body. Grimacing, clamping his throbbing jaw shut, Menke swallowed a cry. "I don't think I can disagree with that." He finally grated out, the colour fleeing from his tense face.
Concern filtered onto Demi's exhausted, battered features, her arm tightening around him. "You're not gonna pass out on me, are you?"
Ashen, Menke shook his head once, his body trembling. "Y..." Swallowing hard, forcing his feet to move forward achingly , he tried to form the words again, his scabbed lips seeping tiny drops of red. "You'd kick...my ass..."
Brushing her head against his shoulder, a wordless gesture of affection, Demi nodded. She wanted to weep, cry for the torment that had been inflicted on her husband. "You know it." She whispered, blinking back tears.
"Wait til I get a pillow." He threatened, his physical anguish hanging on his every word. "Then you'll...get what's co...coming to you..." His words were separated by ragged, wheezing gasps, as he tried to fill his aching lungs.
Giving him her best 'I really don't feel that bad, but you can tell I'm lying so don't say anything' grin, she dipped her head in a nod. "Do I look remotely afraid?" She enquired, poking him lightly as his eyes sank closed. "Hey! You! Don't you go falling over! I haven't threatened you properly yet! You're spoiling my fun!"
His tortured eyes fluttered open, almost black with pain. "S...sorry, Dem..." His legs went out from beneath him, his weight sagging heavily down on her, pulling her to the rough floor with him, his breath escaping in tiny pants.
"Menke?" One arm around his shoulders, she pressed her eyes closed for a moment, mentally halting the flood of tears she could feel pricking her eyelids. Sniffing hard, she leaned over her husband, his head resting in the crook of her arm. "Menke Strep, you get your sorry ass out of unconsciousness now or I'll never speak to you again!"
"Not...unconscious..." Dark eyes, beaming with tears, fixed on her face. "Can't..." He gestured to his bloodied legs, the bruised and broken flesh peeking out between the strips of denim that still shielded his modesty, or what was left of it. "Can't move..."
Squinting down the darkness beyond them, Demi exhaled a low sigh, half-frustrated, half-despairing. It couldn't be that much further. She had to get him moving again, even if it meant dragging him.
"C'mon, Menke, you lazy twat," Pulling him into a sitting position, his groan of pain raised a surge of guilt inside her for having to hurt him more. She pointed down the passage. "Look!" His eyes followed her finger. "There's a light at the end of that tunnel..."
A tiny smile tugged at his lips. "At the end of the tunnel..." He let his head loll against her shoulder tiredly. "There's a light...Starlight..." A chuckle was broken of by a fluid-sounding choking fit.
Unable to hold in the hysterical laughter she had been holding in, the situation crashing in on her, she shook her head. "I knew you liked the show!" She whispered triumphantly, pressing her lips to his bowed head. "You know what we have to do, don't you?"
Raising his eyebrows, his voice was low. "Go into the light?" He suggested wearily, a faint smile on his lips.
"It can't be that much further." She pulled his left arm over her shoulders again, her right arm beneath his arm and spanning his back. "I'll give you a piggy back if I have to, but we're going to get out of here."
Letting her get to her feet, pulling his near dead-weight body with her, he tightened what control he had left in his legs, holding himself upright. "Sounds good to me." He acknowledged, his words slurring painfully over cracked teeth.
Focussing on the tiny spot of dim light at the end of the only unlit passage in the place, Demi's hold on Menke never faltered, his whole body practically draped over her back. Making herself go on, her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it.
His arms hung over her shoulders, his head lolling against her as he pulled his legs along with her steps. As long as he could keep his legs in motion, he didn't care about the pain that was tearing through him.
Another wave of dizziness rippled through the actor. **Focus, Menke, focus...don't pass out now. Demi needs you to stay live and limping...**
"How many times have you found..." His voice dripping with pain, he helped her pick up the pace, his words soft in her ear. "Though you were firm on the ground...still the world around you sways...you find that all that you've got...does not add up to a lot..."
"And the way ahead's a maze." He could see the pained smile curving his wife's lips. You've used everything inside you..."
"So maybe it's time you tried to find...a brand new power...to shine a light..."
"A light to brighten up your darkest hour..." Pressing a kiss the the crook of his right elbow, Demi knew that the confident, hyper Menke was pulling through. He was back. "I knew that you really liked the show, Menke."
Rubbing his cheek against her blood-matted hair, he gave a painful, breathless chuckle. "So sue me." He murmured.
"I plan to." The sultry tone that crept into her voice defined just what kind of repayment she was expecting. "As soon as we get out of this dump, I plan to...very, very much indeed."
As soon as we get out.
The words were always so easy to say.
* * *
Dull afternoon light filtered through the high windows, specks of dust glinting in the beams of gold that spread through gritty glass. Weird shadows played on the walls, scraps of cloth suspended across the windows capturing the light.
His back against one of the massive crates, Ronan raised his head slowly, the trails of dried blood coating his face glistening. Lifting his trembling hands, he pushed his tangled mass of copper hair back.
After Demi and her husband had left, he had taken the chance to weep. To let everything out of him, all of the guilt, the pain, the disgust at what his body had done, inflicted on the beautiful woman and her husband.
Clamping his hands on his upraised knees, he continued to stare blankly up at the lazy sunlight that was ebbing around the cavernous room, but even the warm tones couldn't bring him any kind of relief.
He had retrieved the scraps of the shirt from the floor, pulling them on to try and rid himself of the chill that was freezing him to the bone, yet nothing helped. His teeth were chattering, hard, his body shivering from head to toe.
Nothing, not even the hottest furnace could rid him of the cold, he knew. The brutal, mocking voice was whispering inside him again. It had been silenced for a few blessed moments, but now, it was hissing and whispering its way back, its control and power swelling.
Rocking back and forward, shuddering sobs rippled through the man, his quivering hands rising to his temples, his fingernails digging painfully into his scabbed temples, trying to fight the hypnotic tones of the voice from within him.
"Leave me alone." He mumbled, his rocking increasing in speed, blood was welling from his scalp, over his hands, but he no longer cared.
(I don't think so.)
"Please...leave me be...I didn't do anything...please..."
(Beg some more. See if it helps.)
More tears broke from Ronan's green eyes, flooding down his cheeks. "I just want ye to leave me alone...find someone else..." Pleading desperately, he searched around for the unseen presence that was tugging at his mind.
The chuckle that he associated with the voice made him shudder in terror. (But I would have to kill you, to release my spirit from this body...and we both know you really don't want that, don't we? You love the power I've given you...the strength...)
"No!" Stumbling to his feet, clasping his hands over his ears, he backed away, pressing his eyes shut in a hopeless attempt to stop the voice. "No! I don't want this! Kill me if ye have to, just leave me alone!"
(You can try and block me out, dear boy.) A shiver passed through the man, an unseen hand chillingly caressing the top of his head. (You can fight me as much as you like, but it won't save you. Nothing can save you.)
"Please..."
(You let them go.) An agonising burst of fire tore through Ronan's torso, dropping him to his knees, his fingers digging into the flesh of his chest, scrabbling to try and tear the presence from his body. (You released them.)
Half-crawling, half-limping, Ronan whimpered, stumbling towards the hidden panel. He had to get to the police before he lost control again. He had to get himself locked up somewhere, anywhere that meant he wouldn't hurt anyone.
(You know they'll never escape me.)
"Leave me alone!"
A rumbling chuckle thundered through his head, dragging his hands to his temples with the pain, his palms clamping to breaking point. (Aww, darlin', I wish I could...but you really are such fun to play with.)
Inhaling ragged breaths, Ronan shoved aside the panel, determination etched on his gaunt features. "I won't let you hurt them." He whispered, ignoring the mocking laughter ringing in his head. "I'd rather die."
(You can't defeat me, Ronan. I don't know why you even try. Death couldn't stop me, so what makes you think you can?) Macavity's tone was bored, condescending. (Without me, you're just a useless drunk and no one gives a damn about you anyway.)
The red haired man didn't reply, staggering into the dark labyrinth, determined to turn himself in before he could harm another living soul, before the evil that inhabited him managed to take him over, its words cutting closer and closer.
* * *
"Why do I always get assigned to stakeouts?" Parked at a broad T-junction, separated from the river by a narrow strip of pavement, the two police officers had been assigned to watch the main doors of McCafferty's offices.
In the passenger seat, the slightly younger of the two looked down the narrow passage they sat at the head of, a low, frustrated sigh escaping her.
A pair of mischievous blue eyes glinted at her. "Because there's a bet on how long you'll last, without threatening to kill your partner, at least once." Leaning against the steering wheel, he glanced to his right, over the wide expanse of river, trying not to grin at the temper tantrum he knew would follow. "Everyone knows you're nuts."
"You're kidding!" The police woman turned hazel eyes to her colleague. His grin more than clarified that he was telling the truth. "I'm not that bad, am I? I mean, I do usually manage to last at least three hours..."
"Er...yeah..." Her senior tried to maintain a straight face, failed miserably. "You're bloody crap, pet...to be brutally honest."
She shot a glare at him. "How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? Just because you went to school with me, doesn't give you the right to..."
"What, pet?" He smirked, quirking a dark eyebrow, his eyes dancing. "What do you want me to call you? Elizabeth? Lilly-bet? Liz? Beth? Betty? Bubbles? Bufferoonee? Any of the above?" As usual, she dignified him with an icy glare.
Taking a sip of her coffee, she turned her attention back to the building, her eyes cold. "Just Sergeant Summers will do, blondie." She replied, in soft, measured tones. "No nicknames while we're on duty."
"Sergeant Summers...sounds like a deputy in a holiday camp." He sniggered, lifting the envelope that contained the files and surveillance photographs about the man he was investigating and had been for a long time now.
"Look, Will, I'm trying to do some work here. Mind keeping your gob shut?"
Flipping through the suveillance images, he let his eyes settle on the face of the man they were looking for – a good-looking, smart, A-class rich guy with a lot of skeletons in his very secure, inpenetrable closet.
He had been investigating this particular man for almost a year now. Ronan McCafferty – a Master criminal, so blatantly guilty of every crime he had been accused of, but as slippery as an eel when it came to evidence.
If the police had a witness stating he had been in one place, committing anything remotely criminal, then he could just as easily produce twenty witnesses to support any of the numerous alibis that he always had.
Shrugging, Pike opened the brown folder, skim-reading about the missing couple that were also involved in the investigation. Nothing but a series of coincidences, loose links between the man they wanted for questioning and the missing man and wife, had meant he was stuck in an incredibley boring undercover surveillance operation.
Nothing ever happened on his shifts, apart from being stuck with Summers. Why would the criminal mastermind be bothered with a dancer and his wife? There was nothing important about those two in the least. But, because McCafferty had been accused and because he took many of the McCafferty cases, D.S. Pike had unwillingly dropped himself into the situation.
"You know, Summers." His bleached head still bent over the reams of paper and notes, he didn't look at his quazi-blond counterpart. "I've been meaning to ask why you seem to like working underneath me so much."
Her head snapped round, catching the lewd grin on her senior officer's face. "You may be one of the C.I.D. mob," She replied primly. "But that doesn't mean you're on top...so, now, I want to get on with my work..."
"That's a first."
She shot another glare in his direction. "Oh bite me."
"Happy to oblige." Feigning a pounce in her direction, a motion from the building before him caught his attention a second before her hand slapped him across the cheek. "Isn't the warehouse on the corner meant to be deserted?"
Summers shifted in her seat, looking from the clipboard on her lap to the appointed building. "It says it should be here." She replied, pointing to the form. "Why?"
"I was wondering why someone would be trying to break out of a disused warehouse." Twisting in his seat, he was out of the car, standing on the pavement in an instant, his eyes fixed on the supposedly-brick wall, something smashing its way out from behind, a small blade glinting in the dull sunlight.
Several large shards of thick, white paint dropped to the road, shattering. A human-size hole was left gaping through the wall, inside which, the police man was convinced he could see two figures standing, just shielded by the darkness of the innards of the sinister-looking, supposedly empty warehouse.
Slowly, the two figures became more discernable, both looking like they had just been thrown out of Hell: a man and a woman, clinging to one another desperately as they practically fell through the opening.
The man seemed in a worse state, clad only in the torn remains of blood-crusted jeans, while the woman's fragile-looking body was concealed by a tattered shirt, barely held together by the buttons up the front.
"Summers," Starting across the road to the couple, Pike's hand fumbling through the pockets of his leather jacket, he called back to the officer in the car. "Get an ambulance here, now!"
The man and woman stared suspiciously at him, as he neared. Aware that looking like an escapee from the punk era might detract from his so-called credentials, he withdrew his badge from his pocket and held it out for them to see.
"I'm D.S Pike, Holden C.I.D...would I be right in assuming that you're Menke and Demi Strep?"
The couple seemed to visibly sag with relief, the woman clearly holding the dark-haired man's weight up. "That's us." She nodded, gingerly helping her husband to sink down, her arms cradling the man gently, the small switchblade clasped in her hand folding and disappearing into some pocket or other.
"Ambulance is on its way." Summers ran lightly over from the car, her eyes widening as she took in the extent of the couples injuries. She'd never seen anything like it, let alone believed that anyone could survive in the condition the couple were in.
The wife raised her battered face, the gratitude in her eyes shining beyond the bruises and blood, her fingers gently stroking her husband's motionless face. "Thank you." She whispered through scabbed lips.
* * *
"They're safe!"
Rina blinked sleepily, raising one hand to rub her sleep-fogged eyes, wincing as the needle in the back of her wrist shifted. "Wassat?"
Philip practically bounced onto the bed, his grin splitting his face. "They've found them! Demi and Menke!" He grabbed her hand between his, his eyes bright. "They're both alive! They busted out of McCafferty's and they're waiting for an ambulance!"
"They're alive?" If she had been able to, Rina knew she would be dancing around the room with happiness. Her big sister and brother-in-law: They were alive! On their way in! As soon as they reached hospital ground, they would be safe.
She couldn't dare to believe it, until she had seen them, touched them, been at the butt of one of Menke's terrible jokes.
"Are they..." She searched for the words. "Okay?"
Philip's face took on a more sober expression. "They've both been beaten up pretty badly, but I didn't get much more from the policeman who reported it." He forced a smile. "At least they're alive, huh?"
"Yeah." Rina returned the reluctant half-grin, still uneasy. "They're gonna be here soon. One big, happy family taking over the hospital. At least they're safe now...they're not going to be taken away from us again."
* * *
Running her fingers down Menke's cheek, Demi smiled faintly up at the paramedic who was currently inserting a needle into her half-conscious husband's arm, giving him the pain-killers he had been needing for so long.
Now that they were out in the light, she could see the extent of his injuries, far worse than her own. His ribcage seemed completely out of shape, his torso almost totally black with bruises and dried blood, eyes swollen closed.
"Are you sure you don't want to sit down, Mrs Strep?" The blond policeman asked gently, moving beside her. She shook her hand, one of her hands rising to grip the soft blanket he draped around her shoulders.
"I'll be fine." She replied softly, lifting Menke's other hand to her lips gently, pressing a tender kiss to his palm. Raising her eyes to the police man, she gave him a grateful smile. "Thank you for the offer."
Nodding, he turned his attention to the man on the stretcher before them. "What about him? Is he going to be all right?"
Puce-crusted green eyes opened, glinting with the traces of the injured man's humour. "You bet...better believe it." He wheezed, his fingers curling around Demi's. "The wife...owes me...and not...just another round...of twister..." He beckoned Pike a little closer. "I always...win, see...she gets...jealous..."
"Cocky bugger." His wife's eyes were moist with unshed tears, her lower lip trembling as she tried to fight back her tumultuous emotions. "I'm not letting you near that twister board again as long as you live." She bent to whisper in his ear. "That's a promise."
Joining the young sergeant beside the car, leaving the couple together, Pike gave Summers a thoroughly sentimental smile. Digging into his pockets, he pulled out a cigarette, lighting up and inhaling a lazy drag. "Don't you love post-successful-stake-out mushy feelings?"
"You get a happy from finding two people who have be imprisoned and tortured for days?" The policewoman arced an eyebrow. "And I wonder why everyone on the force thinks you're some kind of weirdo."
Pike chuckled. "Look at them, Summers." He murmured, nodding towards the couple. "To see a couple that much in love, in spite of everything." The frail-looking, extraordinarily tough woman stooped to brush a kiss over her husband's lips. "That's what gives me mushy feelings, but don't let word get out..." Rising, he flicked the stub of his cigarette away.
Watching her superior and best friend walk over to the waiting paramedic, Summers shook her head. He still never failed to surprise her, even after twenty years of friendship. Standing, she moved to join them.
Apparently, the injured man was almost prepped to go. They wanted him as comfortable as possible for transport, having taken care of some of the manageable injuries as swiftly as they could with their limited resources.
"We're rea..." The wife's voice trailed off abruptly, her head rising, staring straight ahead at nothingness. Slowly, she turned, her golden eyes gazing back at the building that she had just escaped from.
"What is it, love?" Pike touched her arm, frowning when she flinched. It was almost as if she were somewhere else, seeing something that none of them were seeing, her amber eyes glazed over eerily.
Shaking her head, she blinked, touching her temple. She nodded towards the building slowly, her face taut. "He's in there...you have to get him...he told us to tell you...he's hurt as well...not as bad, but he'll need help..."
"Do you want..."
"I want to see him first." She spoke softly, but firmly. "Then we can go...I need to check something..."The distant look returned to her eyes, her face contorted in pained thought, her lower lip caught between her teeth.
The policeman nodded, gesturing to the other officer standing guard by the opening in the wall of the warehouse. Almost on cue, a figure stumbled out of the opening, falling to his knees, hands raised and face bloody.
"Ronan..." Demi flashed a look at Menke. Her husband nodded slowly, making a tiny 'Go' motion with his hand. Squeezing his fingertips gently, she smiled painfully, hurrying to her old friend's side.
* * *
How can she go near him?
I can't bear even to be this close...to see him...it makes my skin crawl.
All the emotions, the fear, the anger he brought to the fore - they return full force, even seeing him submissively slumped on his knees, surrounded by cops. Even knowing that he's trapped now and can never hurt us again.
Even knowing he's Ronan doesn't take away what he did.
What I remember.
I want to tear the feelings away, the memories, the pain...
I thought my death was painful, when my skin was torn and my life was just trickling away with every gush of blood that poured into my lungs, but now, I believe I know the true meaning of pain.
Of every kind of pain.
Physical pain: The bruises, the cuts, the fractures, the dislocations, the sprains, the blood loss, the everything...
Mental pain: Being told so many twisted lies, being played, being manipulated, used against myself and my wife.
Heart ache: Seeing what he did to my Demi, making her believe his lies about me, about him, about everything.
Not even going into what he did...to me...to Phipps...the kind of hurt every man imagines in random thoughts, the kind of hurt not even the most imaginative man can grasp, can conceive, the most terrifying, uncontrollable agony...
Still, I had to let Demi go to him.
How could I stop her?
He was - is - her friend.
He may have been the borrowed face of a monster, but she knew him before that, before he got to us, before he tore apart our happy little lives and left us to pick up the pieces of his sick fantasies.
All I want is to me drugged up the eyeballs, just so I can think without pain, so I can rest without fear of being watched every second of the day, just to sleep knowing I won't wake up with him leaning over me, ready to attack.
Maybe it will take a while to forget.
Hell, of course it will.
This last week...or however long its been...I doubt we'll ever forget it...either of us.
You're always told being in a bad situation makes you stronger. For some reason, the person who said that strikes me as the kind of person who's worst situation would be burning dinner and that doesn't seem a strengthening experience...I wonder how strengthening they would find the experience - the Hell - Demi and I have just been through. The Hell that we're never going to get away from.
Since Ronan really is back, I guess I'll have to face it.
Face the fact that he's going to feature in our lives asa permanent reminder of what happened here to us, at the mercy of the thing inside him.
Just imagine the dinner parties...'Yes, Rina, meet Ronan...no, I know he looks like the man who attacked you and raped me and your sister between torturing the living hell out of us, but he's not the same man...honestly...'
Why am I sudenly taken by the urge to go and hide myself in a box? A coffin preferably, permanently, underground, somewhere dark where I won't have to face anything again: the sidelong glances, the whispered rumours, the lingering memories.
There's only one reason I won't do something drastic.
Well, two really.
One, I can't even move to try anything.
And two...
Well, two is currently walking over to the former host of the creature who hurt both she and I more than anything else in our lives.
* * *
He looks so helpless.
It's almost as if something is hunting him, his eyes are all over the place, looking for something that just isn't there...it reminds me of Menke when he was convinced he was hiding from everyone, back in the warehouse.
"Ronan?"
He's barely able to stand, shakily grasping at Detective Pike's arm to hold himself upright, his feet scrabbling for a foothold, scraping his skin raw on the rough surface of the road, his blood flowing as easily as mine and Menke's, reminding me that he is only human.
"Ronan, look at me."
Like I did with Menke, I take his head in my hand, forcing him to turn and look at me, trying to see if he is still in control, trying to see if there is any semblance of the Ronan I had once known in those bottomless green eyes.
He squints at me, blinking hard, his entire body trembling from head to toe. Even remembering what he did to me, under Macavity's direction, I can't help but feel pity for him, for the memories he's going to be left with.
One hand rises, touches my cheek, shaking feverishly. "Demi?" The begging, desperately apologetic note in that familiar voice almost breaks my heart again.
He drops to his knees, buries his blood-crusted face in his hands. His hair curtains his face, his upper body rocking frantically back and forward, barely moving, but enough to make him look like he has completely lost the plot.
I do the only thing I can.
I go down beside him and take him in my arms, hold his head against my shoulder, rock him slowly, stroke his head, soothe him, calm him, until he can bear to move himself or to stand or even breath properly.
I risk a glance at the punk-like policeman. His ice-blue eyes are impasive, but I know he's confused by what I'm doing, by touching the man that – only moments before – I was running in sheer teror from.
Ronan's fitful sobs still, his arms wrapped around me, like a child would embrace it's mother, his hands folded across the blanket that cover my back, his sobs wracking through my whole body; painful, heart-rending, everything I'm feeling.
He raises his face fearfully, looking like he's expecting a blow, his body still twitching unnaturally. Tears are still running from those miserable eyes, his guilt and despair visible in those glassy, green orbs.
"I'm sorry." He whispers, clutching his hands to his temples, his fingertips digging relentlessly into his scalp and I can see blood breaking from the surface from the pressure he keeps on adding, staining his pale skin even more.
Grasping his wrists, I pull his hands down. "Don't." I tell him, wondering what could be so bad that he's started scratching the skin from his head. Its clear that the blood staining his hair is more than just mine and Menke's. Could it be the guilt getting to him? Or something else? Something is definitely wrong with my friend.
He ducks his head, tries to lever himself upright, Pike's hand extending to grasp Ronan's own trembling one. I think the police man's starting to see that this isn't just an average run-of-the-mill kind of case, but its not one I want to explain.
'Yes, officer, me and my husband were cats in a past life and the spirit of the cat who hated us both took over one of my friend's bodies and made him kidnap and rape me and almost murder my husband...can you let him go?'
Why Demi, that's a very nice straight jacket. Do you want a padded room to match?
Either Ronan'll end up in an asylum, if he remains in the same condition as he is in now, or he'll end up in jail for life, suffering for the crimes his body committed while his mind was playing war with Macavity.
As much as it hurts to say it, maybe he would have been better off dead, not being left with the memories of what he did. Not left with the guilt of what he did do. Dead and forgotton, no longer able to hurt us.
But he's not.
He's leaning on Pike and I, faltering, shaking. Apparently, we're taking him to the waiting police car, even though I can't see that helping his mental state at the moment. Perhaps I should smack him over the head with an axe again.
That seemed to clear his head last time.
Maybe I need some medication.
I'm starting to think crazy things.
Why would I want to hit Ronan across the head with an axe again? I mean, its not like he's still Macavity, is it?
* * *
Tilting his head slightly, Menke tried not to cry out as Demi dropped to her knees and hugged Ronan like a lost child, tenderly gathering his whole shaking body and smoothing his hair, her voice whispering soothing words to him.
Tried – really tried – not to cry out as she continued to rock him and soothe him and treat him like he'd never hurt her, like he wasn't the body that inflicted the injuries on both of their agonised bodies.
Seeing her do that, to the one she should hate more than anything, only made Menke love his wife all the more. . Her tenderness, understanding and her big heart were but a few of the reasons he adored her beyond comprehension.
Levering the fallen man to his feet, both the blond police detective and Demi maintained Ronan's upright position, his body limp and his head bowed, his face concealed by the twin curtains of his tangled hair.
Demi looked up briefly, flashing a dazzling smile at Menke, her golden eyes still bright in spite of the dark swellings that had reduced them to slits. Looking like a reject from hell, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world.
If anyone in the world deserved to be called a saint, it had to be Demi. Pure and guileless...and with a very suspicious look on her face. He watched, concerned as her attention turned back to Ronan, lines of confusion rippling across her smooth forehead.
"Are you feeling all right, sir?" The paramedic alongside the stretcher asked, determined to do his job.
"I guess." He managed to say, his fingers balling into tight fists, a wince going through him when he heard a strange metallic pop. **Smart move, Menke...just snap all the needles inside your body...make it more fun for the doctors...** Forcing a sheepish grin on his lips, he looked at the paramedic. "Uh...whoops?"
The paramedic tutted and exclaimed and frowned, but Menke's attention was focused elsewhere, as Ronan's legs went out from beneath him again, his arms slipping a little down both Demi and Pike's bodies.
For some reason, the fine hairs on the back of the actor's neck started to prickle, rising on end unnervingly, a shiver running down his spine that suddenly felt like it had turned into a solid column of ice.
It took him less than a minute to realise his eyes were flitting every which way, looking for something that he knew they would never find, searching, searching for something, something illusive...
**Great** Pressing his eyes shut for a minute, he took a relaxing breath, ignoring the paramedics who were still trying to reattach him to his drip of pain killers. **Enough with the Jedi reflexes already...something illusive...pah!**
Demi, however, seemed to have notied, directing both Ronan and Pike towards the stretcher to check on him, her golden eyes filled with a combination of concern for him and some other emotion directed at Ronan, something he couldn't identify.
"Are you okay?" Raising her free hand, his wife touched his bruised cheek tenderly, her caress feather-light. Even in spite of her own pain, she was still gentle and careful when touching him.
"Yeah, Menke," Opening his eyes slowly at the ominously familiar accent speaking in a sickeningly familiar tone, the actor shivered again, the uneasy feeling returning tenfold. "How are you feeling?"
Turning from Demi's face, unable to shake the feeling, something cold and slimy twisting in his gut, he looked up at Ronan's shadowed, blood-coated face. Meeting the other man's deep, green eyes, Menke jerked back as if someone had hurled a bucket of ice water all over him.
"McCafferty!"
There was no mistaking the cruel smirk that curved the sensual lips upwards, the arm that had been snaked around Pike jerking up and catching the policeman across the temple with the steely muzzle of his own gun.
The blonde police man sagged like a sack of wet cement, crumpling in a heap, blood streaming from the gash on his forehead.
Pressing the gun to Demi's temple, his hand tight around her slim throat, the copper-haired man sneered down at Menke. "I see you've inherited your little whore's telepathic gift...what a pity she didn't keep it..."
"Menk..." McCafferty's hand jerked harder against her neck, stifling her words, tears springing to her eyes. She stared at her husband pleadingly, apologetically, desperately begging him not to let her get hurt.
Moving around the stretcher, his eyes moving from the police to the snarling figure of Menke, a low laugh rumbling through him. "Well, this is...interesting..." Demi's nails raked futiley at his wrist, only succeeding in receiving a tighter hold on her. "What could I do?"
Tracing the gun down her jaw, he continued to back towards the empty car, pushing the muzzle of the gun under the gasping girl's jaw. "Please..." Her trembling voice managed to force enough air past her constricted throat to form the word.
"Not more begging." McCafferty sighed, in mock exasperation. "Geez, Demi...first Phipps, then Menke, then sweet little Ronan...now you...doesn't anyone have anything better to do than beg me for mercy?" He forced her chin up with the gun, running his tongue slowly up her tear-spattered cheek. "Actually, keep at it...it's...Oooh...such a turn on."
"Let her go." Forcing himself upright, ripping the needles from his veins, Menke fought down his anger, his voice trembling with barely masked hatred and distaste. "Take me instead of her."
McCafferty's blood-crusted eyebrows shot skywards. "Instead of? You..." He waved the gun distractedly in Menke's direction. "Want me to take you...instead of her?" Gesturing the paramedics away from the stretcher and the police woman away from the car, he chuckled wickedly. "Instead – such a...wasteful word."
"This..is...a mistake...McCafferty..." Demi breathed, her head spinning, little oxygen creeping past her obstructed throat. Dark spots were starting to dot the edge of vision dizzyingly, taking all her energy to keep her eyes open.
McCafferty's chilling laughter rang out. "A mistake? I doubt that, Princess...you see, we're going to go for a little ride..." His teeth sank into the shell of her ear, drawing a stinging trail of blood from her flesh. "What's bad in that? I know how much you like to ride with me..." Demi's eyes widened in disgusted comprehension. "Don't you want to ride, darlin'?"
"Over my dead body!"
"I could arrange that." His voice was icy, as he directed her closer to the car. "But I have bigger, better plans, since darling Ronan spoiled my last one." He glanced over to the fuming actor. "Oh, hubby dearest, ye're comin' with us..."
Menke gritted his teeth, limping painfully over, blood oozing from numerous pinpricks where needles had been inserted then removed from his body, his other wounds opening, leaking crimson droplets.
The blond police man dizzily sat up, clamping his head to his torn temple, taking in the scene before him. "Ronan...let them go...we can discuss this." McCafferty snorted in disgust. "You know you won't be able to get away with this."
"Why not?" Looking from Pike, to Menke, he smirked. "It's not like I haven't done it before, is it, Pike? How many times did ye try and pin somethin' on me?...Hubby, in the car, now...driving seat if you please..." Menke's eyes flashed fire, his jaw clamped shut angrily. "I could just disappear if I wanted to...you couldn't prove a thing..."
Pike was on his feet, backed up by his slighter colleague. "You won't get away for long, Ronan. There will be police everywhere looking out for you. You can't just expect to take someone hostage and get away with it."
"What about shooting a copper and walking away?" Levelling the weapon, the report of the gun was deafening, McCafferty's smirk widened as he slid into the back seat of the car, jerking Demi in with him.
With one final, two-fingered salute back at the stunned Pike, he slammed the door behind him, as the blonde police man dropped to his knees, blood dribbling from a neat, round hole in the center of his stomach, his hands clutching to the wound.
His blood pooling around him, Pike looked up as the car roared off, his pale eyes catching the young woman's through the back windscreen. The desperation and fury he saw there made him want to scream out loud.
Knowing that nothing he could do – anyone could do – would help the couple brought such a murderous rage over him, that he was almost grateful when he fell into unconsciousness, the memory of the battered woman's helpless eyes staring back at him haunting him.
It all depended on the couple now.