I'll kill him!
We fell for it again...another one of his twisted games and now he has us, all over again, at his mercy with no escape!
I could refuse to drive, could stop the car, curse him to Hell and back, but none of that would -help. He has Demi and he has a gun and those things never make a good combination in my book, so I drive in silence.
Wonderful images of pummelling his face in with my bare fists rise, my hands moving instinctively on the wheel, the tyres screeching on the road as we take a corner on his orders at speeds that even a suicidal lemming wouldn't try.
I want him to suffer.
Slowly and painfully.
No mercy.
Does that make me as bad as him? Knowing that I want him to hurt in all the ways we've hurt, beg and cry like we both did, cower away, afraid of being touched, lest it be in cruelty? Would that be vengeance or am I becoming a monster?
I risk a glance back in the rear view mirror, find him staring directly into my eyes, his dark smirk resurrecting the nauseous feelings that I always feel in his presence. His fingers tighten around Demi's neck and I can see the bruises spreading, the gun still pressed against the triangle of flesh beneath her jaw.
And she still doesn't cry out.
The hatred in those golden eyes probably matches my own, if not overwhelming it. Glowing fire with her rage, her body is contorted in the seat, half-forced on the floor behind the passenger seat on her knees.
Her hands are tight claws, one gripping the cushioned seat, the other clutching McCafferty's knee to prevent his hold on her throat being the only thing to hold her upright, depending on his mercy not to tighten his hand.
Independent and determined not to give in to him, I can't help being envious of that strength, but I know where she got it and what must have happened to develop that resolve and toughness in her.
I have to remember that she's been through so much more than I have, so many more times than I care to imagine or even have nightmares about. For her to be so strong after being his prisoner for the third time in two lifetimes always amazes me.
It's true.
There's no one in this world like my Demi.
I just hope and pray that she forgive me for letting this happen to her again, for not believing her when she said he was back, for doubting her. Maybe if I'd listened sooner, maybe if I'd thought about it, none of this would have happened.
But, more than that, I hope I can do something...anything that will get her out of his clutches. I don't care what happens to me, as long as Demi gets out of this in one piece. She deserves so much more than this.
All we need is five minutes alone - without the homicidal maniac holding us hostage at gun point preferably - to come up with a cunning plan, so we can plot our clever and devious escape from right under his nose.
Alternatively, we could just go with the flow...
* * *
Don't cry! Don't cry! Don't cry!
C'mon, Demi, focus, girl. Okay...look passed the black, c'mon...get some air into your lungs and stay calm, stay calm...it's only Macavity back in control of your friend's body wanting to bump you off after he's tortured you and...CALM!
Stay calm!
Ignore the murderous bastard who's squeezing tightly on your bleedin' throat until you pass out and has that bloody great big gun poking under your chin. Doesn't he know how uncomfortable it is? Sitting like this, gun in jaw, hand on throat...keep the hostages happy or they might turn on you, mate.
Might.
There's an understatement.
I'm getting bloody carpet burns on my bum, I've got a stinkin' headache, I can't swallow or breathe, I'm probably getting blood all over Menke's shirt, my feet have gone to sleep, I can't see out the freakin' window, I need a pee and I'm feeling carsick...can anything else possibly go wrong now?
Oh yeah...hand in hair...nice move, Macavity, dear.
Tearing the scalp? You want me to cry? Whimper like I used to? Ha! I don't think so, buddy. I think you've seen the last of that particular me. She's gone, man. I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction, no matter what you do!
See, that was silly. I can breath now...okay, I might be bald there for a few months, but I can breath, so who gives a damn if you decide to leave me in desperate need of a toupee...I can deal with that.
I'll just nick one from Menke's work. I bet no one would even notice the difference...yeah, yak hair, but so? I could claim it was a bad hair day.
Ow!
That was uncalled for!
When did I ever poke you in the eye with a gun? Yeah, I head butted you, but don't you see it, darling? Blood spurting out your nose is just a look that's so you! The colour...okay, okay, I ruined the upholstery, but its not even your car.
Why would you give a flying fig whether I got your blood on the seat? Oh! I see! Its cos you're bleeding...not cos its the seats! I get it now!
Whoa! More big threats...
Ah! You don't like people laughing at your...technique? Pity...I can't seem to stop...oh, don't give me that look...you know, when you tell someone to stop laughing, it only makes them laugh harder and longer and geez, does it hurt my gut!
But I don't plan to stop any time soon...
Yeah...you got a gun...big whoop.
Is it even loaded or would you just be firing blanks? C'mon then...surprise me...kill me before you have more fun...
Menke, Menke, Menke...just be patient. I am pissing him off for a reason, love. Don't you see...as long as I distract him from what's going on, just as long as I mock him until it hurts, I can stop him getting to you again, stop him hurting you.
That's right, Mac. You can hit me and hurt me as much as you damn well please, you'll never get my husband again, you see. You can shoot me, but then, how would you torment my boy? You could shoot my boy, but then who would drive while you tried to break me?
Again?
What am I up to?
Me?
Stupid, blonde, ditsy Dem, schizoid cat of the Jellicle Junkyard, being up to something vaguely rebellious against the big, bad Macavity?
You expect me to be up to something...something naughty? You think I'm planning to stop you? Now why, oh why, would I be that stupid? Everyone knows you're such a brave, strong, masculine hunk of burning pussy...
Oops...did I say pussy?
I meant it in the most polite way of course...politely insulting your sorry ass...you find that offensive? Well, gee whillickers, that was kinda the plan, stupid! I know, I know – stupid – not very articulate, but pardon me for not devouring dictionaries – God knows I'm hungry enough to!
Ooh! Scary! Waving your weapon in my face again? Should I be quivering in fear? You can't use it, "Darlin'", unless you decide to kill one of us off and that would just be plain stupidity on your part and you know it.
OW!
Okay! Maybe you can use it!
Right. This is good. More blood on the upholstery. Plus the feeling had just come back to that leg, you son of a bitch!
If I had a weapon, maybe that would make things fair. Maybe we would have a slight chance of fighting you off, but where would I find a weapon in a police car? I mean, you had to nick that one off a copper...oh!
Wait a minute...
That's it! I know what to do!
Forgive me, Menke...it has to be done. It's the only way...
* * *
Pushing the petite woman's face against his crotch, McCafferty returned his grip to her throat, her mocking words still rankling him slightly. She had never been so mouthy before, but maybe, there was a way he could shut her up...
Shooting her through the calf had worked temporarily, ripping an unwilling scream of agony from her, her body spasming as the aftershock of pain coursed through her, shortly before she turned the air blue with a mouthful of profanities that made the Master criminal's ears burn, his face nearly turning a peculiar shade of scarlet.
"See, Menke, you've got quite the wild animal here." He growled, digging his fingers cruelly into the sensitive nerves of the slight woman's neck, her body stiffening. "Quite a beautiful animal, but tis a pity she conceals herself, wouldn't ye say?"
Menke's green eyes were as empty and cold as a glacier, his lips pressed together in a tight, white line. There was no doubt as to what the other man was insinuating, but – surely – there was nothing he could do that hadn't been done before...
Aside from the whole shooting thing, but it was too late to take that back. Plus, she seemed to be coping with it surprisingly well, considering...she had sworn McCafferty's ear off because she had been ever so slightly peeved.
Struggling for breath, her face pressed suffocatingly against the copper-haired man's denim clad thigh, Demi gasped a sharp intake of air the instant McCafferty jerked her upright, his nails leaving half-moons of blood in he neck.
"Take it off, darlin'." He gestured to the tattered scraps of the shirt concealing her slim frame with a casual wave of the gun, his back leaning against the door. Her eyes narrowed as she shrugged out of the scraps, tossing the remains up onto the small ledge behind the seat. "Now, that's better, my sweet."
"S'frickin' cold." Glaring at him, she pulled away to the opposite side of the car, her arms crossed over her upper body, concealing as much of her slender, battered body as was possible in the confines of the car.
McCafferty smirked, his left arm draped carelessly along the back of the seat. "I plan on keepin' ye warm, darlin'." He murmured softly, the gleam in his eyes suggesting he was greatly looking forward to that prospect.
Rolling her eyes in frustration, Demi cast a reassuring look at Menke, her voice dripping with disdain. "Oh goody."
* * *
"Rina Terre?"
The red head in the bed's eyes flicked to the door, a wrinkle of a frown tugging her lips downward. "Who are you? Where are Demi and Menke? What's going on? Why won't anyone tell me anything?"
"I..." The bloody police woman's eyes were rimmed red, rimes of dirt crusting her mascara-streaked face. "I'm Sergeant Summers...I was there when they...escaped." Her voice trembled, as she stepped into the room, pushing the door shut behind her. "He...he was acting crazy..but harmless...we thought he was nuts..."
Rina's brown eyes narrowed. "What's going on?" She repeated, her tone firm, her feeling of dread growing. Surely Menke and Demi were still safe and one there way here. Nothing could have happened...could it?
"He...changed." Swiping tears from her eyes, the police woman shakily approached the bed, a shiver running through her. "It was like he became...someone else. He grabbed a gun...her. I don't know how..."
"He's got them both, hasn't he?" The blonde woman's head dipped in assent. "Damn it! I knew it wouldn't last! It couldn't be that easy!" Her balled fists smacked down on the mattress, blood running from the holes inflicted by the needles in her arms.
The sergeant looked as though she were on the verge of collapse. "He forced them into our undercover car...sh-shot my colleague...he shot Will...just because he wanted to..." Burying her face in her blood-crusted hands, her small body shook with tears.
"Like crying'll help." Rina muttered harshly, forcing back her own tears. "Crying'll catch the guy who did this...sure..." She cast a glare at the police woman. "If I'd tried crying, my brother-in-law would be dead already, instead of being a hostage in a police car with a damn police gun. Crying does not bleedin' well help!"
The police woman's anger seemed to grow at Rina's nonchalance, the red head's mental manipulation working to perfect effect. "That's my best friend who might be dying." She hissed, her tears forgotten in the surge of rage.
"Yeah," Rina nodded, equally angry. "That's also my brother-in-law and sister who the bastard has got...think we've got a McCafferty-Hate-Foundation goin' in this ward for the Hell of it? I don't think so, sweetheart...you've got the links, so tell me....whatcha gonna do to put that son of a bitch in the ground?"
Summers stared at the red head, a dangerous grin curling her lips upwards. "I'm gonna call in every favour I was ever owed, girl." She whispered. "That bastard is gonna pay for taking out my best friend."
"Sounds good to me." Rina sank back against the pillows, turning to look out the window until she heard the door shut quietly on the policewoman. Only then, did she let her tears fall.
* * *
Tightening his aching fingers around the steering wheel, Menke forced himself to focus on the pain, to hold himself in consciousness, to make certain he didn't kill both himself and Demi through bad driving.
He even had his seat belt on.
That – in itself – almost made him laugh, the incongruity of the situation he was in. Be safe, belt up – and try not to keep a homicidal maniac in the back seat of your car. It may be hazardous to your health.
But, it was that very situation that made him bite his tongue, made him concentrate on the road ahead, ducking in and out of alleys, following the ginger creature's directions, to evade pursuers or any main and busy roads.
Demi was still crouched behind the passenger seat, her knees pulled to her chest, ankles crossed and arms wrapped around her body in a desperate attempt to cover her blood-matted, naked body.
Occasionally, her gold eyes would catch his in the mirror, the determination and fire there brighter than he had ever seen before, in spite of the lazy hand that McCafferty was dragging up and down her uninjured right calf.
"You know," McCafferty's voice shattered the silence that – up until that moment – had only been broken by the steady purr of the engine and the harsh breathing of the actor. "I haven't played wit'cha for a while, darlin'."
The comment was directed at Demi, but Menke felt his skin crawl, biting down on his lower lip until the scabs erupted in a burst of blood in his mouth. That tone of voice could be used to seduce or to raise the most nightmarish memories.
Menke didn't need to be told what McCafferty meant by it.
"No." Demi's voice was hard, made Menke cast a concerned glance back at her. She was passed caring. She would take anything her threw at her, as long as she infuriated him. "I think it was cos you were too busy playing with my husband."
McCafferty chuckled, his hand sliding up to her knee, squeezing the plum-coloured flesh hard enough to draw a gasp from her. "I think, m'dear," He murmured icily. "That it's time you gave me a little display of yer...gratitude...and remember whose life is at stake." He inclined his head towards their reluctant driver.
"So, what you want me to do?" Empty eyes stared at the man, her tone monotonous. "Dress in drag and do the hula?" She wet her lips, continued, her voice dull. "What do I gotta do? Go get a hair? An elephant hair?"
Menke forced back a snort of laughter, hoping that McCafferty didn't hear. He knew Demi was putting herself on the line and didn't want her being hurt any more than she would be. If he laughed at McCafferty, then he could get her killed and he really didn't want that.
A flicker of life glinted mischievously in Demi's eyes, as she cast a look at the mirror, meeting her husband's anxious gaze. The fact she could still force her sense of humour through, in spite of everything reassured him, but he didn't want her putting herself in more danger than she had to.
"I think you know what you gotta do." McCafferty smirked cruelly, obviously delighting in the concept of humiliating the gentle woman, completely missing the exchange of reassuring glances that passed between the couple, strengthening them.
Exhaling a sigh, Demi reluctantly slid along the seat, wincing as her torn leg opened again, crystalline drops of blood curving ticklishly down her ankle and forming tiny stalactites of red on the tips of her toes.
"Be sure to let yer voyeuristic hubby see, lover." McCafferty raised one of her hands to his belt, his impenetrable eyes locking with hers. "We wouldn't want the darlin' boy to miss the show, would we?"
Clamping her free hand into a fist on her thigh, wishing for the hundredth time that she had the strength to knock him down, to force his hand's bruising grip from her neck, she gave their captor a cold, empty look, turning her attention to the task at hand.
* * *
I could bite him, tear of that instrument of torture so easily...everyone underestimates the power of a good set of gnashers, but I doubt he would even feel the pain. I doubt he has any feeling left in the body – controlling the mind must be everything, but the body is empty, like a shell.
He's gone.
Completely.
Insane doesn't even come close to what he is. Although he doesn't have a sign that screams "I'm a raving psychotic!" suspended over his head, you can see in his eyes, the glittering madness there, where before, there was only drunken haziness.
If I even tried to hurt him, it would do Menke and I more harm than good. He's still got a gun directed at Menke's back, his hold on the back of my neck leaving him in control of my actions...except those of my jaw and I can't even do much that way.
He has to keep 'having fun', I know that.
Otherwise, we're both dead.
We have to do what he says, to make certain he doesn't lose interest in us and just blow our brains out. Yes, its a dramatic way to go, but I still had so many things left that I wanted to do before I turned Heaviside up for the last time.
Beating Menke at Twister being one.
We'll get through this, Macavity will burn in Hell - slowly and excruciatingly painfully, I really, truly hope – then I'll wipe the floor with my husband's sorry ass and make him go and see some different shows with me and we'll live happily ever after.
Who knows? It could happen...
* * *
"So, how are they?" The silence in the room was unnerving, the young dancer frowning in confusion. He should technically have been at the theatre, but he had an hour before the show - plenty of time to get there and ready, so he had decided to pay Rina a visit. "Ri?"
She was looking out of the only window in the room, her whole body taut. "They're not here, Philip." She murmured bitterly, slowly twisting her head to look up at him, the tear tracks still gleaming on her cheeks. "He got them again. Shot a cop and took them."
"But they were..."
Cursing angrily, she shook her head. "But, nothing, Phil! Don't you get it? This guy won't let them go until either he or they are dead...he won't finish this! Someone is going to die, someone else and I don't know who...but my sister...*my* sister is in trouble and I can't do a damn thing to help her."
He tried to speak, but the red head turned away, muttering dangerously just what she wanted to do to the man who had hurt her family so much. Many of her more explicit, graphic choices of words were ones that even an Eastend boy like Philip had never heard before and he hoped he would never be at the receiving end of the fiery red head's temper.
"Ri...?" He cautiously asked, when her rants and curses had trailed off into soft sobs, her thin shoulders shaking uncontrollably.
"You're gonna wash my mouth out with bleach now, aren't you?" She mumbled, wincing as he gently touched her shoulder, her frustration and anger all spent and only the grief and despair remaining. "I can't face it, Phil...to know they were safe...to lose them again...like that. I just want it to be over..."
"We've talked about this, Ri." Wrapping his hand around hers, he touched her face gently. "We know that they can get through this. No couple in this world are tougher than our Menke and Demi, remember."
Nodding weakly, she let him wipe the tracks of her tears with a tissue. "Don't you have a show to be doing, Phil?" She enquired softly. "I thought you'd be taking advantage of it, before Menke came back and kicked your ass for it..."
"Don't remind me." Philip winced, bending to brush a fond kiss against her forehead. "You take care, shorty. I'll come by later."
"Uh...yay?"
Sticking his tongue out at her from the door, he forced a smile. "If Menke arrives before I get back, tell him I can kick his tail any day of the week."
"You bet." Rina shifted uncomfortably. "But you know I'll have to be his Ra-ra girl, don't you? I mean, I like you and everything, but I kinda have an obligation to support him...being semi-family and pillow-fight-victim and whatnot..."
"Naturally." Winking at her, the dancer ducked out into the hall, leaving the younger dancer to try and force herself to get some more rest.
It was at times like these, she realised – her hyperactivity levels and the need to be jumping around the room getting to her – that calling people in hospitals 'patient' didn't seem like a very good idea at all.
* * *
Smirking, his eyes half-closed in lazy satisfaction, McCafferty twisted his fingers into the mass of Demi's thick hair, her head still bowed. Fists clenching and unclenching in silent rage, her eyes pressed close in humiliation, her cheeks burning.
"She really is...very good at this, Menke." McCafferty's voice was still lingering in that seductive purr that he had often used while taunting Menke, when he had made the younger man watch the videos of himself and Demi.
The dancer flinched, as if he had been slapped. Trying to ignore what McCafferty was forcing his wife to do behind him was growing increasingly difficult, his anger and disgust towards the man increasing with every low sigh of pleasure.
Abruptly, McCafferty shifted to sit upright, giving the blonde woman no warning, his pelvis jerking hard against her. Demi's head snapped up, her body twisting away from him as she choked, hacking and clasping a hand to her mouth.
Gagging, she dry-wretched violently, clutching her stomach and throat, saliva drooling from her bloody lips, eyes burning with furious tears. Inhaling ragged breaths, she raised her eyes to stare at him in a combination of pain and anger.
"What's the matter, darlin'?" McCafferty enquired carelessly. "Don't ye know its bad form to stop like that without finishin' up?"
"If you wanted me to finish," She rasped painfully, the back of her throat throbbing. She was certain she could taste blood, but it could have come from anywhere. "You should have stayed still, instead trying to kill me..."
The copper-haired man could see the anger in Menke's eyes, his wife's pain and degradation grating on the younger man's shoulders. "It would have been one helluva way to go, ye've got to admit, darlin'." He chuckled.
"By choking to death?" Shaking with anger, the young woman stared at him, a trickle of blood running – unnoticed – from the corner of her luscious mouth.
Grinning lewdly, he shrugged, his shoulders rising casually. "Maybe I wanted you to see you finish...dramatically." He suggested dryly. "After all, yer hubby's seen all the videos...why not give him the live performance as a treat?"
"A...live performance?" Wiping her bloody mouth painfully, her other hand still trying to stem the trickle of red from her leg wound, Demi shivered, knowing just what he had planned for her, just hoping that Menke would see what she intended.
Even if he didn't, she knew that they had no choice in the matter.
She had to take a chance.
If they got out of this, she would beg for forgiveness later.
* * *
Gold eyes meet green.
An exchange of looks, words left unspoken, yet understood all the same.
Both know what is coming, a smile of assurance curving his lips.
It's time.
* * *
Gritting her teeth in pain, Demi stifled a cry as her torn calf brushed heavily against the seat, her knees shifting to straddle McCafferty's thighs, his small gun pressed against the back of Menke's seat, in silent threat.
Hands on his bare shoulders, she braced herself, biting down on the inside of her lip as she met his eyes, searching for any sign of Ronan still lingering there, but finding only the cold, mocking expression that reeked of Macavity.
One of his hands snaked up, twisting into her hair, forcing her mouth down onto his in a vicious kiss, her fingers tightening on his broad shoulders, nails sinking into his flesh, raising narrow welts of scarlet.
"That wasn't so bad, was it, darlin'?" McCafferty's cocky smirk had returned, his green eyes dark with lust. Pulling Demi down for another kiss, he glanced at Menke, his eyes catching the actor's in the rear view mirror.
Apparently he had never noticed the condition his wife was in, his jaw tight as he saw the crusted lashes spread over the expanse of her once-smooth and creamy back. Damn shame, McCafferty had to admit, raking a nail up her spine. She did have such a glorious back it had seemed a pity to damage it, but – on the plus side – it had been fun.
Scraping her fingers up his chest, over to the back of the seat, Demi forced herself not to fight, not to bite, scratch, kick and claw, as she had done so many times before. Instead, she slid closer to him, her body pressed flush against his, hoping to distract him, perhaps catch him off-guard and disarm him.
His lips moved to her neck, making her writhe unwillingly, but her eyes focused elsewhere, in particular on the car that was following them, the car that McCafferty obviously hadn't noticed, the car the contained a familiar-looking, blonde policewoman.
It took all Demi's control to prevent herself from crying out in relief, as the car got increasingly closer, her eyes meeting the policewoman's as they sped along through the alleys of the docklands, tall buildings towering on either side of them.
There was no way for them to take over, both the policewoman and the vet knew it, so it was up to her – Demi – to make certain that McCafferty didn't notice that they had an inconspicuous tail behind them.
"Darlin', yer really not tryin'." McCafferty's voice murmured chillingly in her ear, drawing her attention back to the situation, her hands drifting to the torn shirt that lay, scattered across the back ledge. "Where's that fire ye used to have?"
Raising one hand to push his thick hair aside, Demi replied huskily. "I'm exhausted, lover. You are the only one to blame for that...all beat up and no energy left..." She ran a finger down the curve of his ear, drawing back to look him in the eye. "No chains...no whips...it's just no fun without them, you know..."
Her other hand fumbled shakily through the remains of the shirt, as she tried to raise what she hoped was a seductive smile. Her fingers ran down his cheek, thumb brushing across his lips suggestively, looking at him from beneath her honey-coloured lashes.
"You little whore." McCafferty seemed half-angry at his inability to break her, yet half-intrigued by this suprisingly sexy side of the girl.
Pouting, her hand slid around his neck, beneath his hair, fingertips kneading his muscles, as she leaned closer, purred. "I am what you made me." She initiated another powerful kiss, surprising him, his eyes sinking shut with pleasure.
Her other hand clasped the object she had been searching for, fingers curling around the familiar surface, the gleaming blade flipping out with the gentlest of touches, as she teasingly brushed his loose hair aside, kissing him harder, but her eyes focused on the deadly weapon in her hands, moving to a spot on the back of his bared neck.
He was definitely, one hundred and ten percent distracted now.
With that in mind, she looked from the police car to her husband.
Definitely.
* * *
Her chin tilted, resting on her shoulder, Menke was startled by the sultry look on his wife's face, her eyes half-closed, her lips curved up in a wickedly sexy smirk he only ever saw after a wild night of passion.
But – beneath her hooded lids – her expression was dark, the hatred, disgust and self-loathing in those gleaming golden iris more than he could bear to face.
Behind them, the police car dropped back several feet, as Demi's attention returned to the man she had well and truly under her intoxicatingly seductive spell, one of his arms tight around her waist, his breathing becoming more and more strained as he ground against the woman.
"Faster." McCafferty muttered thickly, his words aimed at Demi, but Menke decided to appropriate them as well, pressing his foor harder to the accelerator, his hand locking on the steering wheel grimly.
Whatever happened in the next few minutes, no one would be able to say it was anything more than a tragic accident.
Even if it hadn't been deliberately set up, in complete view of the pursuing police car.
Menke could feel his heart thundering against his ribs, as he cast a look back at the two in the back seat of the car. Demi was definitely one of the best actresses he had seen, especially in a situation such as the one they were in.
She was acting every part the sex-crazed slut, drawing McCafferty's focus from everything going on around him. One of her hands was twisted into his hair, making it impossible for him to look away from her. And he was loving having her in control.
That much was obvious from the copper-haired man's very vocal approval of her actions, her movements, her words.
McCafferty's head arched back, her fingers weaving more tightly through his hair, holding his face close to hers, his low growls of pleasure growing in volume.
His eyes opened to meet Demi's, all pretence fleeing those golden orbs, her hatred darkening her iris' to an almost black colour, a cruel smile to match one of his own curving her seductive lips upwards.
"Now!" She snapped, jerking against him hard.
* * *
A screech of brakes.
The sound of metal plunging into hot, wet flesh.
The ear-splitting crack of a revolver.
A curse in a male voice.
A gasp of pain in another.
Then, silence, only broken by the shaking sobs of a woman.
* * *
Furious green eyes rose slowly, to stare up at Demi. Still straddling him, the slut of a girl suddenly seemed to completely change, raising her tear-streaked face and straightening up slowly. No longer a lost little girl, she gazed down at him contemptuously, haughtily.
The gun slipped from his unfeeling fingers, landing with a solid thump on the carpetted floor of the car.
He tried to raise his hand, tried to move his arm to try and learn what she had done, but nothing happened. He couldn't feel any pain, any sensations from her body still pressed against his, but he couldn't move any part of him.
"How does it feel, Macavity?" Holding his chin in her hand, she eyed him with undisguised disgust. "How does it feel to be helpless? Trapped? Not able to escape or do a damn thing to help yourself? It's not a nice feeling, is it?"
Wrinkling his forehead, he snarled. "What the hell have you done to me, bitch?" More than anything, he wanted to beat the hell out of her for even daring to try anything.
Demi's tragic lips tilted in the suggestion of a smile, yet her dark eyes remained sad. "It wasn't my fault." She murmured. "The car braked too suddenly...I couldn't help the fact I had a switchblade in my hand, aimed at your vertebrae..."
Her hand slid to the door, unlocking it and shakily opening it. On wavering legs, she managed to slide out, almost collapsing to her knees. Bracing herself with one hand against the car roof, she pushed her hair back from her face, inhaling a slow breath.
McCafferty risked a glance down at his chest, his head the only mobile part of his body. Deep red streams of blood were running down over his shoulders, caressing the ridges of his muscles that refused to reacte to his mental commands.
The blonde woman leaned behind him, picking up the tatty shirt he had forced her to remove only moments earlier and slipping it on, her hand moving to his neck, a sharp tug sending pain bursting through his nerve endings.
Stepping back, a small, sharp-bladed knife was gripped in one trembling hand. Slipping from her fingers, it spun in the air in slow motion, falling to the road with a clatter, as she turned away, her face bowed. Beyond her, he heard new voices, new people approaching.
"I'll kill you for this." McCafferty hissed, only to be ignored by the tiny woman swiftly fastening up the shirt as the new arrivals neared. "I'll kill you...your family...everyone you care about. You will never be rid of me, Dem..."
A golden gaze turned to him icily. "Big words, Macavity."
His vision was starting to blur, and he noticed absently that the seat beneath him was soaked in a spreading stain of marroon. "You know it's true, Demeter." His voice was slurred, fuzzy with dizziness and increasing pain. "I died before, but I will always be there..."
Silent tears coursed down her face, her body motionless. "We got away this time. We could do it again." She said the words quietly, confidently, her back turned on him in an obvious display of disgust and fearlessness.
"No, Demeter." A final, smug grin crossed his lips, his eyes falling on the neat hole in the back of the driver's seat. "I defeated you...your love..." With a choking laugh, he slumped down in the seat, his body limp.
Turning, the neat, round bullet hole torn through the seat screamed at her, all colour flooding from her cheeks. "God, no!"
* * *
"Is that ambulance on the way?"
"Yeah, sarge!"
The police woman nodded stiffly, forcing herself to turn back to the couple on the road.
They had stopped seconds after the other car, and – despite doing everything they could – they had gotten there too late. The bad guy was out of the picture, but he had pulled the trigger – a muscle spasm or something, and now, there was nothing they could do for the other man.
The man and wife were huddled together, two large blankets spread around them. The wife was on her knees, seeming oblivious to the blood streaing from a nasty-looking wound on her left leg, which lay limply parallel to her husband's body.
He was sprawled on the ground, his torso cradled in her arms tenderly, his head resting against her chest. Her slim right arm was looped around him, under his back, holding him close, her left hand, resting against his cheek.
"C'mon, Munk...please?" Her words were almost too soft to be heard, her grief apparent "C'mon, love...it's over...we beat him and we can go home..."
There was a violent swelling on his temple. No doubt from where his head had hit the steering wheel when he slammed the brakes on, but that wasn't what seemed to be concerning his wife, her hand pressed over the right side of his chest.
Trickles of dark red snaked out from beneath her small hand, writhing their way down his body, over his ribs and dropping to the ground to mingle with the ominously red puddle that was forming below him.
"Is...he gone?" The husband – Menke, that was his name – opened his eyes painfully, barely able to focus on the face above him, his voice quavering, tremulous. "Did we...finish it, Dem? Is it...over?"
She nodded, stroking his cheek with her left hand, her right hand tight on his chest, her eyes brimming over with tears. "Yeah, Munk." Her voice was almost as faint as her husband's, but her lips rose in a small smile. "It's all over. He'll never hurt us again. Never."
"Good." His head sank against her, his already-pale face taking on an even more ashen hue, his eyes half-closed. "You'll...be safe now..." His hand resting on his chest tentatively shifts, brushing her fingertips weakly.
"You too." She said, brushing her forehead against his, her eyes searching his, tears rippling unnoticed down her cheeks and pattering on his face like burning rain. "We'll go home and have all kinds of stupid pillow fights and live happily ever after."
His face shifted, his expression filled with pain. "That's my...incentive...to survive?" He asked quietly, his eyes opening fully, bloodshot and swollen beyond recognition. "God, Dem...I love you...love you so much..."
"What's with the 'I love you's?" She whispered, pressing her finger to his lips. "You're doing the big good bye...its not time! You can't say good bye now! I haven't beaten you at Twister yet! You can't leave me without letting me win once!"
A painful chuckle passed through him. "You know...I'm a bad loser..." His voice had taken on a rasping edge, his pain caried in his every word, a splash of blood falling from his lips, running down his chin.
"Just shut up!" Clinging to him desperately, she pressed her lips to his temple. "You're not going anywhere. We're going to be fine. The ambulance is going to get us and take us to the hospital and we'll be ready to annoy Rina in a few minutes, then everything'll be back to normal, you'll see."
He risked an aching smile. "I remember this...once before...except...I was doing...the begging and you..." Two large tears broke from his swollen lids, rolling down his bruised cheeks. "Promise me you won't forget?"
"I won't forget, Menke...I won't because we're going to get through this." Her anger and misery compounded into one despairing emotion. "You're going to be fine. We're going to be fine. Every bloody thing is damn well going to turn out fine or else!" She was screaming, her tears burning her eyes. "You just have to stop feeling sorry for your miserable ass right..."
"Forgive me." His voice was soft, barely a breath, but her words faltered off, her face turning to his, heart pounding against her ribs agonisingly.
"For what?"
He tried to raise one shaking hand to touch her cheek, failed, his arm falling limply across his chest. "Everything." He replied softly, his breath growing shallower and shallower, lips paling. "For not...believing you...for letting him...hurt you...for..." He pressed his eyes shut, swallowing hard, then looked up at her. "For leaving you."
"I won't." Whispering, her face inches from his, she shook her head vehemently. "I won't forgive you. I won't forgive you for giving up. For not fighting. For leaving me alone again. There's nothing else for me to forgive but that and I won't...I can't let you give up...I can't face losing you again...not now. Not when we're finally free."
"Please, Dem..." Tear-filled eyes gleamed hopelessly up at her. "I...it hurts...so much...I don't...don't want to leave...so dark..." Glassy emerald stared blankly passed her, his breathing getting harsher, sounding more painful with every passing minute. "Please, Dem...hold me...I-I'm scared of the dark..."
Her face crumpled, her body slumping over his, holding him as tightly as she dared, her face soaked with tears. "I'm here, Menke...I'm here..." Rocking him, like a mother would her child, she stroked his cheek lovingly, her heart breaking. "I love you, Menke...I'm so sorry...I love you...I love you..."
Whispering those words over and over, she buried her face in his chest, sobbing fitfully, his body sinking back, a last breath of air trickling from his lungs as his once-dazzling green eyes dropped closed.
Almost an eternity later, when the flashing blue lights of the ambualnce flickered over her bowed head, she raised her face, never moving from the side of her husband's body.
Stooping to brush a kiss over his chilly lips, she softly whispered for his ears only. "I forgive you, Munkustrap." Running her fingers down his cheek one lat time, she smiled sadly. "How could I not? I love you. Always have, always will."
Then, she lay down alongside him, her arms still holding him close, and sank into the comforting embrace of unconsciousness.