2. Bringing down a fawn
The sun felt through a small gab in the curtains into Sandrine's face. The girl woke up and even though she had slept well, she felt odd. Would she get out of this today? The new day did not bring any new hope. The only change was she felt hungry and thirsty.
At least she had her own bathroom. The hand-basin looked like it was more expensive than her complete bathroom at home. Since she there was no glass, she bend down and drank right from the source. The cool water freshened her senses. Sandrine walked to the balcony door. She could see a large walnut tree outside and some of the twigs hung over the balcony. A few nuts lay on the floor.
She went to the main door and listened. She did not hear anyone and she doubted that someone waited right in front of the door. Sandrine and her stomach came to a decision. She took one of her hair pins and unlocked the door. She thanked Tessa, once her best friend, for showing her those tricks. She did not even damaged the lock. Carefully she went outside and just as she picked up the first walnut, she saw Van Cleaf and the other guy walking by. She dropped to the floor.
The girl hoped that they would not see her, as she overheard their conversation.
"Her father is quite an idiot, if he supposes that we did not notice what he is doing."
"At least the back-up is still far away - and as long as he thinks she is still alive ..." Van Cleaf left the sentence unfinished.
"We can not be sure, what this guy is up to, but she still might be of use."
"Any hostage is at least good for a shield."
Then they went on and Sandrine was not able to understand anything anymore. Her hunger was gone, instead, she had the feeling of someone pushing a fist in her stomach. Slowly she got up. Sandrine was not surprised that her father was willing to risk her life for his principles, but hearing it was a different matter. She took a deep breath and as she looked up she saw that the walnut tree had a large branch hanging over the wall that enclosed the ground. The nearest branch to the balcony looked a bit thin.
The girl knew that if she stayed here, she would die. Therefore she looked around to ensure her kidnappers were out of sight. Then Sandrine climbed on the railing and grabbed the branch. She moved forward and let go of the balcony. She did not fall and moved hand by hand forward until her feet got hold on a lower branch. Wearing sandals did not make it any easier, but she managed to do it.
She made sure nobody saw her and then she dropped to the ground on the other side. The fugitive looked around and ran. Sandrine was not sure what direction she went to and she did not care. She had no watch and no sense of time. When she was exhausted she took a short break and the she started running.
The kidnappers had walked back into the house and discussed the best way to leave the country and which lose ends had to be tied before they could go. After a while a phone call disturbed them.
"Fouchon, here."
Pick's friend and boss was still in a very bad mood, but then his voice lost the aggressive tone.
"Next season will open in Eastern Europe as soon as we have moved in our new headquarter. - That is an interesting offer you have, Mr. Lopaki."
Pick took the time and went upstairs. It was about time to check the status of their hostage. He was surprised as he discovered that she had escaped. He went down and gestured towards Fouchon to end the conversation.
"The girl is gone."
"What? When did you check her the last time?"
"That was at eight o'clock, she was still asleep then."
"And now it is noon. Take the men and follow her."
Van Cleaf was just about to leave the room as Fouchon spoke again.
"How did she get out?"
"She somehow unlocked the balcony door."
Then Pick went outside and called their men together. The helicopter was always ready and the few men who did not hang around did not need long to come over from town. Fouchon used to call them dogs - since it was their duty to chase and drive the prey forward until it was ready to be taken by the hunter. Fouchon was annoyed, he did not like surprises, especially if there was no time to enjoy them. Now the offer of his business partner Mr. Lopaki came in handy. He answered his call.
"We have a deal. We might need the ship in short time. - Fine, we inform you as soon as we are ready."
He went upstairs to pack the most important things and as he passed Sandrine's guestroom he took a look. Fouchon had to admit that the girl had made an excellent job on the lock. As he turned he discovered her purse lying on the floor next to the bed. He bent down and picked it up.
Sandrine had not thought of it at the beginning, but as soon as they realised that she was gone, she became the new target of the hunting party. A helicopter started to circle above the bayou she had fled to and after some time she knew that someone was following her. It was a larger group than she had expected. Although she did not hear any dogs she was sure that they would find her. She already felt to weak to run and she could sense that they came closer.
She was hiding behind a tree and listening to their footsteps. They had split and she thought of the best way of getting out of this mess. Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind. It was Pick - with one arm around her waist and the other holding a knife to her throat.
"You made a mistake", he whispered in her ear and she felt truly weak and helpless. With her tears about to come, she took all her strength together and replied: "Oh - was it a mistake? Would it make any difference if I had waited in that room? - Waited until you would come and kill me?"
Her voice was getting weaker as he seemed to be very amused.
"There maybe was only a small chance at all - I ..."
Her voice faded and one small tear was running down her cheek. She wondered what was wrong with her. Not only that she had lost her self-control and fighting spirit. Her knees trembled. She could not remember that they had done so before.
Pick was surprised about her words. She was weak and strong at the same time. Holding her so close - he could feel her resistance fading away. She was very strong minded, but also a sensible girl, and she was well aware of what was going on. She knew that she had lost, that she was at his mercy.
This drained her powers and he could not blame her. It was astonishing that she had kept her guard up for so long. Still, she did not beg or panicked and he did not expect her to. It was as if all her energy flowed into him. His whole body was electrified - all his senses focused on her. He could not remember the last time he felt so much alive.
'I lost', this horrible thought echoed in Sandrines mind. She should have known it since their first meeting - their first eye contact. (She was held at gunpoint when she was fourteen, by a frightened and drugged bank-robber.) Of course she had been afraid and she was even more afraid now - but that was not all. Never before she felt anything like this. Maybe this was the effect of her weakness or more likely it was the cause.
She sighed and leant a bit back. The sudden unexpected contact with his body sent a shockwave through her body. She could not help herself, but stayed that way. He took the knife away and put it pack in his pocket. He realised that he wanted to hold her - to protect her. 'What an unprofessional thought,' he scolded himself. It might be a shame to kill her, but she had to die.
A little voice inside him whispered that he might regret killing her for the rest of his life. He did not listen to it. Instead he grabbed his gun and whirled her around. She almost stumbled over some roots and faced him with about two yards between them. He aimed at her and as always he looked in the eyes of his victim. Pick loved to terrorise others and consumed their fear like others did a glass of fine wine.
This time he saw neither hate nor fear - just sadness. He could not see that she had cried - the tear was gone, but maybe this was the reason while he looked in her eyes for over a minute. He felt as if he was captured in the depth of her eyes. He definitely did not like killing her, but he had to. He mustered and was about to pull the trigger, when a voice interrupted him.
"Pick - Don't shoot her!" It was Fouchon. Van Cleaf lowered his weapon and wondered what his boss and friend was up to. He gave Sandrine a brief look. He would be capable of shooting her, wouldn't he? The more he thought about the girl the less he felt like doing it. His face showed a little smile. The girl turned her head and although she watched him thoughtfully, she did not want to meet his eyes again or see him smiling - the smile made him even look more dangerously.
Then Emil stepped between them out of the woods.
He looked at her and Pick. Something was going on here, but it was not important to him at this moment. He showed her the photo he had found in her purse.
"You know this woman?"
Sandrine was puzzled that he held a photo of her mother in his hand. Did he know her? If she told him, what would happen? She swallowed, knowing that there was only one way to find out.
"That's my mother."
It seemed to her that he had expected this answer. He looked at her, but it was not anymore this depreciating look. For the first time he saw her as a person and not as a value or a threat.
"And how is she?"
"Dead!" The word had come out easily. Her energy was flowing back to her. She did not know why Van Cleaf had such an influence on her - only that he did. The way he smiled at her now confused her and made her heartbeat accelerate, but she knew he would not do anything against Fouchon's orders. Maybe this was the reason for his fading influence. Fouchon was also a mystery to her and for sure he was dangerous, too. Most of all Sandrine could not read anything in Fouchon's face.
Fouchon wondered to what end this revelation would lead, but right now the girl was all that mattered to him.
"Pick - take her back to the house and lock her up."
His right hand walked toward the girl, looked in a discomforting way at her and smiled.
"With pleasure."
Sandrine again felt like losing her ground. Then Fouchon made a forbidding gesture by raising his hand.
'He seems not to be disturbed or surprised. Both get along with each other really good,' she thought. 'Maybe this Pick is satisfied with terrifying people, and killing or harming them is just a bonus for him.'
Van Cleaf touched her shoulder and walked with her toward the street, where a car was waiting.
"Flick - take one of the other cars," he told the guy who was leaning against the pick-up. "By the way - if something comes up - we will contact you until then keep your feet still."
The "dog" hurried away. In his cheap, dirty clothing he reminded Sandrine of the man that made this stupid remark to Van Cleaf the other day. She hoped that the next car was miles away.
Then Pick opened the door for her. She got in, but gave him questioning look. Sandrine had no idea what made him tick. A few minutes earlier he had hunted her like deer and now he treated her like a gentleman.
'I'm still alive', she thought suddenly and felt more confident. Something was going on and as a result she might survive. Even if she was still near him, she regained her self-control. He closed her door and walked around the car without giving her another look. During the ride he glanced at her secretly. He could not believe that she was so calm and settled again. Most of all he wanted to find out what interest Fouchon had in her.
He parked in front of the main entrance. In the very instant he got out, she did the same. As he walked next to her and tried an other of his smiles on her she managed to look unimpressed. Realizing this she almost smiled back.
He gestured toward the house and they went in. Pick brought her back to the room, where the girl had been held before.
Even if Fouchon might not appreciate it, he wanted to play with her. Van Cleaf could not resist, but had to test her. Sandrine looked toward the balcony door. She could open the lock at anytime, but running again would be the last thing to come in her mind. She turned her attention to her captor, who stepped behind the heavy, old chair in front of the fireplace. The chair did not look comfortable, the back was like a window cross and only the upper parts were holstered.
"Sit down", he gestured towards the seat.
She wondered was he was up to, but she saw no use in disobeying. He moved in front of her and took out a pair of handcuffs, then he squat and took her right hand. Sandrine was proud of herself. Even as the cold steel closed on her wrist her face was frozen like a mask.
Pick had his eyes fixed upon her as he came closer. He grabbed her other hand and moved both hands through the spaces in the back of the seat. As he closed the other cuff on her left wrist his face was less than an inch away from hers.
He did not hurry, he enjoyed the situation far too much. Even so she was not trembling like before, he could feel her distraction. She was good, but her breath was too deep.
"What is your name?" he asked her suddenly.
"Sandrine," she answered. Her voice sounded almost like a snarling cat.
She tried to ignore him and since he did not want to push the matter anymore - he got up and went away.
The sun felt through a small gab in the curtains into Sandrine's face. The girl woke up and even though she had slept well, she felt odd. Would she get out of this today? The new day did not bring any new hope. The only change was she felt hungry and thirsty.
At least she had her own bathroom. The hand-basin looked like it was more expensive than her complete bathroom at home. Since she there was no glass, she bend down and drank right from the source. The cool water freshened her senses. Sandrine walked to the balcony door. She could see a large walnut tree outside and some of the twigs hung over the balcony. A few nuts lay on the floor.
She went to the main door and listened. She did not hear anyone and she doubted that someone waited right in front of the door. Sandrine and her stomach came to a decision. She took one of her hair pins and unlocked the door. She thanked Tessa, once her best friend, for showing her those tricks. She did not even damaged the lock. Carefully she went outside and just as she picked up the first walnut, she saw Van Cleaf and the other guy walking by. She dropped to the floor.
The girl hoped that they would not see her, as she overheard their conversation.
"Her father is quite an idiot, if he supposes that we did not notice what he is doing."
"At least the back-up is still far away - and as long as he thinks she is still alive ..." Van Cleaf left the sentence unfinished.
"We can not be sure, what this guy is up to, but she still might be of use."
"Any hostage is at least good for a shield."
Then they went on and Sandrine was not able to understand anything anymore. Her hunger was gone, instead, she had the feeling of someone pushing a fist in her stomach. Slowly she got up. Sandrine was not surprised that her father was willing to risk her life for his principles, but hearing it was a different matter. She took a deep breath and as she looked up she saw that the walnut tree had a large branch hanging over the wall that enclosed the ground. The nearest branch to the balcony looked a bit thin.
The girl knew that if she stayed here, she would die. Therefore she looked around to ensure her kidnappers were out of sight. Then Sandrine climbed on the railing and grabbed the branch. She moved forward and let go of the balcony. She did not fall and moved hand by hand forward until her feet got hold on a lower branch. Wearing sandals did not make it any easier, but she managed to do it.
She made sure nobody saw her and then she dropped to the ground on the other side. The fugitive looked around and ran. Sandrine was not sure what direction she went to and she did not care. She had no watch and no sense of time. When she was exhausted she took a short break and the she started running.
The kidnappers had walked back into the house and discussed the best way to leave the country and which lose ends had to be tied before they could go. After a while a phone call disturbed them.
"Fouchon, here."
Pick's friend and boss was still in a very bad mood, but then his voice lost the aggressive tone.
"Next season will open in Eastern Europe as soon as we have moved in our new headquarter. - That is an interesting offer you have, Mr. Lopaki."
Pick took the time and went upstairs. It was about time to check the status of their hostage. He was surprised as he discovered that she had escaped. He went down and gestured towards Fouchon to end the conversation.
"The girl is gone."
"What? When did you check her the last time?"
"That was at eight o'clock, she was still asleep then."
"And now it is noon. Take the men and follow her."
Van Cleaf was just about to leave the room as Fouchon spoke again.
"How did she get out?"
"She somehow unlocked the balcony door."
Then Pick went outside and called their men together. The helicopter was always ready and the few men who did not hang around did not need long to come over from town. Fouchon used to call them dogs - since it was their duty to chase and drive the prey forward until it was ready to be taken by the hunter. Fouchon was annoyed, he did not like surprises, especially if there was no time to enjoy them. Now the offer of his business partner Mr. Lopaki came in handy. He answered his call.
"We have a deal. We might need the ship in short time. - Fine, we inform you as soon as we are ready."
He went upstairs to pack the most important things and as he passed Sandrine's guestroom he took a look. Fouchon had to admit that the girl had made an excellent job on the lock. As he turned he discovered her purse lying on the floor next to the bed. He bent down and picked it up.
Sandrine had not thought of it at the beginning, but as soon as they realised that she was gone, she became the new target of the hunting party. A helicopter started to circle above the bayou she had fled to and after some time she knew that someone was following her. It was a larger group than she had expected. Although she did not hear any dogs she was sure that they would find her. She already felt to weak to run and she could sense that they came closer.
She was hiding behind a tree and listening to their footsteps. They had split and she thought of the best way of getting out of this mess. Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind. It was Pick - with one arm around her waist and the other holding a knife to her throat.
"You made a mistake", he whispered in her ear and she felt truly weak and helpless. With her tears about to come, she took all her strength together and replied: "Oh - was it a mistake? Would it make any difference if I had waited in that room? - Waited until you would come and kill me?"
Her voice was getting weaker as he seemed to be very amused.
"There maybe was only a small chance at all - I ..."
Her voice faded and one small tear was running down her cheek. She wondered what was wrong with her. Not only that she had lost her self-control and fighting spirit. Her knees trembled. She could not remember that they had done so before.
Pick was surprised about her words. She was weak and strong at the same time. Holding her so close - he could feel her resistance fading away. She was very strong minded, but also a sensible girl, and she was well aware of what was going on. She knew that she had lost, that she was at his mercy.
This drained her powers and he could not blame her. It was astonishing that she had kept her guard up for so long. Still, she did not beg or panicked and he did not expect her to. It was as if all her energy flowed into him. His whole body was electrified - all his senses focused on her. He could not remember the last time he felt so much alive.
'I lost', this horrible thought echoed in Sandrines mind. She should have known it since their first meeting - their first eye contact. (She was held at gunpoint when she was fourteen, by a frightened and drugged bank-robber.) Of course she had been afraid and she was even more afraid now - but that was not all. Never before she felt anything like this. Maybe this was the effect of her weakness or more likely it was the cause.
She sighed and leant a bit back. The sudden unexpected contact with his body sent a shockwave through her body. She could not help herself, but stayed that way. He took the knife away and put it pack in his pocket. He realised that he wanted to hold her - to protect her. 'What an unprofessional thought,' he scolded himself. It might be a shame to kill her, but she had to die.
A little voice inside him whispered that he might regret killing her for the rest of his life. He did not listen to it. Instead he grabbed his gun and whirled her around. She almost stumbled over some roots and faced him with about two yards between them. He aimed at her and as always he looked in the eyes of his victim. Pick loved to terrorise others and consumed their fear like others did a glass of fine wine.
This time he saw neither hate nor fear - just sadness. He could not see that she had cried - the tear was gone, but maybe this was the reason while he looked in her eyes for over a minute. He felt as if he was captured in the depth of her eyes. He definitely did not like killing her, but he had to. He mustered and was about to pull the trigger, when a voice interrupted him.
"Pick - Don't shoot her!" It was Fouchon. Van Cleaf lowered his weapon and wondered what his boss and friend was up to. He gave Sandrine a brief look. He would be capable of shooting her, wouldn't he? The more he thought about the girl the less he felt like doing it. His face showed a little smile. The girl turned her head and although she watched him thoughtfully, she did not want to meet his eyes again or see him smiling - the smile made him even look more dangerously.
Then Emil stepped between them out of the woods.
He looked at her and Pick. Something was going on here, but it was not important to him at this moment. He showed her the photo he had found in her purse.
"You know this woman?"
Sandrine was puzzled that he held a photo of her mother in his hand. Did he know her? If she told him, what would happen? She swallowed, knowing that there was only one way to find out.
"That's my mother."
It seemed to her that he had expected this answer. He looked at her, but it was not anymore this depreciating look. For the first time he saw her as a person and not as a value or a threat.
"And how is she?"
"Dead!" The word had come out easily. Her energy was flowing back to her. She did not know why Van Cleaf had such an influence on her - only that he did. The way he smiled at her now confused her and made her heartbeat accelerate, but she knew he would not do anything against Fouchon's orders. Maybe this was the reason for his fading influence. Fouchon was also a mystery to her and for sure he was dangerous, too. Most of all Sandrine could not read anything in Fouchon's face.
Fouchon wondered to what end this revelation would lead, but right now the girl was all that mattered to him.
"Pick - take her back to the house and lock her up."
His right hand walked toward the girl, looked in a discomforting way at her and smiled.
"With pleasure."
Sandrine again felt like losing her ground. Then Fouchon made a forbidding gesture by raising his hand.
'He seems not to be disturbed or surprised. Both get along with each other really good,' she thought. 'Maybe this Pick is satisfied with terrifying people, and killing or harming them is just a bonus for him.'
Van Cleaf touched her shoulder and walked with her toward the street, where a car was waiting.
"Flick - take one of the other cars," he told the guy who was leaning against the pick-up. "By the way - if something comes up - we will contact you until then keep your feet still."
The "dog" hurried away. In his cheap, dirty clothing he reminded Sandrine of the man that made this stupid remark to Van Cleaf the other day. She hoped that the next car was miles away.
Then Pick opened the door for her. She got in, but gave him questioning look. Sandrine had no idea what made him tick. A few minutes earlier he had hunted her like deer and now he treated her like a gentleman.
'I'm still alive', she thought suddenly and felt more confident. Something was going on and as a result she might survive. Even if she was still near him, she regained her self-control. He closed her door and walked around the car without giving her another look. During the ride he glanced at her secretly. He could not believe that she was so calm and settled again. Most of all he wanted to find out what interest Fouchon had in her.
He parked in front of the main entrance. In the very instant he got out, she did the same. As he walked next to her and tried an other of his smiles on her she managed to look unimpressed. Realizing this she almost smiled back.
He gestured toward the house and they went in. Pick brought her back to the room, where the girl had been held before.
Even if Fouchon might not appreciate it, he wanted to play with her. Van Cleaf could not resist, but had to test her. Sandrine looked toward the balcony door. She could open the lock at anytime, but running again would be the last thing to come in her mind. She turned her attention to her captor, who stepped behind the heavy, old chair in front of the fireplace. The chair did not look comfortable, the back was like a window cross and only the upper parts were holstered.
"Sit down", he gestured towards the seat.
She wondered was he was up to, but she saw no use in disobeying. He moved in front of her and took out a pair of handcuffs, then he squat and took her right hand. Sandrine was proud of herself. Even as the cold steel closed on her wrist her face was frozen like a mask.
Pick had his eyes fixed upon her as he came closer. He grabbed her other hand and moved both hands through the spaces in the back of the seat. As he closed the other cuff on her left wrist his face was less than an inch away from hers.
He did not hurry, he enjoyed the situation far too much. Even so she was not trembling like before, he could feel her distraction. She was good, but her breath was too deep.
"What is your name?" he asked her suddenly.
"Sandrine," she answered. Her voice sounded almost like a snarling cat.
She tried to ignore him and since he did not want to push the matter anymore - he got up and went away.
