5. A bit road-movie flavour
He was used to sleep no more than four hours, so he got up. His hostage was still asleep. She looked still very tempting and not only because her blanket was just covering one leg. Also Van Cleaf was able to deceive others in order to make them think he was as cold as ice, he could not deceive himself. He wanted her. It would been such a pleasure to see her reaction, if he crawled upon her bed.
Unless he wanted Fouchon to end his life - he would have to hold back. So he took her blanket and covered her body with it. Then he opened her handcuffs. He decided to do some exercises before he was going to wake her up. That would ensure that he did not go too far.
As Sandrine woke up, it was already morning, but only a few hours after their arrival. To her surprise her handcuffs were gone, her wrist hurt, but she managed to ignore it. As she sat up she saw her kidnapper working out.
The way the muscles at his back moved as he was doing press-ups fascinated her and she was not able to look away. Even while he got up she was still watching him. She had not realised that he was quite handsome, not to say attractive and most of all dangerous. She had no chance to win against him.
Then he turned and his smile gave her this odd feeling again she had on the clearing and last night. She grabbed her bag quickly and went straight into the bathroom. She locked her self in. After that she took a leak and a shower, she felt better and dressed again.
He was just finished with his press-ups as he caught her watching him. She felt obviously quite uncomfortable about being caught. Her cheeks turned red and she fled into the bath-room. Twenty minutes later she stepped in the living room and sat down on her bed. He had spend the time doing sit-ups and decided that it was time to leave. Before he went to the bathroom, he throw the handcuffs to her. For a second she looked at him and then she chained herself to the bed.
Later they left the motel suite through the window. Just in case, Pick thought. He knew the owner would not dare to call the police or FBI. If they found their way here no one would know the exact time of their departure. They left the yard without being seen. He thought that he would at least need five more days to reach the border. Going straight down was way to dangerous. Spending more time with Sandrine had it's advantages, but also some nasty disadvantages.
Not to mention that he might have to spend even more time with her in the future. That would depend on how well she would accept the fact that Fouchon was her father.
"Damn it," he whispered.
Van Cleaf suddenly realised that his toying around with her, no matter how strong she was, would made it harder for Fouchon to get in touch with the girl. He would have to stop. Now the disadvantages were clearly overcome by the advantages. In the meantime his stomach remembered him of more natural needs.
"Are you hungry?"
"Not yet."
Sandrine just looked outside on the street. She would have liked to eat something, but she did not feel hungry. Somehow she was afraid of taking something from Pick. There was no explanation she could think of, and this worried her even more. He was able to see that she was afraid of him and he liked her to be, but Fouchon wanted her to respect him. He decided to stop by a drive-in.
"I'm really not hungry", she told him.
"Maybe - but I am."
She looked at Pick as if she never would have expected him to have the need for food.
"It will be a long ride. Sooner or later you will have to eat something."
Slowly she took the bag he offered her.
"Do you mind holding this for me?" he said and gave her his cup of coffee. Then he drove on, turned left and their ride along the vast, lonely street continued. After he had finished his meal, she decided to eat something, too. Not a word was spoken until Van Cleaf stopped at a gas station. It was only a small building and not a single person was seen outside. A large sign displayed the words "self-service".
"Give me your hands!" he demanded. She was not up to any confrontations. It wasn't the first time he had used handcuffs on her, but it still felt strange. He chained her to the steering wheel. This time he did came uncomfortably close to her. Nonetheless she was glad as Pick left the car.
He refuelled the car. Afterwards he came to her window to remind her to remain silent. Sandrine nodded and watched him as he entered the building. After a couple of minutes Van Cleaf returned with a handful of magazines and two bottles.
"In case you get bored."
He gave the magazines to her and put the drinks on floor. Sandrine gave him a questioning look and she heard herself saying an automatic thanks, but he just turned the engine on, and gave her no further look. 'It's a start,' Pick thought by himself. As they drove on, she took a look a the papers - Seventeen magazine, YM and Teen magazine. That was not exactly what she was interested in, but for the fourth magazine, Guns and Ammos, she had no use at all.
She decided to take a look in YM and put the other magazines on the backseat. The information she got from the paper was not useful at all. She had her own ideas of how to dress and what make-up suited her best. Simply said Sandrine gave a damn about what was "in". For a while she studied the pictures and read a line here and there, but she had no interest in reading the whole thing.
'Maybe later,' she thought.
"You seem less enthusiastic."
"No, not at all! It's quite exciting."
Pick knew that she was lying. On one hand, it was not his problem that she did not like it or maybe even had read it several times. However it started to annoy him as she started again to look into the colourful, but obviously uninteresting pages. She continued with turning the pages for some time. Then suddenly as they had to stop in a small city. He grabbed the magazine and threw it out of the window.
Sandrine was not sure whether it would have been better, if she had told him the truth. Right now he was upset and the way he looked at her scared her. Nonetheless if she had told him the truth, this would have also been a possibility. Moreover she had the feeling he would use anything she said against her.
"If you don't like it - say it!"
"Well - I always lacked the motivation to read about the latest, ugly outfit that makes me trendy."
"So you do not read teen magazines."
"Only if I have to."
"I see."
They went on. So he just had tried to be kind. 'Is this a good or a bad sign?' she asked herself. Even if she was not sure whether she liked him to be kind, it would be sort of comforting.
'A good start and bad ending,' he thought. Van Cleaf's social skills were not high enough to deal with this particular situation, but he would not give up. It was a challenge and he would be successful, he promised to himself - knowing that the greatest problem lay in his fascination for the girl, but in the end it should not be too difficult to be a bit nicer.
"I will think of it when we stop again," he said after a few minutes.
Sandrine sighted. She had no idea why he was acting once friendly and then again terrorised her. She reckoned that he was currently busy with his own thoughts. Since it did not get him any further to come to the conclusion that she did not like Teen-stuff, he asked her what kind of magazines she read.
"I don't read any magazines or papers."
"Not one you ever looked in?"
"I used to read the Financial Times for school, but that was more of a duty. I'm more into books."
"What books do your read?"
"Mostly science-fiction and fantasy."
"Not part of my interest field."
Again Pick stumbled into a dead end. He thought about how to continue the conversation. Van Cleaf believed that conversation would help the situation. If he only had an idea about what they could talk about. From his point of view their interest were focused on completely different issues. He remembered having seen a Star Trek Movie, but all he could recall was that he liked the bad guy. What had been his name - Khan? That would not be any good topic for them.
This whole thing would be unnecessary if Fouchon had not forbidden him to tell her that he was her father. He might be right, that there was a possibility that she did not believe him, but it was something she could hold onto. For him it would have made no difference at all, except that he could be more relaxed. Sooner or later she would have to learn to deal with him the way he was. Fouchon and he were not only business partners but also friends for a long time.
Until he stopped at the next gas station, they did not talk. Only an old man with obviously bad eyes seemed to run the business. So he got back to the car and released Sandrine. The girl was glad that she had the opportunity not only to go to the girl's room, but also to walk a bit. She even discovered among the few books the third volume of Zahn's Star Wars Trilogy. Pick bought it and also some food and drinks for them before they went on. For the rest of the day she kept on reading and left him to his own thoughts. As she had to put away the book by dusk, he asked her again, if she needed something. Since he wanted to get as far as possible this night. He would take longer rests when they came closer to the border.
Short before midnight they again stopped at a small motel. The old woman behind the counter looked suspiciously at them. Obviously she had not heard of a kidnapping, no TV and no magazines were visible. The keeper was just busy with doing her needlepoint. Whatever the old one thought they were going to do was not something Sandrine wanted to think about.
This time he asked straight for a room with two separated beds for his cousin and himself. Sandrine was not sure if the landlady bought that lie. Her body felt tired, all she wanted to was going to bed and stretching her legs. Sandrine gave her best innocent-little-girl-smile to the woman, who started to look less concerned. Her kidnapper realised that, too. In order not to disturb her performance he even waited to mock her again until they were in their room.
"You are much smarter then I first thought or just more experienced?"
He tried to stare her out. First Sandrine almost fled into the bathroom, but she told herself that this was maybe exactly what he wanted her to do. An other more negative voice in her head, which she tried to ignore, was getting louder as he backed her against the wall. Before she could do anything further he had trapped her. He was just a few inches away, she could even feel his breath on cheek.
"Anyway you are a good actress..."
Before he could finish the sentence she interrupted him still holing eye contact: "No, I am not, this is just my public face."
Sandrine was surprised herself about how cold her voice sounded, how calm she was. So was Pick who took a few steps back and mustered her with an appreciative smile.
"I like your real face much better."
As he turned and went into the bathroom, she knew that somehow she had won this time. She leaned back and still she felt her heart beating as if it would jump out of her chest. Her mind felt burned-out and the feeling of triumph ebbed away with her blood pressure returning to a normal level. Now she really needed sleep.
The girl was full of surprises. Pick was fascinated. He never had met a person who dealt with such a difficult situation so well. He had realised that she was strong, but in the past he had watched even the strongest crumble. His hostage instead built up her strength, also he was able to feel her embarrassment and fear. What would she have done if he had not back off and instead kissed her? He longed to find out.
As he returned from the bath a while later, the girl was sleeping. Even as he rather rudely closed the handcuff on her wrist, she did not wake up. Just as he was about to went to his bed, his cellular phone rang. It was Fouchon, he had already found a new spot, where they could do business without being disturbed.
"And how is she?"
"She is doing fine. Also she is concerned about what our plans for her might be."
"I can't change that now, I am not even sure how I will convince her. I know how hard this must be for you, but I know you can deal with it."
"Of course I can, I am a professional."
"I knew you would say that."
Then he hung up.
He was used to sleep no more than four hours, so he got up. His hostage was still asleep. She looked still very tempting and not only because her blanket was just covering one leg. Also Van Cleaf was able to deceive others in order to make them think he was as cold as ice, he could not deceive himself. He wanted her. It would been such a pleasure to see her reaction, if he crawled upon her bed.
Unless he wanted Fouchon to end his life - he would have to hold back. So he took her blanket and covered her body with it. Then he opened her handcuffs. He decided to do some exercises before he was going to wake her up. That would ensure that he did not go too far.
As Sandrine woke up, it was already morning, but only a few hours after their arrival. To her surprise her handcuffs were gone, her wrist hurt, but she managed to ignore it. As she sat up she saw her kidnapper working out.
The way the muscles at his back moved as he was doing press-ups fascinated her and she was not able to look away. Even while he got up she was still watching him. She had not realised that he was quite handsome, not to say attractive and most of all dangerous. She had no chance to win against him.
Then he turned and his smile gave her this odd feeling again she had on the clearing and last night. She grabbed her bag quickly and went straight into the bathroom. She locked her self in. After that she took a leak and a shower, she felt better and dressed again.
He was just finished with his press-ups as he caught her watching him. She felt obviously quite uncomfortable about being caught. Her cheeks turned red and she fled into the bath-room. Twenty minutes later she stepped in the living room and sat down on her bed. He had spend the time doing sit-ups and decided that it was time to leave. Before he went to the bathroom, he throw the handcuffs to her. For a second she looked at him and then she chained herself to the bed.
Later they left the motel suite through the window. Just in case, Pick thought. He knew the owner would not dare to call the police or FBI. If they found their way here no one would know the exact time of their departure. They left the yard without being seen. He thought that he would at least need five more days to reach the border. Going straight down was way to dangerous. Spending more time with Sandrine had it's advantages, but also some nasty disadvantages.
Not to mention that he might have to spend even more time with her in the future. That would depend on how well she would accept the fact that Fouchon was her father.
"Damn it," he whispered.
Van Cleaf suddenly realised that his toying around with her, no matter how strong she was, would made it harder for Fouchon to get in touch with the girl. He would have to stop. Now the disadvantages were clearly overcome by the advantages. In the meantime his stomach remembered him of more natural needs.
"Are you hungry?"
"Not yet."
Sandrine just looked outside on the street. She would have liked to eat something, but she did not feel hungry. Somehow she was afraid of taking something from Pick. There was no explanation she could think of, and this worried her even more. He was able to see that she was afraid of him and he liked her to be, but Fouchon wanted her to respect him. He decided to stop by a drive-in.
"I'm really not hungry", she told him.
"Maybe - but I am."
She looked at Pick as if she never would have expected him to have the need for food.
"It will be a long ride. Sooner or later you will have to eat something."
Slowly she took the bag he offered her.
"Do you mind holding this for me?" he said and gave her his cup of coffee. Then he drove on, turned left and their ride along the vast, lonely street continued. After he had finished his meal, she decided to eat something, too. Not a word was spoken until Van Cleaf stopped at a gas station. It was only a small building and not a single person was seen outside. A large sign displayed the words "self-service".
"Give me your hands!" he demanded. She was not up to any confrontations. It wasn't the first time he had used handcuffs on her, but it still felt strange. He chained her to the steering wheel. This time he did came uncomfortably close to her. Nonetheless she was glad as Pick left the car.
He refuelled the car. Afterwards he came to her window to remind her to remain silent. Sandrine nodded and watched him as he entered the building. After a couple of minutes Van Cleaf returned with a handful of magazines and two bottles.
"In case you get bored."
He gave the magazines to her and put the drinks on floor. Sandrine gave him a questioning look and she heard herself saying an automatic thanks, but he just turned the engine on, and gave her no further look. 'It's a start,' Pick thought by himself. As they drove on, she took a look a the papers - Seventeen magazine, YM and Teen magazine. That was not exactly what she was interested in, but for the fourth magazine, Guns and Ammos, she had no use at all.
She decided to take a look in YM and put the other magazines on the backseat. The information she got from the paper was not useful at all. She had her own ideas of how to dress and what make-up suited her best. Simply said Sandrine gave a damn about what was "in". For a while she studied the pictures and read a line here and there, but she had no interest in reading the whole thing.
'Maybe later,' she thought.
"You seem less enthusiastic."
"No, not at all! It's quite exciting."
Pick knew that she was lying. On one hand, it was not his problem that she did not like it or maybe even had read it several times. However it started to annoy him as she started again to look into the colourful, but obviously uninteresting pages. She continued with turning the pages for some time. Then suddenly as they had to stop in a small city. He grabbed the magazine and threw it out of the window.
Sandrine was not sure whether it would have been better, if she had told him the truth. Right now he was upset and the way he looked at her scared her. Nonetheless if she had told him the truth, this would have also been a possibility. Moreover she had the feeling he would use anything she said against her.
"If you don't like it - say it!"
"Well - I always lacked the motivation to read about the latest, ugly outfit that makes me trendy."
"So you do not read teen magazines."
"Only if I have to."
"I see."
They went on. So he just had tried to be kind. 'Is this a good or a bad sign?' she asked herself. Even if she was not sure whether she liked him to be kind, it would be sort of comforting.
'A good start and bad ending,' he thought. Van Cleaf's social skills were not high enough to deal with this particular situation, but he would not give up. It was a challenge and he would be successful, he promised to himself - knowing that the greatest problem lay in his fascination for the girl, but in the end it should not be too difficult to be a bit nicer.
"I will think of it when we stop again," he said after a few minutes.
Sandrine sighted. She had no idea why he was acting once friendly and then again terrorised her. She reckoned that he was currently busy with his own thoughts. Since it did not get him any further to come to the conclusion that she did not like Teen-stuff, he asked her what kind of magazines she read.
"I don't read any magazines or papers."
"Not one you ever looked in?"
"I used to read the Financial Times for school, but that was more of a duty. I'm more into books."
"What books do your read?"
"Mostly science-fiction and fantasy."
"Not part of my interest field."
Again Pick stumbled into a dead end. He thought about how to continue the conversation. Van Cleaf believed that conversation would help the situation. If he only had an idea about what they could talk about. From his point of view their interest were focused on completely different issues. He remembered having seen a Star Trek Movie, but all he could recall was that he liked the bad guy. What had been his name - Khan? That would not be any good topic for them.
This whole thing would be unnecessary if Fouchon had not forbidden him to tell her that he was her father. He might be right, that there was a possibility that she did not believe him, but it was something she could hold onto. For him it would have made no difference at all, except that he could be more relaxed. Sooner or later she would have to learn to deal with him the way he was. Fouchon and he were not only business partners but also friends for a long time.
Until he stopped at the next gas station, they did not talk. Only an old man with obviously bad eyes seemed to run the business. So he got back to the car and released Sandrine. The girl was glad that she had the opportunity not only to go to the girl's room, but also to walk a bit. She even discovered among the few books the third volume of Zahn's Star Wars Trilogy. Pick bought it and also some food and drinks for them before they went on. For the rest of the day she kept on reading and left him to his own thoughts. As she had to put away the book by dusk, he asked her again, if she needed something. Since he wanted to get as far as possible this night. He would take longer rests when they came closer to the border.
Short before midnight they again stopped at a small motel. The old woman behind the counter looked suspiciously at them. Obviously she had not heard of a kidnapping, no TV and no magazines were visible. The keeper was just busy with doing her needlepoint. Whatever the old one thought they were going to do was not something Sandrine wanted to think about.
This time he asked straight for a room with two separated beds for his cousin and himself. Sandrine was not sure if the landlady bought that lie. Her body felt tired, all she wanted to was going to bed and stretching her legs. Sandrine gave her best innocent-little-girl-smile to the woman, who started to look less concerned. Her kidnapper realised that, too. In order not to disturb her performance he even waited to mock her again until they were in their room.
"You are much smarter then I first thought or just more experienced?"
He tried to stare her out. First Sandrine almost fled into the bathroom, but she told herself that this was maybe exactly what he wanted her to do. An other more negative voice in her head, which she tried to ignore, was getting louder as he backed her against the wall. Before she could do anything further he had trapped her. He was just a few inches away, she could even feel his breath on cheek.
"Anyway you are a good actress..."
Before he could finish the sentence she interrupted him still holing eye contact: "No, I am not, this is just my public face."
Sandrine was surprised herself about how cold her voice sounded, how calm she was. So was Pick who took a few steps back and mustered her with an appreciative smile.
"I like your real face much better."
As he turned and went into the bathroom, she knew that somehow she had won this time. She leaned back and still she felt her heart beating as if it would jump out of her chest. Her mind felt burned-out and the feeling of triumph ebbed away with her blood pressure returning to a normal level. Now she really needed sleep.
The girl was full of surprises. Pick was fascinated. He never had met a person who dealt with such a difficult situation so well. He had realised that she was strong, but in the past he had watched even the strongest crumble. His hostage instead built up her strength, also he was able to feel her embarrassment and fear. What would she have done if he had not back off and instead kissed her? He longed to find out.
As he returned from the bath a while later, the girl was sleeping. Even as he rather rudely closed the handcuff on her wrist, she did not wake up. Just as he was about to went to his bed, his cellular phone rang. It was Fouchon, he had already found a new spot, where they could do business without being disturbed.
"And how is she?"
"She is doing fine. Also she is concerned about what our plans for her might be."
"I can't change that now, I am not even sure how I will convince her. I know how hard this must be for you, but I know you can deal with it."
"Of course I can, I am a professional."
"I knew you would say that."
Then he hung up.
