Three: The Once and Future In-Laws
Marcos Ferarre, although he was not strictly Latino in his appearance, sat at his desk. Sweat had made a thin sheen over his brow. It wasn't really like him to sweat. He was usually so cool and collected. But this was a bit of a different circumstance.
Augusta, or Gus, as only he was allowed to call her, was missing. Worse, she was a hostage of some very foul criminals. Of course, all of this was just a re-cap, as Marcos had been sitting in a giant pool of his own sweat for the last twelve-hours. Unable to sleep, there hadn't been anything else to do except watch the situation around him unfold.
The calls came rolling in. First there were Augusta's relatives-- although her parents were dead, she had an Aunt Anette who ruled over her life like a matriarch, although she was dependant on Gus for everything. Marcos knew that Gus only tolerated her out of personal amusement. Gus always did exactly what she wanted and relished watching her aunt's face turn colors when she plainly defied her. The bottom line, though, was that Aunt Anette was stricken, emotionally. Gus was all she had left, and the thought of losing her to such wretched circumstances was unbearable.
Then the police came in, followed on the heels by the F.B.I. That was acceptable, Marcos knew his name and fortune warranted that kind of attention. But the other offers-people who claimed to be able to help him, especially this one detective agency, run by some guy named Carl, who said that his assistant knew the Gecko's personally...it was nauseating, but expected.
Still, under such stress, he wasn't dealing with it as lightly as he might normally have done.
It was eight in the morning. His secretary had come in early, a kind older woman named Lila, a few years younger than his mother and more loving toward him than his mother had ever been. She brought him a cup of hot chocolate, disguising it as gourmet coffee in a very expensive china cup. She fielded the phone calls and kept people from bothering him-the condolences alone were enough to make him want to throw things through the window. People never missed an opportunity to kiss your ass, he thought wrily.
Then, abruptly, at eight-ten, the office door opened and Lila stood there, looking slightly frayed. It wasn't so much her composure, but the look on her face.
"Mr. Ferarre," she said, "I am sorry to disturb you-"
He raised an eyebrow. Lila never disturbed him without damn good reason.
"-you need to come and see this."
He stood up and walked around his desk. "What is it?" he asked calmly.
"Those people from that detective agency," Lila said, her voice trembling slightly. "They are here."
"Did you call security?" His voice was sharper than he intended. Lila was not so dim-witted, but still...
She shook her head. "You must come and meet them, sir, please."
Sighing, he walked through his office doors and into the small, elegant lobby. Standing not five feet in front of the secretary's desk stood two people, only one of which could have been Carl. He wore a cheap, dark suit that was obviously an imitation of a more expensive kind, and held a briefcase. While he was remarkably well-manicured, there was a slight shade to his face that bespoke of someone quite willing to do what it took to get the job done.
Then there was the woman beside him. A more steady look at her face, and it was very clear why Lila had come to get him. She was the very image of Augusta.
Although, the fact that she had deep blue hair mingled with darker brown hair underneath, and wore considerably unfashionable clothes that might more commonly be found on a streetwalker than a professional or even a working woman, did not help improve the likeness. But the face was so striking, he couldn't help but see it instantly.
"Can I help you?" Marcos said, his deep voice guarded.
Carl smiled at him. "No, but we can help you."
%%%%%%%%%%
When Augusta woke up, it wasn't quite dawn yet. She also wasn't the only one who was awake.
The man who had repeatedly called her Xanny, whose name she had discovered from the news last night, was Seth Gecko, and he and his brother Ritchie took turns sleeping. Neither one seemed to need much, and it was Seth's watch. With a hostage in the room, and the heat of the police all over town, it really didn't pay to let down the guard, even for a thing as vital as rest.
She half expected him to be a smoker, and was surprised to find that he was just sitting there in that chair, doing nothing-then she saw the streetlights outside hit something sitting beside him, something that rippled in golden waves. Alcohol. From the looks of the bottle, Jack Daniels. Oh well, the man probably had a very high tolerance. Possibly even higher than hers.
She hesitated to move, not wanting to give away the fact that she was awake, because he didn't seem to be looking her way, and probably hadn't noticed that her eyes were open. But then he said, "I know you're up. Your breathing changed," and there was no point in lying down anymore, which had suddenly ceased to be comfortable.
She felt a terrible nagging in her bladder. She really, really had to pee. And her hair itched terribly, from a lack of washing from the previous night. She felt dirty and uncomfortable and a sudden wave of anger swept over her at the thought that it was all this man's fault. Steeling up her voice, she sat up and declared;
"I've gotta pee."
He turned toward her. She couldn't see his face, as the light was coming from behind him and casting his features all in shadows. She had no idea what the expression she was receiving was.
To her surprise, he didn't speak, just stood up. He motioned for her to follow, walked over to the bathroom door, and without turning on the light, beckoned for her to enter. She did, the call of nature too loud for her to act in any way defiant. As soon as she was in the bathroom, Seth pulled the door shut, his hand sliding against the lightswitch and turning it on as he stopped, only a crack between the two of them.
"Five minutes," he said.
"Can you...make it ten?" she ventured. "I'd really like to freshen up."
"Seven," he compromised, and pulled the door the rest of the way shut.
She opened her eyes, slowly. The sudden burst of light had been painful, but not unexpected. And as she took care of business, she found herself able to think.
What had kept her so complacent for so long? In her normal environment, she was much more dominant than this. Then again, the threat of a bullet to the brain was quite enough to render anyone docile. Still, if this Seth was convinced that she was this Xanny, it was apparent that he had feelings for her. Feelings that she could, quite possibly, work to her advantage.
She looked at herself in the mirror, using her fingers as a makeshift comb to get her messy blonde locks into something resembling order. This was stupid-what was the name of that disorder that caused captives to sympathize with their captors? She didn't have that, she was sure. She stared at herself even harder-even with the stress of the situation, there were few lines in her face. Years of treatment with every kind of cosmetic known to man had done its job quite well. She unbuttoned the top of her shirt, exposing just a little bit more of her cleavage. Her coat had long since been discarded on the only extra chair in the room. She smoothed down the wrinkles in the white fabric, especially around her midsection. This would work better if she'd thought to wear something briefer around the midriff. She had excellent abs. Then again, she didn't exactly have time to plan for this situation.
She put her hand on the doorknob, and immediately told herself she was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. She was NOT going to seduce that man out there into letting her go. She was NOT going to play pretend and act like this Xanny person and wind up getting herself into a very deep pile of shit. She let go of the doorknob.
By her count, she still had two minutes.
Taking several deep breaths, she let her mind roll through every bit of insignificant knowledge she had ever read about mistaken identity--what had been the giveaways? She'd seen her share of movies where people recognized other people by the simple way they kissed-apparently it was as unique as a signature. But signatures could be forged.
All right, kissing wouldn't be enough. What was it she had read about sexual habits-that originally, the act of oral sex had come from the simple action of a lover making sure that their significant other hadn't been somewhere they shouldn't have been-checking for fidelity. It was a very long shot. It was a stupid long shot. But nothing else she'd said or done had accomplished anything with this man.
And if this didn't work, she was about to commit a very big act of infidelity. Probably not the wisest thing, God knew what he could be carrying.
She turned off the light, and as she stepped out of the bathroom, she abandoned the idea. He was still standing by the door, apparently having listened to her every single move. She couldn't keep the words from her mouth: "You enjoy listening to women pee? Does that get you off?" and was shocked at her own nerve. Maybe she'd freshened up more than she'd thought.
Seth chuckled, giving her a gentle shove back toward the bed. His chuckle did not sound amused, only snide and condescending. But he didn't say a word. She sat down on the edge of the bed and he went back to his chair. The silence was thick in her ears.
A matter of hours ago, she'd sat on this bed and watched the television tell her about her captors. Seth and Ritchie Gecko, bank robbers and murderers. Taking hostages was a standard for them, but keeping them alive was something different. Ritchie was a serious sex offender, and every female hostage they'd ever taken had succumbed to a gruesome fate. But with Seth thinking she was Xanny, it was possible that Ritchie would stay away from her. He'd hardly given her more than a few glances, and hadn't spoken directly to her at all.
She felt a burning sensation on her cheek. She turned her head slightly and saw that Seth was staring at her. He had leaned forward in his chair and some of the shadow had pulled back from his face. His eyes were so, so dark.
Munchausen Syndrome? No, that couldn't be it. That was the one that made mothers poison their kids, right?
"You ready to drop the act?" he asked, his voice a low, purring sound.
"There is no act," she said, very plainly, her voice as simple as she could make it. "Whoever this Xanny is, she must look a lot like me. But I'm not her. Why are you so sure I'm her?"
He seemed to consider this question. If he had an answer, he didn't share it. Instead he slid over and sat down beside her. "I did hear, once upon a time, that we all have a doppelganger, somewhere out there in this world."
She nodded. Doppelganger hadn't been a word she'd expected in his vocabulary.
"But I never believed it. It's just too close a resemblance. Unless Xanny has a long lost twin sister, who the hell else can you be?"
"I promise," she said, taking a deep breath, "I promise on my life, I'm not her. If I'm lying, you can shoot me."
"Dangerous offer to give to a man who has a gun."
She looked at him. "Maybe you just really want me to be Xanny," she said, feeling a little more daring.
"Why would I want that?" His voice stayed mellow, gentle.
"I don't know. This Xanny was important to you?"
He sighed, but seemed to be willing enough to play along. "Yeah, she was," he said, putting stress on "she," still not believing her.
"An old girlfriend?"
He grunted, taking a swig from his bottle.
"You parted on bad terms?"
He looked at her.
"You really want to see her again."
He leaned closer to her.
Augusta drew in her breath. "This really isn't the way to make up with an ex-girlfriend, you know."
He kissed her.
She sat there, stunned. He didn't strike her as the kind of man who would force himself on anyone, but apparently the Jack had given him courage. Plus, she wasn't exactly fighting.
He was a good kisser. He didn't press hard, but teased her lips, letting them fit against his. And while she didn't return the desire, she couldn't help but notice how gentle he was, how warm his mouth felt, how the Jack on his breath had a spicy-sweetness, compared to just the alcohol stench that would happen to most drunks.
Then he pulled away, and looked at her. There was puzzlement on his face, as if something didn't quite fit. Maybe there was something to the style of kissing.
God, he was attractive.
As if he just need to make sure, he reached out for her, pulling her body in toward his. This time she was enveloped in all of him, his torso against hers, their chests pressing, his hands around her waist, sliding along her back. He was kissing her much more insistently this time, and she couldn't help but respond, cursing herself for an idiot the whole time. She would seriously have to talk to a shrink about her domination complex when she got back-if she got back.
A chill ran through her. He pulled away, fully frowning.
"What?" she gasped, trying to recover herself.
He just grunted, picked himself up from the bed, and went back to his chair. The sun was rising now, the sky growing paler by the minute. Something had changed. She wasn't exactly sure what.
Marcos Ferarre, although he was not strictly Latino in his appearance, sat at his desk. Sweat had made a thin sheen over his brow. It wasn't really like him to sweat. He was usually so cool and collected. But this was a bit of a different circumstance.
Augusta, or Gus, as only he was allowed to call her, was missing. Worse, she was a hostage of some very foul criminals. Of course, all of this was just a re-cap, as Marcos had been sitting in a giant pool of his own sweat for the last twelve-hours. Unable to sleep, there hadn't been anything else to do except watch the situation around him unfold.
The calls came rolling in. First there were Augusta's relatives-- although her parents were dead, she had an Aunt Anette who ruled over her life like a matriarch, although she was dependant on Gus for everything. Marcos knew that Gus only tolerated her out of personal amusement. Gus always did exactly what she wanted and relished watching her aunt's face turn colors when she plainly defied her. The bottom line, though, was that Aunt Anette was stricken, emotionally. Gus was all she had left, and the thought of losing her to such wretched circumstances was unbearable.
Then the police came in, followed on the heels by the F.B.I. That was acceptable, Marcos knew his name and fortune warranted that kind of attention. But the other offers-people who claimed to be able to help him, especially this one detective agency, run by some guy named Carl, who said that his assistant knew the Gecko's personally...it was nauseating, but expected.
Still, under such stress, he wasn't dealing with it as lightly as he might normally have done.
It was eight in the morning. His secretary had come in early, a kind older woman named Lila, a few years younger than his mother and more loving toward him than his mother had ever been. She brought him a cup of hot chocolate, disguising it as gourmet coffee in a very expensive china cup. She fielded the phone calls and kept people from bothering him-the condolences alone were enough to make him want to throw things through the window. People never missed an opportunity to kiss your ass, he thought wrily.
Then, abruptly, at eight-ten, the office door opened and Lila stood there, looking slightly frayed. It wasn't so much her composure, but the look on her face.
"Mr. Ferarre," she said, "I am sorry to disturb you-"
He raised an eyebrow. Lila never disturbed him without damn good reason.
"-you need to come and see this."
He stood up and walked around his desk. "What is it?" he asked calmly.
"Those people from that detective agency," Lila said, her voice trembling slightly. "They are here."
"Did you call security?" His voice was sharper than he intended. Lila was not so dim-witted, but still...
She shook her head. "You must come and meet them, sir, please."
Sighing, he walked through his office doors and into the small, elegant lobby. Standing not five feet in front of the secretary's desk stood two people, only one of which could have been Carl. He wore a cheap, dark suit that was obviously an imitation of a more expensive kind, and held a briefcase. While he was remarkably well-manicured, there was a slight shade to his face that bespoke of someone quite willing to do what it took to get the job done.
Then there was the woman beside him. A more steady look at her face, and it was very clear why Lila had come to get him. She was the very image of Augusta.
Although, the fact that she had deep blue hair mingled with darker brown hair underneath, and wore considerably unfashionable clothes that might more commonly be found on a streetwalker than a professional or even a working woman, did not help improve the likeness. But the face was so striking, he couldn't help but see it instantly.
"Can I help you?" Marcos said, his deep voice guarded.
Carl smiled at him. "No, but we can help you."
%%%%%%%%%%
When Augusta woke up, it wasn't quite dawn yet. She also wasn't the only one who was awake.
The man who had repeatedly called her Xanny, whose name she had discovered from the news last night, was Seth Gecko, and he and his brother Ritchie took turns sleeping. Neither one seemed to need much, and it was Seth's watch. With a hostage in the room, and the heat of the police all over town, it really didn't pay to let down the guard, even for a thing as vital as rest.
She half expected him to be a smoker, and was surprised to find that he was just sitting there in that chair, doing nothing-then she saw the streetlights outside hit something sitting beside him, something that rippled in golden waves. Alcohol. From the looks of the bottle, Jack Daniels. Oh well, the man probably had a very high tolerance. Possibly even higher than hers.
She hesitated to move, not wanting to give away the fact that she was awake, because he didn't seem to be looking her way, and probably hadn't noticed that her eyes were open. But then he said, "I know you're up. Your breathing changed," and there was no point in lying down anymore, which had suddenly ceased to be comfortable.
She felt a terrible nagging in her bladder. She really, really had to pee. And her hair itched terribly, from a lack of washing from the previous night. She felt dirty and uncomfortable and a sudden wave of anger swept over her at the thought that it was all this man's fault. Steeling up her voice, she sat up and declared;
"I've gotta pee."
He turned toward her. She couldn't see his face, as the light was coming from behind him and casting his features all in shadows. She had no idea what the expression she was receiving was.
To her surprise, he didn't speak, just stood up. He motioned for her to follow, walked over to the bathroom door, and without turning on the light, beckoned for her to enter. She did, the call of nature too loud for her to act in any way defiant. As soon as she was in the bathroom, Seth pulled the door shut, his hand sliding against the lightswitch and turning it on as he stopped, only a crack between the two of them.
"Five minutes," he said.
"Can you...make it ten?" she ventured. "I'd really like to freshen up."
"Seven," he compromised, and pulled the door the rest of the way shut.
She opened her eyes, slowly. The sudden burst of light had been painful, but not unexpected. And as she took care of business, she found herself able to think.
What had kept her so complacent for so long? In her normal environment, she was much more dominant than this. Then again, the threat of a bullet to the brain was quite enough to render anyone docile. Still, if this Seth was convinced that she was this Xanny, it was apparent that he had feelings for her. Feelings that she could, quite possibly, work to her advantage.
She looked at herself in the mirror, using her fingers as a makeshift comb to get her messy blonde locks into something resembling order. This was stupid-what was the name of that disorder that caused captives to sympathize with their captors? She didn't have that, she was sure. She stared at herself even harder-even with the stress of the situation, there were few lines in her face. Years of treatment with every kind of cosmetic known to man had done its job quite well. She unbuttoned the top of her shirt, exposing just a little bit more of her cleavage. Her coat had long since been discarded on the only extra chair in the room. She smoothed down the wrinkles in the white fabric, especially around her midsection. This would work better if she'd thought to wear something briefer around the midriff. She had excellent abs. Then again, she didn't exactly have time to plan for this situation.
She put her hand on the doorknob, and immediately told herself she was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid. She was NOT going to seduce that man out there into letting her go. She was NOT going to play pretend and act like this Xanny person and wind up getting herself into a very deep pile of shit. She let go of the doorknob.
By her count, she still had two minutes.
Taking several deep breaths, she let her mind roll through every bit of insignificant knowledge she had ever read about mistaken identity--what had been the giveaways? She'd seen her share of movies where people recognized other people by the simple way they kissed-apparently it was as unique as a signature. But signatures could be forged.
All right, kissing wouldn't be enough. What was it she had read about sexual habits-that originally, the act of oral sex had come from the simple action of a lover making sure that their significant other hadn't been somewhere they shouldn't have been-checking for fidelity. It was a very long shot. It was a stupid long shot. But nothing else she'd said or done had accomplished anything with this man.
And if this didn't work, she was about to commit a very big act of infidelity. Probably not the wisest thing, God knew what he could be carrying.
She turned off the light, and as she stepped out of the bathroom, she abandoned the idea. He was still standing by the door, apparently having listened to her every single move. She couldn't keep the words from her mouth: "You enjoy listening to women pee? Does that get you off?" and was shocked at her own nerve. Maybe she'd freshened up more than she'd thought.
Seth chuckled, giving her a gentle shove back toward the bed. His chuckle did not sound amused, only snide and condescending. But he didn't say a word. She sat down on the edge of the bed and he went back to his chair. The silence was thick in her ears.
A matter of hours ago, she'd sat on this bed and watched the television tell her about her captors. Seth and Ritchie Gecko, bank robbers and murderers. Taking hostages was a standard for them, but keeping them alive was something different. Ritchie was a serious sex offender, and every female hostage they'd ever taken had succumbed to a gruesome fate. But with Seth thinking she was Xanny, it was possible that Ritchie would stay away from her. He'd hardly given her more than a few glances, and hadn't spoken directly to her at all.
She felt a burning sensation on her cheek. She turned her head slightly and saw that Seth was staring at her. He had leaned forward in his chair and some of the shadow had pulled back from his face. His eyes were so, so dark.
Munchausen Syndrome? No, that couldn't be it. That was the one that made mothers poison their kids, right?
"You ready to drop the act?" he asked, his voice a low, purring sound.
"There is no act," she said, very plainly, her voice as simple as she could make it. "Whoever this Xanny is, she must look a lot like me. But I'm not her. Why are you so sure I'm her?"
He seemed to consider this question. If he had an answer, he didn't share it. Instead he slid over and sat down beside her. "I did hear, once upon a time, that we all have a doppelganger, somewhere out there in this world."
She nodded. Doppelganger hadn't been a word she'd expected in his vocabulary.
"But I never believed it. It's just too close a resemblance. Unless Xanny has a long lost twin sister, who the hell else can you be?"
"I promise," she said, taking a deep breath, "I promise on my life, I'm not her. If I'm lying, you can shoot me."
"Dangerous offer to give to a man who has a gun."
She looked at him. "Maybe you just really want me to be Xanny," she said, feeling a little more daring.
"Why would I want that?" His voice stayed mellow, gentle.
"I don't know. This Xanny was important to you?"
He sighed, but seemed to be willing enough to play along. "Yeah, she was," he said, putting stress on "she," still not believing her.
"An old girlfriend?"
He grunted, taking a swig from his bottle.
"You parted on bad terms?"
He looked at her.
"You really want to see her again."
He leaned closer to her.
Augusta drew in her breath. "This really isn't the way to make up with an ex-girlfriend, you know."
He kissed her.
She sat there, stunned. He didn't strike her as the kind of man who would force himself on anyone, but apparently the Jack had given him courage. Plus, she wasn't exactly fighting.
He was a good kisser. He didn't press hard, but teased her lips, letting them fit against his. And while she didn't return the desire, she couldn't help but notice how gentle he was, how warm his mouth felt, how the Jack on his breath had a spicy-sweetness, compared to just the alcohol stench that would happen to most drunks.
Then he pulled away, and looked at her. There was puzzlement on his face, as if something didn't quite fit. Maybe there was something to the style of kissing.
God, he was attractive.
As if he just need to make sure, he reached out for her, pulling her body in toward his. This time she was enveloped in all of him, his torso against hers, their chests pressing, his hands around her waist, sliding along her back. He was kissing her much more insistently this time, and she couldn't help but respond, cursing herself for an idiot the whole time. She would seriously have to talk to a shrink about her domination complex when she got back-if she got back.
A chill ran through her. He pulled away, fully frowning.
"What?" she gasped, trying to recover herself.
He just grunted, picked himself up from the bed, and went back to his chair. The sun was rising now, the sky growing paler by the minute. Something had changed. She wasn't exactly sure what.