Chapter Summary: Alone with her abductor, Annalise begins to discover just how dangerous and multi-faceted he can be.

(A/N - This was the hardest chapter I had to write to this point. It took days and several rewrites before everyone was satisfied. It is also the chapter that I asked my beta-readers not to send me hate mail about. It is violent and I think if I were the MPAA I would give this an "R" rating. Consider yourselves warned.)

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO

Annalise lay on the floor of her dark cell and watched as the morning began to creep under the small opening at the bottom of the door. She had placed her bound hands under her left cheek and pulled her legs up as far as her aching pelvis would allow. Annalise sniffled and winced as she tried to shift her position for there was not a place in her body that did not hurt. She did not know what time it was or how long she had been unconscious from the drugged wine. She remembered that when she awoke, she had pounded on the door again and yelled for him and there had been no answer. As her throat protested, her voice beginning to give out, Annalise wondered if he had put her in this place and would forget that she was there. She shivered as she remembered the frightening childhood stories of the oubliette – a place where people were forgotten and left to die. Annalise found that she no longer had any desire to be frightened but – like a child – only wanted to be home and safe in the arms of her parents.

"I'm sorry," she whispered sadly, as images of her parents played in her mind. "Oh God, I am so sorry."

There was the click of a lock and Annalise tried to roll onto her back and yelped in pain. She closed her eyes tightly against the bright light that flooded the closet.

"I hope that it is me to whom you are apologizing," Michaud said as he squatted down and reached out a hand to rest against Annalise's bruised and swollen cheek.

"Please don't hit me," Annalise breathed as she opened her eyes, staring at the ceiling, unwilling, just yet, to meet his eyes for fear of what she would find there.

"Do not give me reason." Michaud reached out, taking hold of the rope that bound Annalise's wrists, stood and dragged her up with him. He raised an eyebrow at her cry of pain and sharp intake of breath, the harsh light in his eyes fading. "We are going to have to do something about that but first I think you may need to use the privy."

Annalise looked at him, managing a small smile for this one moment of kindness. She studied those dark eyes, hoping to see a familiar softness there. The tiny flicker of hope she had been kindling at his kind words was quickly damped out, as she saw the emptiness return to his eyes. No softness, no fire, there was nothing there and it chilled her to her very soul.

"Come along," Michaud said as he pulled on her bound hands, leading her out into the hallway. He walked quickly and Annalise had to skip to keep up with him, her bruised knees protesting at every movement. Michaud finally stopped in front of a closed door, turning to look at Annalise, letting her hands go. "You have five minutes."

"Please?" Annalise asked as held up her hands.

Michaud undid the rope and watched as Annalise rubbed her red, chafed wrists. "What do you say?"

"Thank you," Annalise said, swallowing her fear as she reached up a hand to touch his cheek, grateful for the gesture. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he whispered, a small smile coming and quickly going. "Four minutes, my dear."

Annalise moved past him, closing the door quickly behind her, thankful for the brief moment of something normal and real. There was a pitcher of fresh water in the room and Annalise used it rinse her hands and gently dab at her face. She found the courage to look into the mirror that hung over the small table and silent tears became sobs as she saw the handprint on her cheek. She had taken the time to inspect the bruises on her knees and lower abdomen and knew that more bruises were forming on her back and shoulders. Annalise had no compass for comprehending such violence from someone who had said they loved her but she knew she had to try and get him to listen to her; it was her only chance to get the violence to stop.

She took a deep breath, wiping dry the tears and tried to compose herself, to find the words that she needed to tell him. "Stop, stop, stop!" Annalise berated herself as her rational mind fought a losing battle through the panic and fear that filled it. "I need him to listen!" She drew a deep breath and straightened her back, wincing as her muscles pulled in opposite directions. "He has to listen," she whispered to the strange girl in the mirror. Annalise turned and walked out the door. Michaud was standing there, the rope dangling idly between his hands. She smiled at him and some little instinct made her lower her eyes. "Thank you," Annalise told him.

"You only had a minute left and I was beginning to think I would have to come in there and get you," he told her. "Let me have your hands."

"No!" Annalise felt the panic getting the better of her. She took an involuntary step back. "Please! I promise I will not try anything but please don't tie me again."

"My dear," he addressed her, a smirk on his face, the rope beginning to swing between his fingers.

"Please!" Annalise begged as a sob escaped her lips. "It hurts!"

"I am sorry for that," he whispered softly and then more strongly, "It is either the rope or the wine that waits. I cannot take the chance that you will try to leave me. That would destroy me and I do not think I could be held responsible for my actions."

Annalise's mind was racing behind her lowered eyes, trying to sort its way out of this dilemma. Either way she would be at his mercy but at least if she was drugged she would sleep and could escape for however brief a time. Perhaps, too, if she did not fight the drugged wine this time, he would be more amenable to listen to her words. Annalise swallowed hard, damping down her fears, raising her eyes. "If I agree to the wine, you will not bind me?" she wondered.

"You have my word as a gentleman," Michaud said with a mocking little bow.

It was all Annalise could do to not shoot back the angry retort on her lips. "And you will listen to what I have been trying to tell you?" she asked instead, trying to keep the quiver from her voice. She looked at the hand he extended and she took it, fighting down the nausea she felt, hoping he could not see it.

"There is much that we must talk about," Michaud told her, gripping her hand tightly, a small part of his mind taking no pleasure in the flash of pain he saw in the girl's eyes. "I shall listen to what you have to tell me as long as you do not fight the things I ask of you."

"I promise," Annalise replied wondering to where the passionate, respectful man she thought she loved had disappeared.

Annalise allowed herself to be led back to the bedroom where she had spent the night. Her breath grew rapid as Michaud left her and headed towards the closet; she did not think she could take another minute in the dark, cramped space. "Oh God," she cried, the words escaping before she could stop them, "don't put me in there again!"

"Why would I do that?" the soft-spoken reply came.

A sigh of relief escaped Annalise's lips as Michaud just closed the door, his hand holding a glass of wine that he had retrieved from the dresser that had been hidden behind the open door.

"You will need to sit down," Michaud sat and indicated the bed. "I really do not want you to fall and hurt yourself. I also do not want to pick you up off the floor."

"If ... if ..." Annalise shook her head and moved to perch on the edge of the bed. "You won't ..."

"Touch you?" Michaud shook his head, the light in his eyes a bit harsher. "I told you, did I not, that you will come to me." He placed the wine glass on the dresser and sat next to her. "I meant every word of that. You can consider yourself safe in my care."

Annalise thought his definition of safe far different from any definition she had ever learned. "May I ask you a question?" she wondered, a hesitation in her voice, bracing herself for his reply.

"I am at your service," he replied.

Annalise turned to look at him and noticed that the soft light was returning to his eyes, his shoulders not as tense, the lines in his face seeming to disappear. She breathed a sigh of relief for this was the man she had chosen. This was a man to whom she could talk. This was a man who would hear her words, understand them and let her go. Annalise sighed and decided to be the forward girl her father was always correcting. "Why did you do this?" she asked, cringing inwardly.

"Because I knew you were meant to be mine from the day I first saw you at that ridiculous school my father insisted I attend."

"I don't remember you being there."

"I saw you at the carriage, your hand in your mother's, as your brother came that first day. You were all I could see and I knew I had to have you with me. I arranged it so that your brother and I would be in all the same classes. It was all so easy to befriend him so that I could get to you." He turned to look at her, his gaze hardening, frightening Annalise with its growing intensity. "It was all so easy until that damn, smug, self-righteous, perfect little American showed up. I could not have you looking at him like that when you were supposed to look at me that way."

"But," she drew a breath and swallowed. "But that is what I have been trying to tell you ..." The muscles in her back began to burn and Annalise winced, drawing herself further onto the softness of the bed.

"What is it that you have been trying to say?" Michaud asked, the tone of his voice deepening.

"That I think I may be falling in love you," she finally managed to say as she tried reaching out a hand for him.

"What do you know about love?" he asked bitterly, not looking his hostage in the eyes.

"I am not so young or so foolish that I do not know ... Ow!" Annalise's reply was cut off as she felt a hand grip her wrist with a strength she had never known. She watched in stunned silence as Michaud turned to look at her, the angry fire in his eyes seeming to fill his whole face.

"What is it that you know, my pretty little one?" he wondered as his lips began to curl.

Annalise remembered his look from the previous night and her heart began to race. She tried to pull her wrist away from him, only to find his fingers clamping down tighter. "Please," she whispered, "that hurts."

"What do you know about pain? Or love?" Michaud asked again. "The pampered little princess ..."

"Please!" Annalise begged, the grip on her raw wrist bringing tears to her eyes. She sighed in relief and looked down as Michaud's fingers eased away. Annalise raised her eyes to thank him to find that the anger in his face had been replaced by a nothingness that was terrifying in its unfathomable depth. "Oh God," Annalise managed to get out as Michaud reached for her other hand.

"Go ahead and beg me!" Michaud hissed at Annalise as he pushed her down to the mattress covering her body with his own. He kept hold of her wrists, pinning them at either side of her head.

"Get off of me!" Annalise screamed.

"I don't want to wait for the drugs," he said between clenched teeth. "Beg me now!"

"No! I hate you!"

"You love me, remember?" he snarled as he reached in to kiss her, trying to capture her lips as Annalise kept turning her head. Michaud finally succeeded, kissing Annalise with such force that her teeth cut the inside of her lip, drawing blood. He pulled back, laughing.

Annalise was struggling to keep from crying, to keep from yelling, from screaming. Something in her mind told her to just lay still. She looked into those empty eyes, her breath catching in her throat, seeing something begin to glow in their depths. "Oh no ..." she breathed, shaking her head. "No ... no ... no ..."

"Let's see just how much you do know," a strange voice growled at her.

"No!" Annalise screamed as a knee was rammed between her thighs, Michaud's head burying itself in the hollow of her throat. "No, please don't do this," she cried, her voice barely able to overcome her sobs. "Please ..." she drew a breath as Michaud raised his head. "Please don't do this!" Annalise begged. "Please don't take this from me!" She stared at him, the tears running down her cheeks, eyes closing as she waited for her innocence to be destroyed.

"What are you doing!" Michaud shouted as he jumped off the bed, stumbling towards an ornate dresser, sagging against it. He looked at himself in the mirror. "Oh God, what have you done?" He stared back at the motionless girl on the bed; dark curls tumbled about her face, the red marks around her wrists in stark contrast to the white linens.

Annalise braved opening her eyes, wincing as she raised herself up on her arms. She looked at the man looking at her and felt her heart stop as the horror in his eyes was replaced by a smoldering anger. Annalise quickly closed her eyes in a vain, childish hope that if she could not see him, he would not see her.

Michaud saw those huge, frightened blue eyes close against him and part of him died. "I have only done what you did not have the courage to do. You are a stupid, weak ..." Michaud shook his head fiercely. "Just go away," he whispered to himself. "Just go away!"

A small porcelain figurine that sat upon the dresser found itself flying through the air to smash against the wall. The sound of the tinkling shards caused Annalise to open her eyes again.

"Oh dear God," Michaud said as he slid down the front of the dresser to sit upon the floor, his knees bent, elbows resting on them, hands entwined in his dark hair. "Why do I do these things? Why?"

Annalise struggled to a sitting position, every muscle in her body protesting her actions. She looked at the man sitting on the floor, shoulders slumped, pain written on every line of his body. Fighting back her own fears, Annalise rose to her feet, walking the few steps across to where Michaud sat. She put a hand out to the dresser and gingerly lowered herself so that she was sitting next to him. She reached out a hand, placing it on his arm, waiting for the violent response. "Is this what it was like, Maman?" she wondered.

"It has always been there, you know," Michaud whispered, unmoving. "I hear the angry voice and I cannot fight it down. I remember watching myself doing things," he turned to look at the girl next to him, "evil things. I would know that I had done them but I could not stop myself."

"It will be alright," Annalise said through her tears. This was the man she remembered. This was the man she had whispered about with her girlfriends. This was the man she thought she was beginning to love. "We can make it all right."

Michaud shook his head. "I could not. We cannot. My own parents could not make it right. My battles with the angry stranger have not always been successful." He placed his head back into his hands. "There have been casualties of my battles. Fatal, fiery casualties swallowed in that red haze that he brings to me."

"Oh no," Annalise breathed, closing her eyes, a horrible thought forming in the back of her over-stressed mind. "Your parents ... I am so sorry."

"I hate my actions. I mourn my losses when clarity returns but the memories are always there, clear and accusing. They are in the back of my mind watching with me as the angry person takes control."

There was a subtle shift of Michaud's position, a curling of his fingers and Annalise closed her eyes, waiting for a blow that never came. Instead she felt his hand on her cheek, soft and warm. She leaned slightly into the touch, grateful for the comfort it brought.

Michaud looked at the still girl next to him, a sad look on his face. "You were only supposed to be a sweet pastime, a delightful seduction, a conquest to be claimed," he whispered, a catch in his voice. "I am so sorry."

Annalise's eyes opened at the gentle sound of his voice, the hurt written across her face. "I was only a pastime?" she said almost to herself.

Soft fingers subtly traced their ugly imprint upon the girl's cheek. "I never meant it to go this far. I never thought you would be so beautiful, so sweet. Oh Lord, what have I done?"

"We can still find a way ..." Annalise tried to shift into a more comfortable position, letting out a small cry as a shot of pain telegraphed itself to her over stressed mind. "Papa," she breathed without realizing what she had said.

The cord holding his control in check snapped at the sound of Annalise's voice calling for her father and Michaud rose to his feet. "You don't need anyone else but me!" he shouted as he stared at her, that deadly nothingness back in his face. "Do you hear me? You do not need anyone else!"

Annalise closed her eyes, not able to face the frightening emptiness. Her mind was quickly turning off to protect her from any further abuse and Annalise had no control over her own actions. "Erik was right ..." she whispered under her breath, as his image and words raced through her mind. Annalise's eyes snapped open as a palm connected with her left cheek.

"Who the hell is he?" Michaud yelled as he dragged Annalise up by the arms. "Who the hell is Erik?" he demanded as he shook her, shoving her hard, sending her crashing into the bed. There was a loud crack as she connected with one of the wooden posts, sliding down to sit upon the floor. Michaud was at her side, the anger seeming to flow from him as he saw the blood seeping from a cut to her head. He placed a handkerchief against her bleeding head. "Why do you make me do these things to you?" he asked in a quiet tone.

Annalise's hands flew up and tried to push him away. "Go away," she mumbled, her words slurred.

"No one tells me what to do!" Michaud shouted as he grabbed Annalise's wrists, the rope appearing from his pocket. He quickly tied her wrists together again, taking a perverse pleasure as he pulled the knot tight, eliciting a small cry from the girl beneath his hands.

He grabbed Annalise by the waist and nearly flung her back on the bed. He moved quickly to the dresser, grabbing the discarded glass of drugged wine. Michaud returned to the bed and lifted Annalise into a sitting position, repeating what he had done the previous night, forcing her to drink. When he had forced the last drop down her throat, he threw the wine glass against the far wall and forced Annalise to lay on her back.

"No," she tried protesting but the bump to her head and the heavily drugged wine were dragging her into a place of blackness and Annalise gratefully surrendered to it.

Michaud watched as Annalise drifted away, growing limp beneath his hands. He stared at her for a moment, breathing heavily, closing his eyes, trying to gain some control over his anger. He turned away from the bed, never opening his eyes to look back, as he crossed the room and opened the door. Michaud slipped from the room, closing the door behind him, finally opening his eyes as he walked down the hallway to sit upon the top stair.

"What am I going to do?" he asked the silent space.

"Just what you planned to do," came the snarled reply. "Do not even think you have any other way out of this."

"I can just take her back and let her go alongside the road. It is not too late."

"It was too late the day your mother birthed such a waste of humanity!" He laughed bitterly. "Took care of that little problem, though, didn't I? I always take care of the things you cannot stomach in your weakness."

"She does not deserve this!" Michaud shouted, remembering the soft looks, the gentle touch, the tears and all for his expense in spite of what he had done.

"She is a stupid little bitch who was falling love with someone other than you!"

Michaud regretted the words the instant they left his mouth but could not stop them as the anger washed over him like waves in a storm, drowning out his real voice, leaving behind the man he hated and could not control.

"She will crawl to me," he whispered darkly, "or she will never do anything ever again."