My thanks to all my reviewers! I can't leave you individual messages at the moment but I appreciate everything you've said! Its what makes writing a story like this worthwhile. Also, my thanks to Trudi for her expert opinion and advice. Hope you all like this long-awaited chapter!
Disclaimer:- Basic plot: Disney. Words and waffle: me!
Patrick drained the last drops of whisky from the bottle and lowered it from his lips. He saw the stunned faces of his victims and grinned from ear to ear like a Cheshire Cat. He couldn't have picked a better time to interrupt. Disruption of intimacy was just too satisfying, especially when it involved the girl his miserable excuse for a son should have been kissing. What a little slut! he thought as he threw the bottle in his hand to the ground on one side of him, where it smashed sending shards of glass in all directions.
"Mr. Blaine?" said two voices in unison, but in different tones; Bella's was inquisitive, Bastian's wary. Having heard Bastian's voice echo hers, Bella looked at him in surprise, for she still did not yet know how closely linked the two men were. She received no explanation from Bastian, as he was too busy apparently staring into space, so she turned to the figure of her town's most respected and feared citizen.
"Are you looking for Tristan?" she asked innocently and as politely as she could manage.
"That useless wretch? No! At the moment, I couldn't care less where he is. Never send a boy in to do a man's job!"
A puzzled expression swept over Bella's face and she opened her mouth to enquire further but was silenced as Bastian, who was much more alert about these kinds of situations, moved slightly in front of her and gestured for her to stay back. Something about Patrick Blaine filled him with dread. After all, he was a Blaine—a member of the family that had latched onto his parents like bloodthirsty leeches and made him feel worthless as a child. The man who had constantly beckoned his father into the shadows and shut the door firmly behind them was the same man who had just mysteriously appeared by his parents' graveside. In some ways he had been grateful for the interruption—Bella had been about to make a huge mistake and he had been about to let her. At least now she stood behind him, away from his accursed eyes that seemed to hypnotise her so. His father's eyes.
His voice was deathly cold as he addressed Patrick.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, I want many things, Sebastian. A son who isn't a complete failure would be nice. I wouldn't say no to a lifetime's supply of the finest Cuban cigars either, but everything seems beyond my grasp these days. Most of all, I want to see you in the same place as your parents. The fact that you're still alive has been a constant thorn in my side ever since I had the misfortune to find out."
Bastian was as still as stone.
"I don't like it when things don't go my way. I am NOT a patient man, as I'm sure your little lady friend back there would confirm."
He looked straight at Bella as he said this and she felt invisible icy claws grip her shoulders and crawl up her spine. Over the years, there had been many whispers and rumours about Patrick Blaine around the town. It was the people's favourite topic of gossip, even more so than herself and her father. He was a powerful man—too powerful, they said—and dangerously unpredictable, especially when he was doped up to the eyeballs with various intoxicants. He also threw a damn good New Year's Eve party and gave a lot of money to fund the taverns and clubs in the area, so many people seemed content to dismiss the rumours as the envious whispers of trouble-makers. Bella had heard the rumours many times and was wise enough to acknowledge that even gossip has an origin; a root from which all subsequent talk sprung that was real and solid. She didn't usually make judgments based on gossip, but there was something about Patrick that had always made her feel uneasy, so she had avoided him and her dealings with Tristan had shown all too clearly that the apple didn't fall far from the tree. Now, as she sensed Bastian tense beside her, she knew that the rumours were not unfounded. Patrick was not here by accident, and not to look for his son whom he had just dismissed so callously, but seemingly to cause Bastian no end of trouble and harm. But why? The very thought that Bastian was somehow involved with this vile man made her blood freeze in her veins.
Would this nightmare never end?
"I thought everything had been taken care of. Obviously, I have once again been let down by other people's incompetence."
He paused, waiting for a reaction, but there was none, save for the slight quickening of Bastian's pulse which could not detect.
"At first, I didn't want to believe it, but then curiosity got the better of me and I had to see for myself. And there you were—swanning around in the house that should have been mine! The cheek! The impertinence! And then I learnt that Bella here, who belongs to Tristan by the way—God knows why, he doesn't deserve her—had mysteriously disappeared into the woods. I go to the house and lo and behold, there she is, setting up house with a dead man."
He spat on the ground after he spoke and then glared at Bella menacingly. Bella felt numb with disbelief although her physical symptoms would suggest otherwise—she was shivering now, unsurprising seeing as she was soaked through, and her hazel eyes were wide in terror as if she dared not close them. Patrick's words confused her, but she could sense the feeling behind them. Every syllable that came out of his mouth was dripping with scorn, malice and hatred, mainly directed at Bastian but carefully inclusive of her, as if Patrick desperately wanted her to be a part of his incoherent accusations.
Beside her, Bastian was absorbing and carefully scrutinising everything that Patrick said. He was applying the words to his memories and uncovering suspicions that he had thought were long-forgotten. When it had first happened, he had spent countless hours searching for answers about his parents' death. Many names had presented themselves to him and most had been dismissed, but one had stuck in his mind no matter how often he had tried to rid himself of it. He didn't want it to be true—it meant lies, betrayal, misplaced trust—and he had somehow eventually forced himself not to think of it and its implications. His refusal to accept the probable had meant that he had spent ten years in his parents' mausoleum unable to come to terms with their untimely deaths. They had haunted him non-stop and he had never found a moment's peace.
Now, with the house burning to the ground in the distance, it seemed that the curse was about to be broken. Bastian didn't know if he should be horrified or relieved. As Patrick rambled on, Bastian made every effort to appear unconcerned, but if his tormentor had looked really closely he would have noticed the slight reddening of Bastian's skin, the hands that were starting to resemble fists, the storm that was brewing in his eyes.
Patrick continued.
"I've been biding my time, waiting for the perfect moment to finish what I started. I hadn't necessarily intended it to be tonight but it would be a good climax to a dramatic evening, don't you think?"
His hand slowly slid into the pocket of his trench coat.
"I suppose I could enlighten you before you go with all the hows and whys and what ifs but frankly I think it would be far more poetic if you went to your grave in the dark, ignorant to the last breath. Besides…" he drew the gun from his pocket. "It's common knowledge that once the villain explains everything he either gets caught or killed…and I have no intention of doing either one of them."
He studied the gun for a moment, caressing the barrel with his fingertips, before pointing it at Bastian's forehead.
"Any last words?" he said as he placed his finger on the trigger. Bastian could maintain his composure no longer.
"YOU KILLED MY PARENTS!" he screamed, the noise bursting agonisingly from his lungs.
Patrick sighed as if he was being mildly inconvenienced.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Sebastian, you have not been listening! Why can't you pay attention for once? You're just as bad as that pathetic son of mine!"
"Kill me then!"
"What?"
Bastian stepped forward, his arms outstretched in the traditional gesture of surrender. He struggled to stop them from shaking.
"There's a gun pointing at your forehead, boy. I wouldn't do anything rash if I were you. You'll just cause me unnecessary hassle."
"If you're going to kill me, then kill me. Maybe that's the way it's meant to be."
Bella sobbed loudly upon hearing these words and she really shouldn't have because it meant that Patrick's attentions were diverted to her.
"On second thoughts, maybe it would be too easy for me—and you—if I killed you straight away."
Once again he studied the gun in his hand.
"Don't worry, I'm still going to kill you. I'm just going to kill her first."
And he swiftly switched the alignment to Bella's forehead.
"Actually it works out better. She is a witness to all this after all."
At that moment, Bella experienced the phenomenon known as sheer terror. As anyone who has stared down the barrel of a gun will tell you, there is nothing as pure and simple as facing death head on. The terror forces everything else from your mind so all you can concentrate on is the dark circle in front of you and all you can do is wait for the inevitable to happen. Adrenaline pumps round your body but to no avail as you cannot move. You cannot even blink—just in case you never see anything ever again. This is how Bella felt, rooted to the spot trying to etch her final vision onto her eyeballs for all eternity.
And then it happened. The gunshot. Bella was aware of a moment of complete silence, then a loud noise and then falling backwards as something pushed her over. Her body hit the ground with a thud, forcing gravel into her skin and making her cry out, and then Bastian fell on top of her.
