A/N: WARNING: I'm really missing 'Blip' so this will be the last chapter of 'Letters' for a while, so I'll try to make this chapter meaty enough to tide you over. There's a tremendous gulf between the mindset required to write about an established, married couple and a nascent friendship between teen Annie and adult CG filled with inappropriate longing and UST. I've appreciated your reviews and thought I'd mention a couple that really made my week.
I won't put her on the spot, but here's what she wrote:
"Subject: Writing Skills
Good Afternoon!
I just read your story, "Letters from No-One" and just about dropped my teeth. I'm old school where what you write must be as grammatically, spelling, etc., correct. I guess you could say I'm the "grammar police", but seldom, if ever, say anything, and, if I do, it's through PM. I've quit reading very good stories because I had to interpret what I was reading - wrong words, misspellings, etc. Your story flowed smoothly, punctuation excellent, correct words, etc. I did see something so minor, I just past over it and continued reading.
You've got a great story going, showing a fantastic vocabulary, superb spelling, great punctuation, and an amazing (don't really like that over used word) sense of humor. Please, keep writing. You might want to consider something to be professionally published. And, I've never said or written that before."
That really made my day. Some authors claim that they don't write for the reviews, but humans are social animals, and there aren't many who don't enjoy praise for a job well done or support for their efforts.
A guest reviewer (who must be a Brit or an Aussie. I've read so much historical fiction in my day that I add u's in many words until spellcheck corrects me) said,
"I almost left this website, but I came across this story and I'm so happy I found it. This is so refreshing and dark. The Grey family and [the] Mortons are rotten. Love this take on our favourite couple."
If I can keep even one person supporting the fandom (or fanfiction), it's a very good day. So many authors and fans are leaving, and it is a tragedy.
Even one of the admins from the FSoG Fanfic Obsessed group even left a brief review. I tend to respond when someone reviews or PMs me with a question or starts a discussion about a topic brought up in the chapter. I'm usually game for a lively debate, and I don't bite (much). Honestly, you're more likely to get a chapter than a message, so if I have not responded to your review, please know that I thank you and appreciate you nonetheless.
THIS CHAPTER IS NOT BETA'D
CPoV
Monday, August 23, 2004
To: callmeannieo athotmaildotcom
From: chrisdottanner athotmaildotcom
Date: Mon, Aug 23, 2004 at 7:05 PM
Subject: A Woman's Hair
Good Queen Annie, Your Uber Geekiness:
Your faithful minion and most devoted peon urges you NOT to cut your beautiful hair! A woman's hair is her crowning glory, and you have been blessed with a head of hair that would put shampoo models to shame. Ignore the assholes offering to share your tower, Rapunzel. There will always be fuckers trying to get into beautiful girls' panties. I don't need to see your face to know that you're beautiful. If you live your life attempting to make yourself invisible in order to discourage them, you'll only be cutting off your nose to spite your face. Don't hide your light beneath a bushel.
Queen Amidala or Princess Leia? I have to admit, that sounds pretty hot, but if you really want to blow them away without breaking the piggybank, all you'd have to do is put on some glasses, a nice blouse and skirt, put your hair into a bun and shake it out in class. You'll knock 'em dead. Guys are suckers for the librarian look and it's not that expensive.
The skank who got caught pricking holes in my condoms (so wrapping it before I tapped it wouldn't have helped) got what was coming to her. I bought a ring that could've come out of a Cracker Jack box, flowers, dinner and the whole nine. Then I proposed…that she never darken my doorstep again.
My real SNAFU was helping her buy a car, so there could be no takebacks. The good news is that I know a couple people on the force, and they've been ticketing her car right, left and center since our breakup. Last I heard, it had been impounded. With her pitiful salary, she'll be bucking for social security before she could afford to get it out. If the impound lot keeps it long enough, they'll sell it at auction. Going once, going twice, SOLD! to the highest bidder.
I'll take your 'scandalous' and raise you 'treacherous'. Carla and Priscilla are treacherous.
treach·er·ous
/ˈtreCH(ə)rəs/
adjective
adjective: treacherous
guilty of or involving betrayal or deception. (i.e. "a treacherous Gestapo agent" or "her treacherous brother betrayed her")
synonyms: traitorous, disloyal, faithless, unfaithful, duplicitous, deceitful, deceptive, false, backstabbing, double-crossing, double-dealing, two-faced, Janus-faced, weaselly, untrustworthy, unreliable; apostate, renegade, two-timing; literary: perfidious; antonyms: loyal, faithful
They are both selfish and lack insight. Plus, it takes a very stupid person to bite the hand that feeds her. I guess I trusted Priscilla because we had been introduced by a good friend, I was very upfront with my intentions and I was led to believe we were on the same page. I even let her stay at my apartment a couple days a week, where she took the opportunity to perforate my condoms. She must have lied about being on the pill too, or else sabotaging my condoms would have been useless. She may have had a prescription, but she could have flushed them for all I know.
I can't help being angry at the friend who introduced us, and I've been avoiding that person for weeks now. Can you believe she offered to introduce me to someone else? She's been calling and e-mailing me constantly. Apparently I 'have needs' and I shouldn't be alone. Instead of obsessing about dating, I've been throwing myself into work and have made several extremely lucrative deals that will net my company a lot of money.
You asked me about what type of degree you'd need to get into communications, but I have a confession to make; I dropped out of college for a huge job opportunity. The real kind with multiple benefits and potential for profit-sharing. Lest ye think I'm a ne'er do well like Three, I'll have you know I own a very nice apartment, a great car and still have money to burn.
I double-majored in Politics and Economics. My father wanted me to follow in his footsteps, joining his law firm, but that life was not for me. He was so angry when I dropped out, he cut me off financially as a result. He's still bitter that I've 'wasted my potential' despite the fact I'm doing quite well in my chosen profession. We barely speak to this day.
My relationship with my parents has sadly not improved despite my attempts to repair it. I guess I never told you I was adopted. I am the middle child of two other adopted siblings. It's pretty fucked up all around that my parents were allowed to adopt three children, when Ray was not allowed to adopt you. But I digress. My father, you know, is an attorney and my mother is a doctor. These are very demanding careers. They are also dedicated do-gooders of the first order, and socialites to boot.
They (especially my mother) belong to a multitude of charitable organizations, hosting endless parties and so on. I was basically a latch-key kid. My brother is four years older than me and my sister's about your age, so I never really had a companion of age with myself. I guess they may have tried to reach out to me, but I'm a possessive man and was an extremely jealous child. I suppose I was waiting for my parents to really fight for me instead of foisting me on other people who they expected to 'fix' me. Therapists now would call what my family and I have an attachment disorder. It's a sensitive topic.
You're right about Literature employment prospects being grim. You should put some real consideration into what you'd do with a degree in Lit. You've written off teaching as an occupation, but that still leaves multiple career options. Publishing, editing, copywriting, advertising, public relations, etc. There are many organizations that need people who are experts in the written word. I suggest picking up a foreign language or two to make yourself more marketable.
Speaking of marketability, it's never too early to learn how to present yourself. Put together a resume listing all of your employment history, abilities, qualifications, memberships and hobbies. You probably think that you're too young to worry about a resume, but you'd be wrong. At my company, you'd only get ONE chance to shine, and interviews last ten minutes if you're lucky. One woman ran out of HR bawling her eyes out after two minutes. It's that competitive. So, get into the habit of putting your best foot forward ASAP, so that when the time comes, you will appear intelligent and poised, prepared to work as soon as they assign you a desk. Employers like that.
My PA Andrea streamlined all of my appointments her second day at work which really opened up my schedule, since now most appointments only last fifteen minutes and she deters time-wasters with religious zeal bordering on fanaticism. She later admitted that she spent her first day compiling a list of the myriad ways my time was being wasted and drafting a report of people who should be demoted, retrained, promoted or fired with supporting data to back up her recommendations. Most of her proposals had merit, especially the dismissal of a woman she claims is the living embodiment of the belief that blondes are stupid. I allowed her to fire her assistant a week later without a reference.
When I was your age, I was already reading the business section of the paper, focusing on the financials, when I noticed how wasteful and disorganized many of the companies were. A lot of them shot themselves in the foot putting all their eggs in one basket, so when the industries changed (as they often do) the owners were left holding their dicks in their hands, while numerous people lost their jobs. The moral of the story: Stay on top of technology used in your chosen field so you won't be rendered obsolete and remember you're never too young to decide what you want to do with the rest of your life. Though your goals might change many times before you graduate, it's always good to have them.
Carla was pretty fucking stupid to have sex in your father's house, but I've realized that other people have done similar in the past. It was pretty damn disrespectful. But so is cheating, no matter who's doing it. I guess I always thought the onus was on the party that made the vows, but I understand your position. There would be fewer cheaters if they had no one to cheat with.
Because I'm trusting you, I'll admit that I once had an affair with an older woman. And her husband also caught us fucking in his house. I guess it takes an unjaded perspective to recognize how disrespectful and fucked up that was. I was young, stupid and only thinking with my cock. Her husband was probably like your dad, working hard to provide for his wife while she was cuckolding him behind his back.
She claimed that she was lonely and her husband didn't allow her to work, yet she managed to have a lot of time for primping, shopping and volunteer work. And she was wealthy enough to get a room instead of using her home to cheat on her husband. When he found out, he beat her black, blue, bloody and put her in the hospital with multiple broken bones, contusions and a dislocated jaw. I can't imagine what he would've done if they'd had a child to witness the scene he walked into. Since then, I've made it a point to never date more than one person or anyone who wasn't single. If they'll cheat for you, they'll cheat on you, and I don't have time for the potential drama or STDs.
I hope that you'll remain my best friend now that I've disclosed this information, and not reject me for a lapse in judgment in my past for which I am heartily ashamed and would never do again. I felt so guilty, I helped her find employment after her husband injured her and then shafted her in the divorce. In retrospect, she probably had that coming. She was the friend that introduced me to Priscilla.
It was good that your dad took steps to protect his property, and sad that it was proven necessary. It made me wonder why he married her in the first place, then I came to a startling conclusion. He must have married her because he loved you and didn't trust her to take care of you properly. Raymond Steele is the salt of the earth.
It's pretty fucking despicable that Carla's holding you hostage to get money from the man she betrayed. I'm sorry you have so many chores and that you have to work side-jobs, too. Do I want to know what Carla's doing to earn her keep? Do you need anything? I'm only a Western Union or MoneyGram away.
And about slapping Carla until you're faint from sleep deprivation and famine… No, of course you're not a bad person. Bind and gag her between bouts. You need your sleep and you need to eat. Adequate sleep and good nutrition are vitally important for teens' growth and development.
Your Best Friend Forever (hopefully),
Chris
P.S. No, I'm not going to send you a shovel and locations to hide bodies. Send for me and I'll bring the shovels. Digging holes is backbreaking labor. Teamwork is key.
There! I've already lied to her so much; yet, Annie, more than anyone seems to see the real me. I have to think of her as Annie. It's the Anastasia developing inside her that I want to tie to my bed and lose myself inside of for hours. I was forced to jerk off for an hour in the privacy of my office en suite after seeing those photos. I'd never felt so fucking depraved and despicable in my life and I've done a lot of foul shit.
She's a child. She's a child. She's a child. Perhaps if I repeat it to myself over and over, I'll be able to get over my infatuation or find someone to take the edge of until she's legal. I can't determine if that's a dream or a plot. Reading about her plan to dress up as Queen Amidala or Princess Leia, made me momentarily forget I was a Trekkie, brought me over to the Dark Side and gave me a light saber that wouldn't quit for hours. She makes me afraid of myself. She doesn't know what comfort the miles stretching between us bring me. I don't know if I could handle an Anastasia less than a hundred miles away, especially since I've begun training as a helicopter pilot. I haven't had a sub since Priscilla, and since I received Annie's first letter, I haven't been able to get erect for anyone else. I'm in Hell and being punished for my sins.
I finally caved and read the Elena digest, the compendium of mail and other communications she's sent me. Her desperation is appalling. She actually sent me close up photos of cunts with the sub files this time. She must believe that pussy pictures will excite me, but I've never quite needed that type of visual titillation. Besides, she sent them to my work e-mail which proves she has completely lost the fucking plot.
Annie sent me a picture of her fucking hair and I almost embarrassed myself imagining my fingers running through her glorious locks and winding my hands in her hair and pulling her… Fuck!
She has a birthday next month, making her fifteen, the same age I was when Elena seduced me. My desire for Anastasia, at her age, has made me re-think everything that happened between Elena and I. And the realization that the comparisons between Annie and I are quite startling. We both had shitty biological mothers, were weighed down by our parents' expectations and been exposed to perverse adults whom our parents placed in a position of trust. Because there's no doubt in my mind that Morton dated and married women with young daughters in order to prey on them. The chance of him dating a series of single parents with only daughters within a certain age range completely defies the law of averages and fully beggars belief.
Carla is just one of a long line of bitches, thinking with their cunts, much to their children's detriment. Perhaps I should call Welch and have him do a follow-up on Morton's exes and see how the erstwhile daughters are faring. It says a lot that no reports were filed. I'm sure he's left many young girls with scarred psyches, and mothers in denial, in his wake. I also have no hope at all that Morton doesn't want Annie. I want her, and I wouldn't trust myself under the same roof with her.
If the pattern of perverts worldwide continues, he'll probably be using this time wisely to lull Carla and Ana into a false sense of security, fucking Carla into compliance while slowly ingratiating himself with Annie. Gaining Carla's compliance would be child's play since she thinks with her overused twat. He's got her nose so wide open I'm surprised her face has room for eyes and a mouth to suck cock with. He's already taken steps to lure Annie into his bedroom, forcing her to clean up behind him and placing their only window to the world inside their bedroom. I wonder if the only phone is located there, too. I imagine her calls from Raymond are also supervised.
What's to stop him from having Annie clean the bedroom when Carla wasn't home, leaving them alone together? Carla's already been proven not to be a friend or confidante. How would she react when she found out Annie was competition? His next step would be to force Carla to get a job, possibly a second shift so someone would be there to watch Annie. See how caring her husband is? Elena and I had the longest, most brutal, sessions when my parents were doing all-nighters or out of town on business.
I've done some research, and Raymond Steele is just as ass-fucked sans lubricant as Carla painted him to be. It doesn't matter that Steele was listed as Annie's primary emergency contact for over eight years; he was legally expected to cut Annie off cold-turkey. Courts seem to favor biological parents, especially mothers, no matter how fucked up they are. A child could flounder in foster care his or her entire childhood, unadoptable, due to fucked up parents refusing to relinquish their seemingly unalienable parental rights.
I find myself waiting for the other shoe to drop, constantly worried that this will be the day Morton does the unthinkable, harming Annie beyond repair, though any harm done to her would be too much. The level of my hatred of Morton can be determined by the number of times I've plotted his death: 42. It really is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything because I've planned his brutal demise over a dozen times a day since I received Annie's last message. Number 42 features a bloody vivisection and closes with a double homicide. That's another reason I'm afraid to see Annie. If he's hurt so much as a hair on her head, I don't know if I'd be able to stop hurting him right back.
Grace is such a pacifist, I often wondered at her desire for us to learn a martial art. Mia obstinately refused at the age of twelve, instead focusing on her French and cello studies. I, however, have been practicing some form of martial arts training since I was eight years old. Sure, give the little fucker who wants to kick everybody's ass lessons on how to do it more effectively. I imagine she assumed we would benefit from the mental discipline, and Elliot and I both did, to a degree.
In addition to the self-defense lessons, I was also the son of a physician, and subbed for one of the harshest Dommes in Seattle, so I've learned more than a thing or two about the human body: how to hurt, how to injure, how to incapacitate, how to cripple, how to bring on an orgasm so strong and long that a woman could break her own bones if she wasn't properly restrained.
To: chrisdottanner athotmaildotcom
From: callmeannieo athotmaildotcom
Date: Tue, Aug 24, 2004 at 3:05 PM
Subject: RE: A Woman's Hair
To My Favorite Minion and (still) BFF Chris,
You gave me a lot to think about, but I'd still like to be friends. At least you feel remorse for what you've done unlike some people. One small point; I don't think it's healthy for you to continue your association with Mrs. Robinson. I think being around her is a constant reminder of your lapse, and keeps your guilt about the affair in the forefront of your mind. I'm pretty sure I'm never going to like her because she helped you compromise your morals. I'm pretty sure you didn't come on to a married worried woman, so it must have been her. I seriously hope that you aren't one of those people who need all of your friends to be friends too, because that'd be a total deal-breaker.
It's pretty messed up that she introduced you to such a shady person. Did you tell her that Priscilla wanted to have your baby? Your life sounds like an Ace of Base song. All that she wants… Sorry, I just couldn't resist, but I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes that if you keep up that relationship, your life is going to turn into a country song. Does she have any friends besides you? I have to wonder if she's introducing you to dogs so that you might go back to her eventually. It's very telling that you didn't mention a new boyfriend or husband. It sounds like she's waiting in the wings. Or a web. "Come into my parlor."
I was supposed to be coming to Washington for my 15th birthday, but Carla just told me that she cancelled my trip yesterday. We got into a little argument about my duties around the house. I mean I cook, I clean, I take out the garbage and do the lawn, but two days ago, I came home from school and it looked like Mardi Gras exploded in our house, complete with beaded necklaces, confetti and doubloons. The house was immaculate when I left, so how is that my responsibility?
When I refused to do it, Three slammed out of the house and Carla decided to lay down the law and let me know how things were going to be. He returned home drunk out of this world, but at least he wasn't driving. He stumbled into their room with Carla trailing after him. I had to wash what seems like every dish in the house, clean up the living room, and when I vacuumed, he yelled at me to keep it down; is it my fault he came home plastered before the evening news and bought the cheapest machine they had?
I barely got any sleep last night because their headboard kept banging against our shared wall all night. No sooner than I would fall asleep, the thumping and groaning would recommence and my rest would be broken yet again. It doesn't help that I now have a visual do to their horizontal mambo they did on our couch. The bags under my eyes have luggage! I wish I had some noise cancelling headphones, but I don't know if not being aware of my surroundings would be such a good idea.
A few times, I've fallen asleep sitting up against the door. I feel on edge. A couple weeks ago, Three walked in on me while I was changing clothes. He claimed that he got the wrong door when he needed to go to the bathroom, but it's in the opposite direction. I have to pass their bedroom to get to it, yet he's managed to lose his way several times since then. I wish that I had room for a dresser that I could prop against the door. Maybe I could buy and install a door chain, a door latch or something. Perhaps they'll let me trade out the bed for a dresser and a sleeping bag. My bedroom door doesn't have a lock, but theirs does. Boy does their bedroom have a lock! I'd never seen a door that locks on both sides before outside of a classroom. If they ever lost the key, they'd have to climb out of the window to get out of their room. It would be like house arrest!
Today, I found out the reason for the celebration; Carla found a job at some widget factory, but it's third shift, so they're expecting me to step up my game. [OK, she won't be making widgets, but she'll only be earning $5.15 per hour which is minimum wage. She's not even working full-time. They offered me more than that to work at the diner!] I'm not sure what stepping up my game would entail. I already pack a sack lunch for Three. I mean, what else is there? I wanted to work at the diner down the street, and they were all prepared to hire me, but Carla wouldn't sign the form for me to work. I don't know what they want.
I can't accept your money, but I'd really appreciate if you'd allow me to use you as an emergency contact or a reference. For various reasons, I can't use Dad. He would be furious that Carla and her husband are forcing me to support myself when I have a huge bedroom and fort in the backyard waiting for me back home in Montesano. And I wouldn't use Carla or Three as references because they're complete fails in the character department. So, if you could just give me a phone number and address, that'd be really great. Then I could write you real letters again, though you would have to e-mail me back.
You were spot on about the resume. I've put a basic one together and I realized I'm far too overqualified for the job at the diner, so I won't regret the lost opportunity. And I speak pretty good Spanish which is a huge plus here in the Great State of Tejas. What other language(s) would you suggest, minion?
Thank you for continuing to write me; I'd go crazy if I didn't have your letters to cheer me.
Your Friend Always
AnnieO
P.S. I've rethought the logistics of digging a double grave. How do you feel about sky burials?
Wednesday, I'll be travelling to Texas on business to get a close-up on our newest acquisition. It's a company that deals in oil and gas exploration, but I've been working with my team to make the extraction process cleaner and more sustainable. While I prefer the use of renewable energy resources, I'm not stupid enough to believe that a worldwide conversion will be made overnight.
Reading Annie's letter made me laugh, but she dropped more than enough hints to let me know that her life in Nash isn't very rosy at all. And like I suspected, Carla has decided to work the late shift, leaving Annie home alone with her loving husband. Frank Lambert must've had the lion's share of the brain cells in that relationship, because Annie's on the ball, yet Carla's a few scoops short of a sundae.
I'm now in the unenviable position of needing to either come clean with my real name or create a complete identity and work history for Chris Tanner because I want to be Annie's emergency contact and reference. As I ponder this dilemma, Taylor enters my home office. I notice him looking at something over my shoulder, and I follow his gaze to a series of blown-up photos of Annie in my digital frame. I guess the cat's out of the bag.
I return my eyes to Taylor, and I'm expecting anger, belligerence or a resignation, but that's not what I see.
"Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Go ahead," I reply. I've already beaten myself over this sick obsession. May as well get a beat down from someone properly trained in kicking asses.
"You love her?"
Shut the fuck up!
"I-I care about her well-being."
"Bullshit! There have been no more submissives, we've been running morning and night and Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, has been conspicuous in her absence. You spend so much time in the shower lately, I worry that you're gonna sprain your wrist. And there's pictures of this very young girl in your Holy of Holies and I know for damn sure she's not one of your sexbots!"
"She's fourteen years old, Jason! I've never felt so ashamed of anything in my life! I've never been that guy, some pervert, preying on children."
"If it makes you feel any better, from certain angles, she doesn't exactly look childlike. I'm not into brunettes, but I can see the attraction," he replied. He removed his wallet from his pocket, opening it up to the photos, pulling out a couple old, dog-eared pictures.
"This is my Jessie," he says, showing me the pictures of a girl wearing a crown and sash and the other atop a huge horse. "We grew up together in Idaho. Her parents had her in all those beauty pageants. Li'l Miss Boise, Junior Miss Boise… They say she was born beautiful and only improved with age. She loved to compete, and play dress-up, but she was a tomboy at heart, helping her folks on their ranch.
"She was two years younger than me, kid followed me everywhere. I think I fell in love with her when I was fifteen years old. It could've been sooner, but I was so used to her being my friend that I didn't know any better. We began to date 'secretly' when I was sixteen. Well, I did ask her parents' permission, but we weren't bragging about it around town. I think we're gonna need some liquid courage," he said, grabbing the Scotch and a couple tumblers.
"She had this huge world map, with pins stuck all over it, marking all the places she was going to go, and when we became a couple, she started marking all the places we were going to go together. I was a pretty good football player and I had a full-ride scholarship to UT. We were going to get married when she graduated from high school. We had it all planned out. We would go to the same school, her parents had money and we'd travel after she graduated from college. Summers, when I wasn't training, we'd backpack across the continental US."
"What happened?" I asked with trepidation. She wasn't here; he'd been married to that bitch of an ex-wife and he didn't seem the cheating type.
"Leukemia happened," he said, tossing back the whole glass. "She was always such a vibrant girl and she died within months of her diagnosis. It wasn't fair! I graduated high school, rejected my scholarship and joined the Marines. Not gonna lie; I wanted to kill something, someone. I wanted to make someone else feel the hurt. Jessie's death killed her mother. She was gone before I left for the Corps."
"What about Sophie's mother? How did that happen?"
"Sophia Jessie Lynn Taylor… Named for wisdom and the two strongest women I ever knew. Jessie and her mother. Sophie's mother never forgave me. She chose Sophia and let me choose the middle name. She loved the name until she found the source. My parents showed her some of my old photo albums and when they said the name 'Jessie' that was all she wrote."
"But it's been years, and the other woman is dead; why is she so angry?"
"Because she knew I never loved her and it hurt her pride. She might have forgiven anything but that. Jessie's father left Sophie a trust fund in his will. He died when Sophie was a couple months old and knew it's what Jessie would have wanted. I haven't told Sophie's mother about the trust. Not because she'd want the money, but because she'd never let Sophie have it."
"What'd he leave you?" I asked shrewdly.
He looked down for a moment, then answered, "He left me our map, and a trust for any other children. Jessie always wanted a big family."
"So what's that got to do with Annie?"
"Is that her name?" he asked.
"Her full name is Anastasia Rose Lambert-Steele. Yes, she's hyphenated; no, it's not her fault."
"Does she know you're hyphenated, too?" he asked slyly.
"I'm no longer hyphenated. I got rid of that pretentious shit and changed my nonexistent middle name to Trevelyan as soon as I legally could," I said defensively. "And no, she thinks my name is Chris Tanner."
"Tanner? You stole an alias from that kid who knocked you over in the park? Wait, you let her call you Chris?!" Taylor gasped through bouts of laughter.
"Chris, minion, peon…same thing. I don't know what I'm doing. I'm just flying by the seat of my pants," I added as I heard something that sounded like "short curlies" under his breath.
"You're her minion? Oh, this is just fabulous. OK. First, how did you meet, because you obviously haven't been trolling high schools for trim."
"You remember that box you tried to save me from?"
"Yeah?"
"It was from Annie. She left a letter in the keepsake box for whomever found it. She's my pen-pal," I said proudly.
"Oh, wow. You couldn't make shit like this up, so it must be true."
"Yeah. She has a pretty shitty home life. Her mother cheated on the only father she's ever known and has now dragged her to Texas with husband number three. Between information gathered from Barney and Welch, this guy's only dated single mothers with daughters around Annie's age."
"Tell me you realize he's a child molester?"
"Yes, I highly suspect it, but there's little I can do short of abducting her, taking her across state lines, changing her identity and setting her up in parts unknown. She's fourteen years old, well almost fifteen, but still. Felony much?"
"I still think you're going about this the wrong way. To be such a smart guy, you're really overthinking this. Simplicity is key. Who's the weakest link? The mother, right? What do you know about her?"
"Besides the fact that she's fucking a man that wants to fuck her daughter? The stepfather that raised Annie is in Montesano. Annie wanted to stay with him, but Carla, her mother, wouldn't let the husband adopt her, even though he gave Annie his name. Now she's making him pay child support to talk with his daughter."
"What a piece of shit. Wait. Montesano. The fuck! Annie is Ray Steele's daughter? Raymond Steele?"
"Yes, Raymond Steele is Annie's father. Is that significant?"
"Yeah, I'd say it was pretty damn significant; I served under him in the fucking Corps! You're in love with L'il Orphan Annie! You poor fuck. He's gonna kill you!"
"So what do I do?"
"Well, first you need to tell Annie the truth ASAP. If she's anything like her Daddy, lying to her will be the last thing you ever do. Her father's a deadly sumbitch. I knew Annie's biological father briefly; he bragged on fucking the girl's mother, but when she turned up pregnant, he tried to deny paternity. Ray Steele pull him aside for a little sit-down in his office. I don't know what was said for certain, but when he came out of that room, he was as white as a sheet.
"Some guys said he must've threatened him with a dishonorable discharge or some shit, but I didn't buy that. Someone threatens me with a dishonorable. I'd have been pissed. Nah, that's not what went down. Ray must've threatened his life. Ray's known for quick, clean kills and even quicker extracts. And if it wasn't for him claiming the kill, you'd never know it was him. I think he put the fear of God into the bastard 'cause he and the mother-to-be were married the next week. I left the base soon after that but the grapevine works very well. Heard he died in an accident after the baby was born. Almost took Steele out, too."
Well, don't I feel like a fool for sitting on the best source of intel! "What else?" I asked.
"That room of pain and suffering upstairs? It's gotta go ASAP. She sees that room and you're gonna have a tattoo of your balls on your forehead. I bet Daddy Ray trained that girl to hell and back. The only thing she's got going against her is her youth. But that room will kill any chance of having a good future with her. Maybe a broken Annie would accept it, but we're not gonna wait for the worst-case scenario, are we?"
"It's all I've ever known," I said.
"Yeah? How's that working out for ya?" he asked sarcastically. "What else have you lied about?"
"I may have told her that I work in communications. I may have given her the impression that I'm a successful up-and-comer," I confessed.
Taylor gets up, walks to the window, looking outside. "Up-and-comer? What's next, heaven?" he snorts.
"But I've tried to tell her the truth about everything else; I even told her about Priscilla, the condoms and the fake proposal scene. You're right; she is a bloodthirsty little thing."
"Have you told her about Mrs. Lincoln?" he inquired.
"Yes, I told her that I had an affair with an older, married woman in the past. She disapproved of the cheating, of course, but she says we can still be friends since I've repented and will never enter another relationship where either party is cheating."
"Well, hell. She's got a very good head on her shoulders."
"Yeah. She's had my number pretty much from the beginning," I retorted. "She informed me if I expected her to be friends with the woman I had an affair with, just because we're friends now, it'd be a deal-breaker. Fourteen and already stating hard limits."
"In our world, that's called having high standards and strong values. You didn't e-mail her an NDA, did you?"
"No! I told her I decided to trust her. We've talked about many things; our families, our educations and our goals."
"You relate to her like an equal. You do realize how rare that is for you?"
"Yes. I think she'd be insulted if I treated her like a child. I basically give her the same advice I would give anyone I was mentoring," I replied.
"But you don't mentor anyone."
"I want her to have the best start in life. If that means giving her information or advice that would help her make the right decisions, all the better."
"Can't wait 'til the in-laws take a gander at the future Mrs. Grey," Taylor chortled.
"I never said we were getting married," I refuted.
"When I walked in this room, the first thing I saw was this young woman's picture dominating the table behind you where pictures of wives and kids are generally placed. So, which is she? Does she give you parental feelings?"
"Fuck you!" I snapped.
"Bottom line: it's not like you're going to be able to just date her. The media would pillory you. The few famous guys who dated underage girls married them almost right away, and they didn't live in the age of Facebook, Twitter and the Nooz. You're gonna have to make a decision. This situation is fucked enough without hemming, hawing and fence-straddling. You've gotta be completely out or all in, else you're gonna end up with splinters up your crack."
Gazing at Annie's photo again, I made a decision that would change my entire life, though I didn't fully realize it at the time. Looking back, many years later, I would understand the expression on Taylor's face when I picked up the gauntlet he had just thrown down.
"She's worth it; and she'll be seventeen in about two years," I stated.
He looked at me with pity and offered to introduce me to Rosie Palmer and her five sisters. When I informed him that we were already thoroughly acquainted, he glanced at the photo and back to me and said, "You might want to strike up a friendship with her cousin, Sally Fist; I heard she has a handful of sisters, too."
Fucker! I already figured that shit out when I couldn't get it up for anyone else.
"So, are you going to give me the info you already have, or are we just going to sit here shooting the breeze?" he asked sarcastically.
I turned to my computer, minimizing Annie's latest message, clicking a couple keys, attaching the files to an e-mail and forwarding it to Taylor's inbox. "I just sent it to you."
"Great! Now how about we dismantle that 'playroom'?" he asks with a cheerful grin.
Friday, August 27, 2004
CPoV
I knew we had just witnessed the result of that 'not good' conversation that Annie wouldn't be revisiting any time soon.
Before I could burst out of the car, grab Annie and get the hell out of Dodge, Taylor's left hand clamped down hard on my forearm, pinning me into my seat. His other hand was speed-dialing someone.
"Steele," stated a man's deep voice, both confirming and questioning at the same time.
"Raymond Steele, it's been a while, but you might remember me. I'm Jason T-," Taylor began.
"Taylor, that you, son? Damn, it's been a long time! Glad to hear from you," he exclaimed. I was very interested and slightly wary of a man who could call Taylor 'son' and get away with it.
"Would love to reminisce and shoot the shit, but we gotta mission, Marine!"
"Understood," came the reply.
"I know this is coming outta left field, and I'm awfully sorry, but it's about Annie," says Taylor, soothingly. "I'm in Texas and your daughter has just gotten off the bus to walk home and half her face is purple. She's wearing long-sleeved shirt and long pants and it's hot enough here to fry a steak on the hood of your car. Do I have permission to engage?"
"Fuck! Fuck! Affirmative! Wait. Before you get in her space, I need you to say this to her, and only this, until she replies. Otherwise she will run from you like a bat outta hell, and you won't be able to find her. I've drilled it into since she was five…" Raymond said, his voice breaking.
"Go ahead, sir," said Taylor, as serious as I'd ever seen him.
"You have to say it just like this: 'Hi! I'm Ray's friend, Matt. I came for his treasure.' When she asks you where it can be found, you must reply '126'. Do you understand?"
"Yessir. Understood," Taylor replied, opening the door, placing the phone on his seat. He ran to catch up with Annie who was trailing very far from the other students at this point. The kids had to walk a long way to their subdivision. I was frightened to see how far she was straggling behind everyone. She looked like a victim and I couldn't stand it.
When Taylor caught up with Annie, you could tell her flight or fight response was at a very high level. She must have felt him coming or something, because she whipped around and put her body into a fighting stance. Taylor backed away, talking to her, hopefully using the proper code phrase. What kind of fucked up world requires a man to train his child to use code phrases to recognize a friendly?
Annie's hands relaxed and she got out of that fighting stance. I didn't recognize the style, but I knew enough physics to notice she had been centered and poised to do the maximum damage her small frame allowed. Apparently, she had agreed to go with him, but I noticed she stayed consistently outside of his range of motion. He even tested her a bit; It was as if they were held together by an invisible, yet rigid, tether. He moved; she moved. It was like a macabre dance, and eerie as hell. This level of situational awareness in a kid bothered the fuck out of me. I was further pissed by the parents and abusers in this world that rendered that shit necessary.
When they arrived at the car, and she noticed another man inside, she said only one word, in a soft, melodic voice, directed at Taylor. "Phone."
Taylor carefully reached in and tossed her the phone which she caught with deceptive ease. She dialed a number from memory. "Daddy? Who are these people and why did you send them?"
"I'd think the proper question would be why you didn't call me when that monster hit you, missy!"
"When I'm at home, the phone and computer are locked inside their room, until they bring out the phone to let you call me or vice versa. I haven't complained because I've been watching how obvious abuse cases are handled at the school, and I haven't been impressed. Besides, I knew if I told you that Morton came into my room and tried to do unspeakable things, and beat me when I did not comply and fought back, you would kill him and go to jail," she stated in a low monotone. "It doesn't help that when the school called home, Carla told them I fell down a flight of nonexistent stairs in their ranch house, and the lazy school counselor didn't follow up. You really shouldn't worry. I've been figuring out ways to kill him accidentally on purpose when I have enough evidence that no court would convict me. He's big; I'm little. He tried to help me bathe. I was afraid for my life, and I packed a hammer."
I think both our jaws dropped at her deadpan recital. Fuck, she was badass! Maybe Carrick would forgive me for dropping out of Harvard if I sent her to law school instead. Anastasia Grey: Defense Attorney.
I couldn't help it; I had to say something. "So, have you made a final decision between a double grave or a sky burial?"
Her beautiful clear blue eyes snapped to mine, wide in her disbelief.
"Chris?"
"Annie," I replied. "It's a pleasure to meet you."
A lifetime of good manners resulted in a small hand reaching out for the traditional handshake. As our hands met, I felt a very strong pulse run up my arm. Annie must have felt the jolt of electricity too because she jumped back quickly.
"Wow! Static shock. Sorry!" she said.
That wasn't static, but nice try, Annie. I had never felt anything like it in my life. It occurred to me that two thousand miles weren't nearly enough, I was going to beat Morton so bad that the Hell wouldn't take him and if it took every last dime I had, Carla would lose custody of Annie and never see her again.
E/N: The security code phrase was derived from the scripture from the last chapter.
Next: Annie is safe for now, and ODC had met, but all good things must come to an end.
Please check out the FB group, FSoG Fanfic Obsessed
Just another Fifty Shades of Grey fanfiction group, obsessed with all things Grey.
Created by: Lanieloveu & SdaisyS
