Chapter 1
"Kismet"
"Go to Hell!" she barked at the smirking butler lying on the hospital bed.
C.C. Babcock left Niles' room slamming the door behind her, not wanting to hear his reply. To say that she was angry was a gross understatement – she was positively livid! She'd had the worst couple of days of her life, been worried sick for that miserable excuse for a human being after having saved his life... and how had he thanked her?
By pranking her.
The zingers, the jokes, the quips and smart cracks – that, she could bear. But what she hadn't been able to abide, was Niles breaking one of the unspoken rules between them. Neither of them had any qualms about tormenting each other under normal circumstances, but C.C. had thought that they had a wordless agreement about coming to a ceasefire whenever one of them was seriously down.
'Well, apparently not,' the producer thought as she walked down the hospital hallway while rummaging through her Chanel purse for her cigarettes.
What was enraging C.C. further was just how upset his heart attack had made her, and she couldn't quite understand why! Niles was her declared nemesis, for crying out loud! And yet she'd been terrified of losing him. It was the height of irony – she, C.C. Babcock, powerful socialite and businesswoman, had cried over a cash-strapped dogsbody that didn't give a damn about her.
Part of her knew – or, well, believed – that their relationship had been slowly changing over the last months. It was as though the zingers had become more playful than before; less hateful…
They'd been getting closer, had gone out on one or two dates, had danced together... and the first thing he did after his brush with death was prank her?!
Clearly, Niles didn't care about her. At least not the way she'd thought he did. Perhaps it had all been mere wishful thinking – perhaps the growing softness she'd seen in his eyes had been but a gross misjudgement of his real feelings.
Anyway, she didn't know.
She didn't care.
Not anymore.
This was war. Plain and simple. He'd woken up a monster that she had subconsciously started to bury deep within her, and there would be hell to pay – C.C. was determined to make him just as bitter as she was; to make him feel just as miserable as she was. She would erect taller and thicker walls around her, and she'd attack him with no mercy...
He would never hurt her again; she wouldn't allow it.
The blonde sighed in relief when the entrance door came in sight – she needed to get out of there, and she needed to do it fast. Not that she would admit it to anyone, but she knew that if she'd stayed in that room for longer, she'd have probably ended up crying again. No, she needed to go home, pour herself one or two glasses of her best Scotch, and snuggle under the warm covers of her bed until she felt better. Perhaps she could take a nice vacation abroad – she'd need them now that Nanny Fine was dating Maxwell – or maybe she could pay a visit to her mother's summer mansion in California. She'd see...
Only after tossing the almost empty pack of cigarettes back into her purse, did the blonde socialite realise she had forgotten her wallet in Niles' room. She debated with herself whether she should go and get it back, but her wounded pride eventually won the day – she was determined to never step a foot inside the butler's room ever again. She wouldn't be able to stand the scornful sneer lighting up his face like the silvery incandescence of a lightning illuminates the dark sky during a storm.
No, she'd rather walk the many blocks that separated her from her penthouse than going back to that blasted room.
"Perfect. Just perfect," she grumbled as soon as she noticed the tell-tale black clouds of an upcoming storm. Knowing her luck, she'd probably be halfway to her penthouse when the storm commenced...
Could this day get any worse?
Cursing under her breath, C.C. began the long way back home, taking long drags on her cigarette every once in a while. It was strange – or rather, she felt strange. She wasn't ablaze with anger anymore – no, it was as though her anger were slowly morphing into a profound and gloomy sadness. Her chest was heavy, and C.C. had the odd feeling that her heart had just been used as a punching bag. The urge to cry had come back full force, and the only thing that C.C. wanted to do, was curl up into a little ball and allow Earth to swallow her whole.
The producer came to a halt, allowing her arms to fall limply to her sides. Why was she feeling that way? Why did he make her feel that way? The hurt of his actions had nestled itself in her heart, and it was slowly spreading through her soul like a deadly virus.
It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair at all! She wasn't supposed to be vulnerable; she wasn't supposed to care about him...
Yet she did. And it fucking hurt.
Her emotions were fighting an open war against each other – Anger wanted to hate Niles; to device a million and one schemes to make his life miserable. Sadness wanted to cry – scream and kick until there wasn't a single tear left in her body. Fear was constantly reminding her of how close she had been to losing him, and that she actually cared for the man that she'd openly claimed to despise for over ten years...
None of them could win, and the internal battle didn't allow C.C. to think clearly. Just like Artax, Atreyu's horse in 'The Never Ending Story', C.C. felt she was slowly drowning in – good God, how sickeningly cliché it sounded – a swamp of sadness. It was as though her soul was slowly sinking into a formless nothing; a black pit of confusion and abstract fears... The despair she was currently experiencing was truly unparalleled, and the blonde wondered if she'd ever be able to understand what had brought this reaction.
As much as she wanted to blame her altered emotional state on seeing Nanny Fine and Maxwell snogging, a nagging voice that sounded awfully like Niles', told her that the sadness she was feeling was linked to the annoying butler rather than to Maxwell and Nanny Fine.
God, she desperately needed a drink...
C.C. had never been good with feelings, much less when it came to facing-slash-interpreting-slash-dealing with her own. She'd rather (and a lot sooner) drink herself into a stupor, thank you very much.
If only she could find the nearest bar to do that! But her moods were clouding it all over so much that it was hard to concentrate on the signs on buildings.
She marched her way down the street, so angry and so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn't see the large man coming towards her, holding a fresh coffee and a muffin in his hands. The pair collided into each other, his flimsy cardboard coffee cup folding up and spilling outwards, all over C.C.'s lovely light-blue jacket...!
She staggered back, gasping at the feeling of the still-warm liquid now soaking her through.
Yes. This day could get, and actually had gotten, worse.
The producer stared down at her coffee-stained clothes before glaring daggers at the gaping man before her.
The suddenly very familiar-looking man. It only took a moment for C.C. to realise that she knew him. His name was Thomas Jones – he worked at the theatre with her, as a subordinate!
He had turned a deep shade of crimson, clearly realising who he'd just bumped into, and part of C.C. only wanted to scream at the man before continuing on her way home, via the nearest store that sold any kind of whiskey.
Perhaps she could vent some of the anger that was still burning inside her...and then probably end up giving him some kind of punishment at work to make up for it even more...
"I…I am so, so s-sorry, Miss Babcock!" he apologised, stammering over his words. He was probably (rightfully) fearing for his job at this stage. "I swear, I…I didn't see you!"
"Funny, I managed to realise that myself," C.C. hissed, shoving him aside with her elbow and shoulder to continue on her way. "And if it happens again, you can so kiss your job goodbye!"
She didn't even look over her shoulder as she yelled that. She was starting to need her drink more than ever, and it sounded as though – over the sound of her shoes stomping on the concrete sidewalk - she still had company. Another pair of shoes was coming up behind her fast, and it was obviously Thomas.
"Wait, Miss Babcock! Please don't go! Here, at least let me give you money for the dry cleaner!"
Now that was a laugh – money for the dry cleaner? She didn't need money for the stupid dry cleaner! She was a millionaire for the love of God…
Had she not been so incredibly irate at every being on this Earth (and especially at a good-for-nothing excuse for a butler) she would have thought the gesture to be rather endearing, but as it was her only wish was to grab his muffin and smash it on his head. It would have been as good a substitute for the butler's head as anything.
She skidded to an abrupt halt and turned to face Thomas, who was trailing just a little ways behind her, "If you think I, C.C. Babcock, need the money of a mediocre minion, then think again."
Her words were spat – anyone in the vicinity could sense the spite and the boiling anger threaded in them. Anyone but Thomas Jones. The man, despite C.C.'s verbal onslaught, appeared unaffected, if still ashamed of what he'd done to his boss' clothes. He remained stood there, looking a lot like a scolded child, and shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot.
God, C.C. was so going to make sure this burly idiot had the worst workday ever the following Monday…
But first, she desperately needed to get home – she'd get rid of her coffee-soaked clothes, get into her PJ's and try to quell her anger with a sad movie, a nice glass (or bottle…) of Scotch and a pint of cookies and cream ice cream.
"Can I at least drive you home, Ma'am?" insisted Thomas, "My car is parked just around the corner. It's the least I can do to… make up for my actions."
C.C. huffed to herself, thinking about it.
Well, it would get her home quicker than walking. Her feet wouldn't ache at the end of it, and it would give her a chance to chew Thomas out some more...
It could be part of his punishment. Not all of it, obviously, but part. And she'd get the double satisfaction of making him do what was basically a lackey's job by driving her somewhere, and getting to stain his car seats with the coffee that he'd dropped in the first place!
That settled it. Thomas was going to drive her home.
She looked him in his hopeful eyes with what she knew would be just the right amount of scorn, and she nodded.
"Alright. You can do that," she told him. "If you can manage to drive without crashing into other people who just happened to be going the other way, minding their own business!"
The man flinched, and she felt a little bit vindicated. Not that it was enough to get her to change her mind - he'd have a long way to go before he made up for ruining what might've been a salvageable day.
But he was starting down the road right that minute, if only because C.C. didn't feel like standing around, dripping coffee, any longer.
"Where's your car?" she asked – near demanded.
"Just around the corner, Miss Babcock, on Lexington Avenue," replied the man, pointing over his shoulder, "It is a block away, at the most."
That was close enough, too. C.C. wasn't exactly thrilled to have to ride whatever rattletrap this idiot had (she knew how much theatre assistants were paid and there was no chance in hell he could be driving something better than, perhaps, a battered Ford Fiesta), but it would make do. The ride home wouldn't take long and it would save her a lot of trouble.
"Fine, lead the way," she finally said to her employee.
"Yes, Miss Babcock, of course!" replied the man, nodding furiously as he began the way back to his car.
Irritatingly enough (and also showing just how little he knew her) Thomas tried to make small talk on their way to the car and, when the eventually got to it, on the way to C.C.'s apartment. His inane chatter drowned out the sound of the radio the whole time. Not that C.C. was listening to any of it. She was still too angry, the quiet music was inferior noise at best, and whatever Thomas had to say probably wasn't very interesting, anyway.
It'd most likely be about stuff he intended to do at work. But she'd already set it all up; she didn't need to hear it again from anybody – especially not from him. If it wasn't that, it would all be meaningless crap that people talked about when there was nothing else to talk about, like the weather, or things that had happened to them recently that the other person might find funny (but probably wouldn't) or how there was surprisingly light traffic for where they were and the time of day.
Not that she noticed how much traffic there was. Or what roads they were even on.
If she had, she would've noticed that, if they were heading in the direction of her apartment, they were taking an awful lot of weird turns, and going down a lot of streets that she wouldn't have remembered the name of if she tried...
It took stopping at a traffic light, and her fading back into the present moment, before she realised that something was wrong.
The street they were on wasn't familiar at all. It looked nothing like the buildings that surrounded her apartment, or even anywhere near it!
Were they even on the Upper East Side anymore?! There was nothing around that said that they were, and they could be getting farther away!
She turned back to Thomas, intending on asking him what the hell was going on, and she finally decided to listen in to the things he'd been saying, all without ever prompting her to reply.
"-and that's why I gave up trying there," he turned his eyes away from the road, giving her an intense look. "But, you know something? I've always thought you were much prettier than she was, anyway..."
...What? C.C. didn't think she could've heard him right! Why was he saying stuff like that, and-and looking at her like he was?! He couldn't be looking at her like she was a banquet and he was a starving man, driven mad by his own hunger...
And there was no way that he could've possibly said–
"You truly are a very beautiful woman," he told her, sounding more forceful this time. His hands were gripping the steering wheel too tightly, and he hadn't blinked once. But he did swallow audibly. "Very beautiful, indeed..."
The look and his words made C.C. feel like she was being choked from the inside-out, and Thomas noticed out of the corner of his eye that the lights had turned green.
He didn't drive on.
And C.C. had never felt more helpless in her life.
Thomas was already leering, and he reached out towards her, his palm heading for her thigh.
As soon as he touched her, instinct kicked in and C.C. yelled out, slapping his hand away sharply.
"Get your hand off me! What the hell do you think you're doing?!"
That was it, she thought to herself. She had to make a run for it! She didn't care where she was, or how long it'd take her to get home – she was leaving, that instant!
Had she been more alert, and realised what was going on sooner, she would have had time to jump out of the car, to run back to safety. But the extra second that it took for her to reach the handle sealed her destiny.
It's funny how tiny little moments like this are the ones that mark a difference, and C.C. was going to learn that the hard way.
Before she realised what was happening, Thomas violently pressed a white cloth over her nose and mouth while he used his free arm to bring her body to his. The stench of chloroform soon climbed into her nostrils, and the effects were immediate – her extremities began to go numb, then her vision and hearing began to fail... she knew unconsciousness was only seconds away.
That didn't mean she didn't fight back – quite the opposite, in fact. Adrenaline was coursing through her body, and C.C. could feel the primal surge to flee giving her the strength that she needed to kick, scratch and even try to punch her employee-turned-attacker.
Curiously enough, as she fought, C.C. could hear a familiar voice in her head screaming at her to fight; it was dry and had a marked British accent, and it desperately pleaded that she fought until the very end.
"Try harder, kick harder... come on, Babcock, be the man I know you are!" it said encouragingly. C.C. knew it was a mere invention of her mind, but she prayed that it would stay with her until she'd closed her eyes.
And then it happened...
Overall, the struggle couldn't have lasted more than just a few seconds – she never really stood a chance – but she'd given a damn good fight. Just a mere instant before complete unconsciousness had set in, C.C. looked into her captor's grey eyes, and what she saw in them made her realise that whatever it was that he had in mind for her, would change her life forever.