Chapter 16
"It's not beginning to feel a lot like Christmas"
Christmas was hardly a holiday that year in the mansion – the day rolled around on the calendar with barely a mention of it from anybody. Not that that was surprising – nobody really and truly felt like celebrating.
The three adults only agreed to make anything out of it at all for the children. There might have been a storm cloud the size of an entire state hanging over the house, but they still thought the younger members of the household deserved to get some gifts to mark the occasion.
Well, to mark the fact that another year had nearly come and gone. Again, the holiday itself didn't feel like much of an occasion. There were barely any decorations about (Niles would usually hang them, and he had only put up the tree and the few trinkets he had as an unsuccessful attempt at distracting himself), there was no food prepared (not that anybody felt hungry enough for the usual feast that the butler would have whipped up and Fran would've sneaked bites from), and there were no lavish parties that Mr Sheffield would usually host, full of laughing guests having the time of their lives.
Instead, all the adults were gathered in the quiet living room, barely speaking. They hadn't even put the television or the stereo on, and all were nursing drinks none of them actually felt like finishing. It was only nine o'clock at night, but it felt as dead in there as the streets outside would be at two in the morning.
Even the children were quiet — the three of them had already gone up to their bedrooms after having eaten the McDonald's take out Fran had bought for them, something which was unheard of at Christmastime. Cheap burgers and chips as replacements for a Christmas feast spoke volumes about the emotional state of the Sheffield household.
None of them remembered a worst Christmas Eve than this one, and if Miss Babcock didn't appear soon, they suspected the heavy feeling of hopelessness would linger.
It had been well over seven months since C.C. had last been seen, and remaining hopeful in trying times such as these was a notoriously difficult feat. They tried to put on a happy face in front of the children (or, rather, they tried to put on a things-are-fine kind of expression in front of the children), but it was becoming harder to keep up.
At least they did not pretend when they were around one another. They didn't need to. Everybody there could comprehend the pain that everyone else was feeling.
Not that either Fran or Maxwell brought it up with Niles a lot. No more than they had to, anyway – they already knew that he was plagued by guilt, and had shouldered the burden of both that and finding C.C. like he was Atlas. They couldn't help but fear that a day would come when he, perhaps at last, would slip, and the sky would all come crashing down around their ears.
They partially considered themselves lucky that it hadn't already. And nothing seemed to have changed in the case, which might set them all on less firm ground. Not that where they currently were felt like firm ground, anyway. It was more like being hopelessly lost at sea, in a tiny boat with no sails, maps, or instruments to navigate, with the water completely still and no end of day in sight to let the unfortunate mariner see the stars.
They had nowhere to go, things were getting bleaker the longer they sat there, and hope was fading fast.
"I think I'll go to bed," Maxwell said, downing the last of his drink and putting down his empty glass with a thud. "I…I am sorry – you two are free to do as you please."
He gestured between Niles and Fran, both of whom felt like doing the exact same thing. There was no point in staying up when there was nothing to celebrate, anyway. The only thing left was to put the children's gifts under the tree and fill their Christmas stockings with candy and other nice treats. Although that task usually fell on Niles, both Maxwell and Fran had offered to do it themselves, but he'd refused.
He needed a distraction – a little respite from the suffocating nightmare he felt his life currently was. It would be…well…nice to do something for the children. Even if he himself couldn't be happy, he was glad they could be. They didn't deserve to have their Christmas ruined on his, Fran's and Mr Sheffield's account.
"I think I'll go to bed too," Fran said, stretching in her seat; her brand new engagement ring glittered in the dying firelight as she did so.
Fran and Maxwell had gotten engaged only a week ago. It had been a fairly quiet affair with only a celebratory dinner (during which, thankfully enough, Niles hadn't had to work) to commemorate the happy occasion. Still, Niles was very much aware that both Maxwell and Fran were trying to keep their happiness at bay whenever he was around. Almost as if they did not want to make him uncomfortable or upset.
A small part of him felt...appreciative, of the way they were behaving. It really hit home in a moment like that that his friends really did care about him. They didn't like to see him upset, and that part of him was grateful. The rest of him, however, couldn't help but feeling...somewhat irritated. Resentful, perhaps?
The two sometimes felt very similar in his head, especially when it came to thinking about both Fran and Maxwell walking on eggshells around him all the time. He didn't like to think he was so sensitive that they absolutely had to modify anything they did or said, and as much as they were trying to be good friends by doing so, it didn't come across...well.
He wasn't some sort of child, or a dying invalid who was having all their important decisions made for them. He was a grown adult who could face the facts and allow life – natural life, without any censorship – to go on around him, even in his misery!
He'd had nearly thought about having a go at them for it – snapping that he wasn't so sensitive that he couldn't stand to see real life happening anymore, but the tiny appreciative part held him back.
It was also the infuriatingly sensible part that told him no matter what was going on, he didn't want to hurt his friends.
"Are you comin' up, Niles?"
Fran's question quickly brought Niles out of his reverie. He hadn't been aware he'd be expected to make his choice for a bedtime known.
"I don't think I'll go up just yet, Miss Fine," he said, "I have yet to place the children's gifts under the tree."
Not to mention that he wanted a few moments alone to pour himself yet another glass of Mr Sheffield's Bourbon and to pilfer one of his cigars.
"Ya sure?" Fran insisted, placing what Niles knew was a supportive hand on his shoulder. "Ya don't have ta do it, Scarecrow. We can do—"
"Please, Miss Fine," Niles interrupted her, trying to hide the slight edge to his voice but failing, "I insist."
He could already see the look of hurt growing on her face, as soon as the words were out. But it was too late to do anything about them.
Fran just simply nodded, clearly trying to keep whatever she felt to herself, and patted his shoulder lightly, "Okay. But if ya need us, ya know where ta find us..."
With that said, she turned, went through to the hallway, and went silently upstairs. Niles watched her go, and knew that he would have to apologise and make it up to her somehow in the morning, but for now the damage was done.
The damage was done, and the guilt was setting in.
That was another thing that the Bourbon was good for. Guilt hardly seemed a problem after he'd had enough of the stuff. He just had to make sure it was exactly the right amount, otherwise he was in danger of knocking ornaments off the tree...
Though really a sad, under-decorated tree would be just the ticket to really solidifying this whole holiday as a non-Christmas. It had felt wrong ever since the start, so why shouldn't it look wrong as well?
He nearly considered snatching the glass baubles off the tree and throwing them in the trash, smashing them, and leaving the presents in their bags for others to find as they pleased – just doing nothing. Doing nothing and showing the world that Christmas had been ruined there. There was no point to these little things of joy, if there wasn't enough in their everyday lives to make it worth it...
But then he thought of the children's faces, coming down to their presents in the morning, and how they could either see a hungover butler with no smile and a tree devoid of presents and decorations, or a hungover butler trying his best despite soul crushing hurt, and a decorated tree that had presents beneath it.
He knew which image seemed better.
He knew what he had to do. As miserable and as crushed as he felt, he would be an absolute monster to deprive children of the one thing the holiday could still give to them.
Even if he himself got nothing (he didn't care – not when Miss Babcock was getting worse than nothing, wherever she was), he didn't want to drag innocents down with him. It was bad enough that he'd caught Mr Sheffield and Miss Fine up in what he was feeling!
He was like a whirlpool or a tornado of misery, sucking everything in and leaving nothing but destruction and emptiness, and he had no idea how to stop. It was even happening as he was supposed to be spreading joy – namely, by gathering together the gifts for all three littler ones, and starting to systematically put them all underneath the tree.
It didn't take away the sadness. He knew nothing could do that. But it did give him something to do, other than just being sad. And the children truly would adore their gifts!
Their faces might even make him crack sort of a smile in the morning...
He'd done his best to choose nice gifts for them. Miss Fine had of course helped out by tagging along when he'd first gone gift-shopping; she'd proved very helpful when it came down to choosing a nice gift for Miss Margaret. The girl was all grown up, and with each passing year he found that getting her a gift was an increasingly difficult task. He didn't know what was in vogue, fashion-wise, nor did he follow any of the trends that were popular among the youngsters these days.
Miss Grace's and Master Brighton's gifts hadn't proved difficult to find – the littlest Sheffield was always happy to get a book or stationary, while the boy had a weak spot for comic books and videogames.
He remembered he and Miss Fine had gone on their separate ways after all the gifts had been bought – she'd returned to the mansion while he'd chosen to stay at the shopping centre. He hadn't felt like going back yet. He'd wandered around the place for hours, stopping every once in a while to have coffee or go to the toilet.
Ever since Miss Babcock had been taken, he found it easier to be alone when he was out and about. He found the white noise of background conversation incredibly soothing. At home, the silence could become overwhelming and it sooner or later led to him thinking about Miss Babcock and how much of a pile of shit he was for having caused this nightmarish situation.
He needed to distract his mind, keep himself occupied, so the more time he spent out or doing his appointed tasks (which, as of late, weren't many, given that Mr Sheffield still treated him with kid gloves), the better. That's why he hadn't returned from the shopping centre until dinnertime. Hidden in his pocket, however, there had been a little box from Tiffany & Co.
The same box he was currently hiding beneath the tree.
It was, he thought, the most sensible nonsensical purchase he'd ever made in his life. He'd spent his entire Christmas bonus and part of his usually hard-fought-to-keep savings on that one little box, but he hadn't cared at all that he'd done it.
The necklace, comprised of a gold chain and a pendant of a single diamond and pearl, had been worth every cent of that money. As soon as he'd seen it, he knew it would look perfect on Miss Babcock, and eventually, he hadn't been able to stand the idea of anybody else buying it. He didn't care if she never forgave him – this wasn't a weaselling attempt to get back in anybody's good books – he just wanted her to have something as beautiful as that necklace.
As beautiful as she was...
He'd had to get it. He just hadn't been able to stand the thought of anybody else having it.
As far as he was concerned, that necklace belonged to only one person in the entire world, and it didn't matter where she was. Her necklace would be waiting for her, no matter how long it took for her to come home.
Just like he would be.
Since his divorce, Christmas had never been a cheerful time for Stewart. As per his divorce agreement with B.B., his children were to spend Christmas with her and New Years with him. The first few years had been the hardest – he'd gone from throwing lavish soirees to celebrate the holidays as a family, to spending Christmas on his own, in a huge, lonely house.
It had depressed him greatly, not having anyone to share in the cheer and joy of the holiday season. He'd missed the excitement of early Christmas mornings, where his children would race to the living room, where their gifts would be waiting underneath the tree. He'd continued to buy them Christmas gifts after the divorce, but it simply wasn't the same.
Christmas hadn't gotten any better when his children had grown up and gone to college. As a matter of fact, it had worsened, because B.B. and the kids would always go on vacation, leaving him behind in NYC to celebrate Christmas on his own. They'd visit him sometimes, but the older they'd gotten, the less he'd seen them.
Back when he'd first rekindled his relationship with his youngest daughter, he'd been hopeful about being able to spend more time around C.C. and Noel, but they'd all gone back to their old ways, and the best they got from each other was a Christmas card and maybe a posted present.
Still, he'd dreamt about being able to spend the holidays with his family for years on end…
Who would have ever imagined that the year he finally got to spend Christmas Eve with them, would be the worst one yet?
He'd tried to eat to encourage B.B. to follow suit, but he hadn't been able to bring himself to have much. Certainly not the grand feast that the cook had prepared, as per his instructions from back when he'd still been enthralled by visions of a magical celebration, with champagne flowing, fires crackling as presents were opened, and booming laughter filling a house which no longer seemed so big and empty.
Somehow, it seemed to grow even bigger around the three of them, sat there nursing after-dinner drinks, with nobody talking. Only one fire in the house was going, and that was the one they were sat by.
That only added to how dark and cold it seemed. But, obviously, heating and lighting in the place wasn't first and foremost in their minds.
Stewart thought he'd willingly give up all the wealth and status he had, and all the holidays he'd ever had or wished for, to live in a cave that was colder and darker and infinitely more damp than the house, all in exchange for C.C.'s safe return to them.
What was the point of having a warm, luxurious home, with a holiday meal fit for a king on it, if one of the seats at the table was empty?
They hadn't bothered to get presents for each other – they knew the best present they could ever get was not something that could be bought in a store, and neither Stewart, B.B. or Noel had felt like filling the emptiness with cheap baubles.
The best they could do to bear it was spend some time together, just relishing in each other's company and thinking about the one person they'd give everything they had to be able to see her again.
Knock Knock
"Chris? Are you okay?"
Lane was startled by the sudden knock on her office's door and her husband's voice coming from behind it. She looked over at the small digital clock she kept atop her desk – it read 11:30 p.m., only half an hour left until Christmas…
Had it really been that long? The las time she'd looked at the clock it had read only 6:00 p.m. …
She looked down at the scattered paperwork that covered almost every inch of her desk and frowned – she'd gone over each and every document countless of times, and still nothing there had seemed to be of any help to get Miss Babcock back home.
But how could it not? How could it all lead to so many dead ends...?! It didn't make any sense that they were turning up with nothing, when an answer had to be so close!
Wiping her eyes tiredly and leaning back in her chair, she only heard her husband, Felix, open the door and come into the room. His footsteps were slow, and carefully measured – even before he spoke, she could tell he was worried.
"You've been working all day, hon," he said quietly. And there was the concern again. "Is everything alright in here?"
"Yeah..." she sighed in return, before letting her arm fall away from her face, giving up any bad pretence, and deciding to just tell her husband the truth. "No. No, it's not...it's really, really not..."
She had, briefly, considered just keeping up the lie even though it was obvious that she was upset. But she just couldn't do it – she was too tired, she needed a release somewhere, and her husband had asked.
If she could share any of her frustrations on anything, anywhere, it was with him, in the safety and comfort of their home.
Home. A place she feared Miss Babcock would never be, if she didn't do something!
Felix rounded the corner of her desk, coming to lean on it next to where she had returned to staring forlornly at all the information there. How could she not just...piece any of it together?! Any idiot could probably throw together two of the pages at random and point out who did it, just from that!
"Is something in particular bothering you about this case?" her husband asked, reaching out and slowly stroking her back. "You're normally fantastic with the details, and when to put them down for a while – it's not every day you're in here up until this hour..."
He was stating the obvious, but Lane knew there was a point buried in it. She didn't normally neglect herself over cases, even in little ways like coming to bed late. She really wasn't alright. But if only it were something as simple as one detail keeping her up!
But it wasn't just one detail. It was all of it. If it had been one thing, she might've set it aside for a little while, gone and taken a break to try and recharge her batteries and just...done something else for a little while, before she went insane!
It was Christmas Eve...how the hell had it been so long?! How had they not found any proof? Or sufficient evidence to do more than they already had?
They needed to do more than they had. Miss Babcock was out there, suffering right that second, and she needed them to be on their toes and find that one miracle piece that would push the case forward!
She needed to find that miracle piece. She owed it to an innocent woman who deserved to get out of the nightmare she was trapped in.
That was why Lane could only shake her head at Felix's words, "I can't put it down...there's too much riding on me looking at it until I'm blue in the face."
Felix hummed thoughtfully, frowning and slowing the movement of his hand.
"You're already lookin' pretty blue to me, champ..."
Lane bit the inside of her lip. She didn't know what she'd expected; of course her husband would know when a case was getting her down. He always did, and this time he was probably seeing even more of it because this case had to be the worst one she'd ever dealt with. She didn't often like to admit to herself how bad she found some cases. It was part of the job. Or, at least, that's what she'd tell herself when things were getting tough.
But this was going beyond that. This was becoming impossible. And as much as Lane knew she was fighting to try and see a way out, or a way around to get the information they needed, she just...she didn't know if she could.
And that both terrified and guilted her in equal measure.
"I'm not blue enough," she replied, a hint of firmness in her tone. "An innocent woman is out there suffering, and it's up to me to get her out. All I have is this, and I have to look at it until I figure something out!"
There was a moment of silence then and Lane soon felt her husband wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him. She didn't try to resist it, either – she knew better than that. Instead, she nestled into her husband, relishing in his warm, steadfast comfort. She wasn't oversentimental (as a matter of fact, Felix was the soft one in the relationship) but she couldn't help a few tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.
"I know you want to solve this, honey," he said in a soft, soothing voice – the type he'd always use with their kids when they'd been young and were sad or upset. "But there is so much you can do from your position. You are not Superwoman, even if you are the closest thing to it in this entire world."
Lane released a teary chuckle. She still felt like shit, but even in the worst situations her hubby managed to draw a smile out of her. That's one of the reasons she'd fallen in love with him back when they'd first met. They'd actually first seen each other when Felix had been hired by her father to fix a leakage in their home. She'd been but a young trainee at the time, and somehow the young contractor had caught her attention.
She remembered (shamefully, really) that she'd intentionally tweaked with stuff around the house so her dad would have to call the contractor and she'd get to see him again, but her dad had eventually picked up on what she was doing and given her an ultimatum – either act like the big girl she was and ask him out, or pay back every penny she'd made him spend.
She'd made the right choice in the end. She hadn't given her father back any of the money, but she had given him a son-in-law. It hadn't been long before they'd given him grandchildren, either. And that had made up for her almost breaking the toilet a thousand times over.
Life had been good to them, as a couple and as a family. There wasn't anything Lane would change about what they'd been given, or anything she felt needed correcting around the life their family had...
It was the kind of life Miss Babcock deserved to be having, right at that moment. A warm home, a loving family, and a supportive husband with his arms around her, right then and there...
But she didn't have any of those, and they all seemed as far off a miracle as the miracle of the first Christmas, well over a thousand years before!
If only she could get her own miracle...find something that turned it all around...
But she wasn't sure she could do it. After so many years in policing, she really wasn't sure she could do it this time...
And that was too much for her heart – or her overwhelmed eyes – to bear. The tears broke out and so did the sobs, muffled and wetting her husband's shirt, which she felt herself being pulled more firmly to.
"Hey, hey...!" he soothed, his hand going for her back and stroking her hair again. "Come on, now...it's alright...you're gonna get this..."
"But...what happens...what happens if I don't?!" she clutched at him, never wanting to let go. "I can't let this woman down! Her family! They're all counting on me...!"
"They're not counting on you by yourself," Felix corrected her gently. "They're counting on the police. A team, working shifts and taking turns when need be. That's not just you by yourself, honey..."
Part of Lane knew he was right, but the guilt-ridden part wanted to keep on arguing.
"But...I'm in charge of this...!"
"But you count on your men to follow your orders, right?"
Her husband's question nearly threw her, but she managed to nod, after she'd let it run through her head.
"Yeah..."
Felix's hands went to rub at her shoulders and upper arms, "And they so exactly what they should be doing, even when you're not there to see?"
That was one thing Lane had never had to worry about in her time. She picked only the top candidates for her department, with the highest levels of professionalism. They knew that too much was at stake, in the cases that they covered.
They...they really did never let her down. Even when she wasn't there, keeping an eye on them...
Lane sniffed, "I...I suppose so..."
"Well then, your team can be the ones to take the work home with them for a little while. Even team leaders need to take a break sometimes," her husband said. Even in his comforting way, he was being just as firm as she'd tried to be earlier, when she'd just wanted to keep on staring at all those documents. "And I'm not going to let you sit here and get any bluer over this..."
As he said that, he encouraged her to help him get her on her feet.
Lane was too exhausted to do anything apart from comply. Whether she could do it, or couldn't do it, she had no idea in that moment. Her guilt was hurting like a knife in the chest, but the words and the pictures on the documents were blurry as she tried to glance at them once more, just before Felix led her out of the office.
He snapped off the light as they went, and that was that. She couldn't work anymore that night, and would probably soon be asleep in her own bed, and feel...different in the morning.
She could only hope she'd feel refreshed, and ready to return to the case. She wasn't going to drop it just because of this. She needed a break, maybe, but Miss Babcock needed someone to save her.
And even if it didn't end up being a Christmas miracle, Lane was determined to see her get one.
The water trickling down the dirty dishes had an almost hypnotising trait to it. C.C. often found herself staring at the warm liquid washing out the remains of food and drink and thinking about absolutely nothing.
She didn't like being in her own head. Not anymore. It wasn't a pretty place to be in, given her situation.
Ever since Halloween, C.C. had forced herself into a near-constant state of mental-blankness. She kept herself occupied working around the house as hard as she possibly could, and when she was in her cellar, she simply turned off her light and lay in the darkness, eyes closed as she listened to music. It was the only thing that drowned out the bad memories. If she wasn't careful, they played out in her head over and over again, in an endless loop.
She just needed – desperately wanted – to numb her pain.
Truth be told, as of late she had tried imagining other ways to make herself permanently numb, too. But none of those plans had ever managed to get off the ground – she didn't have anything to tie a noose, for one thing, swallowing the bleach she cleaned the bathroom with sounded like there could be too many problems if it went wrong, and the same thing could be said about cutting her wrists with one of the few sharp objects that...the bastard... allowed her to be around.
She wished she had access to the medicine cabinet, for more painkillers than a person would ever need. But that was kept under lock and key – probably to prevent her from stealing relief from injuries.
She didn't want relief from injuries. She wanted relief from it all. She just couldn't keep fighting anymore…
But she didn't have that. She had no way of completing an otherwise simple and desired plan. So, lying there in the dark, listening to music and imagining that it had all ended already was the next best thing.
The next best numbness, for someone who had given up living.
She'd reached her breaking point – she couldn't stand another beating, another scream, another... event.
She wanted out. Like when you are on a merry-go-round and it's spinning too fast and you just want to call it quits and run back to your mama.
She seldom thought about her own Mama. Or her Papa. Or Niles. Or the woman she'd once been before someone had stomped the life out of her.
"Claire?"
A shiver ran down her spine when she heard his slimy voice coming from the kitchen door – was it time already? Time to go upstairs? Time to go to the one place where numbness seemed to evade her?
The thought of what would obviously happen was enough for C.C. to stop scrubbing one of the many pots she'd used to prepare the Christmas feast Thomas had wanted. Roasted lamb, beef wellington, Christmas ham – she'd slaved away in the kitchen for hours on end to prepare everything that he'd wanted. Luckily, her hard work had been worth it, since the night had transpired with no beatings or even screaming.
To a certain (and very sick) extent, it had actually been a somewhat pleasant evening. She'd been allowed to eat as much as she'd wanted, they'd watched a movie ("The Nightmare Before Christmas", one of her personal favourites) and he'd even let her go into the backyard for two minutes in order to touch the snow.
But he wouldn't be doing that again, would he? He'd be expecting his something in return now, and she'd once again have no place to go to stop herself from feeling...
He stood in the doorway like he was blocking it when he got there, but he didn't move forward, like he was intending to rip off her dress...he was just leaning there with a smile on his face.
"I will be spending Christmas and New Years with my family this year," he declared. "I'll be going to Boston for about a week, and you will stay here, locked in your cellar."
C.C. nearly felt her knees give out from underneath her, and a cry nearly escaped her lips. But she held it in, not wanting him to see any little amount of joy her body might automatically express at him being nowhere near her for that amount of time. Holding it in also meant that she got distracted from thoughts of her own family, and the fact that she wouldn't be spending Christmas with any of them.
Thomas continued before she had to elongate the thought, stopping ideas about delicious food and drink she could help herself to, and laughter, and warmth––
"You will be left food. Don't waste it, because it will have to last you until I come back," he said, his smile disappearing at the thought of her obviously wasting anything. "Now, that being said and considering it's Christmas Eve, you can have two gifts. Ask for them, and then we're going upstairs, where I'm going to take my gift from you."
The thought of it almost made C.C. freeze entirely, to the point where words were beyond her. He was still planning on...it...but only once she'd picked what she wanted...
She knew then, instantly, what it was she wanted. She wanted to not do this anymore. She couldn't do this anymore – there was no way she could keep going with his awful body being forced on hers, or even just hurting and existing in this house designed for the nightmares of Hell!
She had to get out. She couldn't stand any of it anymore – being there, being alive – she'd had enough! There were no more options! There was one way out of it all and even if it was the last thing she thought she'd ever do, she was gonna do it.
She couldn't escape while she was so weak. She'd got nothing that could even begin to help her. It wasn't like anyone was coming for her, either. They had to have stopped looking by now and moved on with their lives! With one quick act, she could finally put all their minds at ease – she'd be exactly as they thought she was.
Like hell was she gonna let this place, or Thomas, do the dirty work for her! She was getting out of there on her own terms long before that ever happened!
But what was she gonna do it with? She didn't exactly have a cabinet full of pills she could pop, or a tall ledge she could jump from! Guns and knives were obviously off limits already – Thomas'd never agree to something so blatant, or that she could use on him. Razors were out for the same reason.
She needed something easy, that he'd be willing to give and that she could use. Some fabric? A blanket, perhaps? Anything she could tie a knot in and get around a light fixture without any trouble would do it nicely!
She needed it and she needed it now, and she knew Thomas wouldn't wait long for an answer. She needed to give him something – anything that would work for her and take everything away!
She wanted to go away. She wanted to sink into an unfeeling nothing, surrounded on all sides and separated from the world. Trapped in an oblivion she'd never come up from!
Just like she'd get if she were drowning…
Wait. That was it!
The pool! Thomas had an indoor pool – she could ask to go in there! It was perfect. She was too weak to break free from any water that pulled her under now; even if she swam for a little while, she simply wouldn't have the strength to come back up!
All she'd have to do was go under, out of sight, and let the unfeeling water surround her. It would drag her down, and keep her weakly struggling body there until she had no more air in her lungs, and then what remained of her would simply float back up to the surface.
She could go and he wouldn't even know about it until it was too late.
And then she'd be numb forever, just like she wanted...
It would only take a minute. She'd heard it took even less, but she'd use every second to its fullest. Then she'd be free of it all, while he'd be stuck having to deal with a dead body – a testament to his cruelty. Part of her hoped he'd dispose of it somewhere it could be found, so that her family would be able to have some real closure instead of just assuming their whole lives, but she very much doubted it.
Thomas was meticulous and left no loose ends. A dead body was nothing but a liability. A problem.
Good. He deserved to sweat a little at the end of all of this.
It wasn't like she'd be asking for anything material, either, which made it persuasively simple as a gift idea. She knew Thomas didn't like buying her much, if he hadn't already seen it, approved, and picked it out for her. But she couldn't make him mad by leaving the answer for too much longer, either; it'd be worse for her in the long run if the timer he probably had going in his head for her to answer was ticking down.
She wanted to avoid any complications before she went through with it. She couldn't delay her plan.
"I...I'd like to go in the pool. C-Can I do that?" her voice was broken, just as much as her spirit and her body, but she got the words out.
She thought for a split second that he might say no, and order her to either choose something else, or revoke his offer entirely and force her into giving him his "gift" instead.
But he didn't. He simply nodded his head.
"The indoor pool, got it."
C.C. almost couldn't believe her luck. He was in a good mood, clearly – otherwise he wouldn't be talking to her as if she were an actual human being and not a stray dog he'd reluctantly taken in.
Maybe this was his own version of the Christmas spirit...
"Thank you si–"
"You'll only have an hour," he interrupted her, pointing a warning finger at her and his voice taking a slightly steely edge to it. "You'll be able to splash around while I have my brandy and smoke a cigar, so I don't want any tantrums when I ask you to come out. Is it clear?"
C.C. nodded mechanically – complaining was something she no longer even thought about, but he still insisted on reminding her that she was not to be rebellious in any shape or form.
"You'll have to swim in your underwear," he added, "I haven't got any swimsuits to give you. Get a towel from upstairs and have fun."
C.C. would have thought that the underwear thing wouldn't be a problem at all (it wasn't like she'd have to deal with it much longer anyway), if it weren't for the fact that Thomas turning around and just walking away had taken precedence in her mind.
He...he wasn't even going to watch her? Either to make sure she stayed there, or out of sick personal gain...?
He didn't trust her. He must've known he'd broken her enough that she wasn't going to try anything, not even while he was gone. Hence the Boston trip. He wouldn't have gone if he thought she might try and use the opportunity to get out...
She'd still be getting out. Just not in the way that Thomas would be expecting. And he was even making it easier for her by walking away and not checking that she wasn't taking the fast train out of there.
But she wasn't going to ask him about it – she wasn't some idiot who talked the warden into locking the cell door again when he'd forgotten. And she knew she had to be fast. Time was precious for Thomas, and when he said he'd only give her an hour, he really meant an hour.
It was more than enough time.
Soon enough, C.C. had gotten herself a towel and was rushing into Thomas' indoor pool, barefoot and wearing only her underwear. The only times she'd been allowed down there, she'd been there to clean. While looking around at the room (the only part she'd apparently been supposed to focus on), she'd supposed it looked nice. If there was any room in the house that she'd have chosen to go even back then, it would've been in there. The pool was located in a second basement, which could only be accessed through a door in his office. He'd kept it locked during the first few weeks she'd started going upstairs, but as of late she'd found out that he kept most doors open, even when she was upstairs.
Yeah…she could definitely think of worse places to end it all…
The lighting around it was low, and that, combined with the warmth in the air, practically begged her to close her eyes. The black ceiling only joined in on it, as a sprinkling of tiny lights, placed as though tossed by a farmer spreading seeds on a field, gave the impression of a beautiful, endless night.
The only thing keeping her from feeling completely sleepy in that place was the cool stone flooring below her feet. But even that had a warm, cream colour to it. It mixed perfectly with the blue-green of the long pool – soon to be the last place she'd ever know, or feel, or think about.
She left her towel on a stone step by the door. She wouldn't be needing it.
She was about to be asleep. And the last thing she'd see before she slipped beneath the surface would be an open sky. In her final moments, she'd at least get the impression of feeling free.
She was only a jump away from freedom.
And although she was in no rush, she still felt herself eagerly perching on the edge of the pool. She looked around the last room she'd ever see and took a deep, confidence-building breath. It was a nice place to die, especially since it would be in her own terms and not Thomas'.
This was the ultimate rebellion. It tasted like honeysuckle mixed with ginger. Bittersweet.
C.C. felt herself smiling — she liked this poetic bullshit. It helped her swallow the lie that she'd told herself: that everything would be better afterwards. There was no better, really. Only nothingness and, perhaps, a long, endless tunnel. She used to be a believer, before any of this crap had happened to her, but she was not so sure anymore.
And if, indeed, there was something beyond the threshold of death, then she doubted she'd be invited into eternal glory. But that was fine by her – as long as she could rest, she could spend eternity asleep in the dark for all she cared.
Seeing, hearing, and feeling nothing was better than whatever waking nightmare she'd be living for, anyway.
Taking one last clear breath (she'd be using them all up soon enough), C.C. leapt into the pool, eyes closed and heart thumping in her chest. She started her laps immediately, not wanting to waste even a second of time getting started. She'd get tired beyond all saving long before the half an hour was done, but she didn't want to risk it. Besides, she'd rather be gone sooner than later.
She'd been a strong swimmer in her youth. It'd been a pastime she'd easily been able to do for hours. Not anymore, though. She was much weaker than she'd been back then, and while she was still making it to either end of the pool, she could feel herself slowing down sooner than she'd ever imagined back in the days when she'd still had hope. Her limbs were getting heavier more quickly now, and her short breaths were more laboured than ever.
Her body was becoming exhausted. Good. It was working already.
After about the sixth or so full lap, she started to speed it up and push harder. That meant kicking off from the side more, using up every ounce of strength that she had. It nearly made her excited to think that her heart might give out, and she'd go even quicker.
So, she kept pushing. And while her heart stubbornly held on, the rest of her body did eventually begin to give out. Her limbs were too tired to move right, her strokes becoming awkward and her legs ceasing in their once graceful kicks. Her body got lower and lower in the water as it happened, with no hope of keeping her head above it once she'd started to sink so far…
She was nearing the far end of the pool again when she simply let it go under, the rest of her following in a near silent release and farewell.
Time seemed to grind to a halt the moment her frail body was entirely suspended in the water. It almost felt as if her soul had already embarked on its next adventure. She kept her eyes shut tight; she wasn't sure if she'd be able to go through with her plan if she allowed herself to take yet another glimpse at the world she was leaving behind. But what she did allow herself, was thinking about her loved ones one last time.
She'd miss them all, but she hoped they'd understand. She'd fought and given one hell of a fight, but she was tired. She needed to rest.
Her parents, Noel, Maxwell, Nanny Fine, little Chester...
She kissed them goodbye as the thought of each one of them crossed her mind, the last breath she'd held in her body slowly bubbling out of her mouth as she did. It was almost time; the last little step before she found out what actually happened after death. Her next breath in would be nothing but water, and then it would be game over. She'd start to drown.
It was funny, considering how many times she'd dramatically declared that she wanted to die in the past, she'd never imagined her last moments would be like this…
But just as she was about to inhale the water-chlorine mix and let it fill up her lungs, one last missing image came into her head and she stopped. Niles. He hadn't shown up with the others, and even if he was just a picture in the head of an exhausted and soon-to-be-dying mind, it was typical of him to make an entrance and to stick out like a sore thumb to her, of all people.
If she hadn't been underwater, there might've almost been tears. She hadn't forgotten what he looked like at all, even though it had been so long (and was about to get even longer). She missed that lopsided grin of his…the way his bright blue eyes sparkled with mischief whenever he thought up some zinger or witty remark…
It hurt deeply in her heart to know that she'd never hear another one. And that they'd left things like they had. Perhaps if she'd been braver, or less of a snob, or even just a completely different and more likeable person entirely, they could've tried something else. Been friends, maybe. Traded barbs and zingers like "BFFs" traded food and candy at lunch and in the playground. Spent more time together, and learned more about one another.
They could've…oh, hell, she didn't know…! And it wasn't as though it mattered now. It was too late to find out.
It would always be too late to find out. She was just sorry she had to disappoint him; even if someone did happen to stumble across her body at some point in the future – evidence of her ultimate escape – it would still be too late for them. She just hoped that he could live with it. It wasn't his fault, and he deserved the chance.
Thinking about that above everything else, she welcomed the water into her lungs.
The flood that filled them to bursting was agony. Pain and immediate terror unlike any she'd ever felt. It swelled in her chest, burning and choking her and bringing a feeling like she could vomit when there was nothing to vomit, and no way out. She couldn't force the water away when it was encasing her, and she had no strength left in her arms or legs to kick away to the surface
She was trapped beneath the barrier, unable to break it. For all her thrashing and writhing around, she had nothing to show for it but ripples disturbing the otherwise mirror-like pool.
This was it – it was really happening, wasn't it? She was too tired to fight it anymore and what strength she still had was useless down there…
She was useless, and helpless, and in so much pain. Her sight was greying over, and her arms and legs had stopped trying with the effort that drained before she could even try to move. It…it was getting harder to think straight. And her chest hurt so badly…but it wouldn't as soon as this was all over. So what was the point of trying? She'd…she'd wanted this…
It was all too late, anyway…
She closed her eyes, ready for—
"It's never too late, Babcock, so don't you dare start thinking that now! Don't do this!"
Wait…that voice…Niles' voice…?!
"So you do still have enough sense in there to remember me!" the voice cried out. "Then you know that you don't have to do this – it doesn't have to come to this! Fight it! Please..."
The words cleared some of the haze from C.C.'s head, but her chest hurt more than ever. Was…was that really Niles' voice…? She thought it'd left her! Left her for good…
"Focus, Babs! We'll deal with that another time, I promise, but please; right now I need you to listen to me. You have so much to live for and you won't bring any of it back by taking this way out!"
C.C. nearly didn't believe it. How could the butler imitation come back to her right now?! And even if he was right, what did it matter? It was the only way – the only door left open!
"Then close it and open another one!" the voice shouted, halfway from desperate to angry. "It's not the only way, I promise you. You're so much stronger than this; you always have been! You've lived until now, by yourself! You think no one's coming for you? Then get yourself out! Think of something! Don't just give up the fight – do you really want to let that bastard win?!"
The voice…it had a point. She didn't want to let Thomas win. All her life she'd…she'd stopped others around her from winning so she could…so what good would "winning" like this do her if she was a corpse and he was alive and kicking?
There were so many things she still wanted to do, see, and say…she'd be throwing all of that away if she let this happen to her…!
But how could she stop it now…? How could she get out of this, even if she wanted to? She had nothing left in her to even try clawing away to the surface, and the voice had dropped its message and gone again and now everything was silent.
Her mind was clouding over heavily, and she felt like she was sinking…
Her vision was near-black and her mind succumbing to the numb darkness when a weight shifted in the water next to her, and she felt herself being dragged rapidly upwards to break the water's surface.
Thomas had decided that forty minutes was more than enough. Yeah, he'd said an hour, but what did that really matter? Twenty minutes of her time didn't mean shit when he was waiting for his Christmas present! He'd finished his cigar and brandy ages ago and now he wanted the thing he should've gotten beforehand to make the satisfaction perfect.
Since he'd had to wait, he'd decided to make it special for himself. He wouldn't bother taking her all the way upstairs and wasting his energy – the pool floor would do the job. And she'd already be there in her underwear, making it ten times better and ten times easier for him…
God, he could see her already, all wet and glistening…she'd feel so smooth under his hands…
He might let her swim more often, if it ended up feeling as good as he was imagining. And he was imagining a lot, as he made his way back down and along to the pool room. He could hardly contain himself, but he had to, if he wanted to spend every bit of it inside her…
It was a rush getting to the poolroom doorway, but the grin he'd mustered and the shout he'd had ready to make her jump and snap to what he wanted died away on his lips when he couldn't see anything from it.
Nothing, apart from what looked like a darker shape, close to the back end of the pool. It had to be Claire – there wasn't anything else it could've been.
What the hell was the stupid bitch doing? Was she holding her breath down there or something…?
He marched closer, clapping his hands loudly to bring her attention back to him. Where it should have always been, whenever he was in the room.
"Out! Time's up and I'm not waiting a second longer for you to give me what you owe!"
The shape under the water didn't move.
Thomas bristled at that. Was the bitch ignoring him? She had to have goddamn heard, even underneath it, that he was out there and clearly coming to get her! She couldn't let a fucking pool be an excuse for not jumping to her rightful place and turning to listen to the sound of his voice! How the hell would she obey otherwise?!
"Claire!" he shouted, storming the rest of the way. "Get your worthless ass up here, now!"
But the closer he got, the more he saw and realised that she wasn't moving under the water. She…she wasn't even looking up or around…and she was almost at the bottom of the pool…
Oh, fuck. Fuck, that wasn't right!
She was drowning! Jesus Christ, when had that started happening?! Was he too late? Was she dying? Of course she had to be dying, she was sinking underwater and she wasn't doing shit to stop it! What the fuck was he gonna do?! Had he just lost the prize he'd worked so hard to get – all to a stupid fucking pool full of water?! He couldn't have! He'd worked too hard for this just for it to all end up like this!
He couldn't have planned everything and gotten it all perfect only to end up with a fucking corpse as his reward! How was that fair? What the hell was he supposed to do with that?! Was he really supposed to pick up a wet, slimy dead body?!
The idea of it made him want to retch. He had to stop it – to make it all go back to normal! Back to the way he'd set everything up to be! He couldn't let her die on him like this! He wouldn't allow her! She didn't get to leave him, now or ever!
Not even thinking about his own clothes (he'd make sure she washed them later, when he'd saved her life), he jumped into the pool and swam to her, scooping underneath her body to lift her out. She didn't start breathing the minute she broke the surface of the water, and he tossed her onto the side like a fish so he could pull himself out and start giving quick CPR.
This wasn't what he'd been thinking about when he'd been picturing his hands on her wet chest…! The compressions had to be doing something though, didn't they?! That's what he'd learned! He couldn't be doing it wrong, either – why would he be?
He kept on pressing, listening hard for even a gurgle of a breath that meant the water was coming out. But the longer it went on, the bleaker and more unlikely it looked.
Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. He'd lost her, hadn't he? He was there, pressing down on a dead body and hoping it would come back to life! Fuck, how could he have been so stupid to let her swim by herself? He would've still had everything he'd planned for if he'd stayed and watched! He might've even gotten a little more out of it!
Still carrying on with the compressions but swearing under his breath the whole time, his mind began to work overtime to figure out what the fuck he was gonna do now…
He'd never had a dead body on his hands before. What the fuck was he supposed to do with one? Could he take it out someplace and just dump it? Bury it? Toss it in the river? He didn't know! All of those seemed like real options but he'd never done any of them before! What if he did something wrong and she was found and it all got traced back to him? What if he was seen while he was doing it?!
Could…could he get rid of her in the house…? He'd heard that some killers used to cut up their victims, and keep the parts or find other ways of getting rid of them…
Maybe that would end up being the answer. It wasn't like he was getting anything from the compressions – he didn't even know why he was still bothering...!
With one last ditch attempt at a compression (just in case), his mind was preparing to head straight to fast disposal when he heard a quiet gurgling coming right from Claire's mouth.
A long, hoarse groan quickly followed, and with another compression from Thomas she started to cough and splutter, startling him and sending him back a foot or so. A few drops of water dribbled unpleasantly from her mouth, and when she violently lurched to one side, she vomited out a whole load more, gasping in air that her lungs had been denied.
The weight of it hit Thomas like a car, and all curious notes of how he could get rid of a body went to the back of his mind. He didn't have to think about it now. He'd done it – he'd really done it! He'd saved her life!
His pride in himself quickly directed itself as anger at her. What the fuck had she been doing down there in the first place? How the hell could she have been so stupid and moronic?! He thought he'd had better taste than this, and that he'd known how to pick a wife who didn't just sink straight to the bottom of a pool! Any idiot knew not to do that!
Wheezing, and slowly reaching down to clutch at her stomach, Claire looked up at him through half-open eyes. They soon turned wider when she saw it was him.
Good. She deserved to be afraid.
"What the fuck is going on down here?" he demanded to know. "What the hell did you do?!"
She was too weak to flinch, but her body did twitch involuntarily and painfully, and continued to tremble with fear and cold.
Her eyes were focused right on him, bright with panic but right where they should be to give the answer he was expecting.
"I-I, um…I—"
"Answer me, bitch!" Thomas screamed, unsatisfied with the stammering. It was wasting his time. "I asked what the fuck you did!"
She shrank even more under his voice, half-choking on air her body couldn't take in fast enough. She reached up feebly, as though trying to shield herself but failing miserably. Her hand wouldn't even pass her eyes.
"F–Fainted…!" her breathed words sounded as pathetic as the rest of her looked. "Sorry…f-fainted in water…couldn't get out…!"
Thomas paused. He'd been expecting the bitch to try and weasel her way out of telling him the truth, if he was being honest. To have made up some excuse that didn't make her look so much like an idiot who couldn't keep herself alive, let alone swimming. But he figured that he must've done his job well as a husband and master of the house if she was so broken that she simply admitted it.
Hm. He supposed he should've expected this. Of course, it hadn't actually been his fault (he'd just gotten caught up in the moment back when he'd found her), but he could've used some…foresight. Keeping her on her current diet had made her manageable, but it did also mean that she couldn't exert herself. And this had been a whole lot of exertion…
He should've checked on her before. Or watched her the whole time. In fact, it ticked him off a little that he hadn't thought to watch her the whole time – it could've gotten him ready for his good time a whole lot earlier!
Or she could've done the thing that made most sense and called him. Why the hell should he have to change his plans to make sure that she didn't have a problem?
"Fine. I don't get how you could've been such a stupid cunt and not called me, but fine," he spat, getting up off the floor. "But I guess I expected too much; you're only a woman, after all."
She looked even worse when he'd stood up and taken in the full picture. She might not have died, but she looked more like a corpse than any other living person he'd ever seen. He wasn't going to fuck her now, that was for sure. Not only was the whole look a huge turnoff, what she'd been through was dangerous. She wasn't well enough to hold up, or ready for him.
He'd come too close to dealing with a dead body today. There was no way he was going to do it again.
"You're gonna owe me a Christmas present, because I'm sure as hell not getting it tonight," he told her, marching back to where he'd seen she'd left her towel and picking it up to bring it back. "Thanks to your stupid ass not being able to stay afloat! Instead, you're getting a bath and you're going to bed. The last thing I need is for you to die of cold now that you're out."
C.C. tried not to sigh out in any kind of small relief. She couldn't. It would give it all away; it would tell him that she'd just told one of the biggest lies of her entire life, simply to avoid being "corrected" and potentially corrected to death. And she'd known that it would've been actually to death, because in that second her mind had woken up and realised that the drowning attempt hadn't worked. It hadn't killed her. She was back on (mostly) dry land, staring down the last person she had ever wanted to see again.
She'd wanted to cry out in the confusion and terror of it all, the moment she'd woken up to that. One minute she'd been practically asleep and ready to slip away, the next she was being screamed at. The idea that she'd been sent straight to Hell had crossed her mind, and she'd almost bawled with how unfair that was, but then it'd become obvious she hadn't gone anywhere at all.
She was still there, still alive, and trapped somewhere worse.
She'd almost surprised herself with how good the lie was, really. She'd been convinced he'd see straight through it, and something terrible would happen…
That wasn't the way she wanted to go. That much she knew, even if right now she really didn't know if she wished she'd managed to go through with it or not. Part of her definitely wished she'd done it. Because now, she'd have to…to owe him that "Christmas present". She hadn't escaped ever having to do that again.
Just when she'd thought her heart couldn't have broken any more, something had come along to prove her wrong.
She'd survived. It hadn't gone to plan, and she didn't know what would come from that at all. At least drowning had meant there was only one way it could've gone.
But…but perhaps it was giving her the chance to try and open another door? Maybe fate was telling her this hadn't been her only way out, and that she'd go down some other way at some other time? Perhaps she wasn't really done here?
Like the voice had said…
"Exactly," it – he? – sounded happy. "You've made it so far, and I know you can fight it and make it the rest of the way. We'll draw a line under this – it will be a new beginning for you. A fresh start."
A fresh start. One that could mean an actual escape, not like the one she'd just tried.
She supposed that was how she should think of it. And even if she was still in the house and life was worse than a never ending nightmare, she couldn't help feeling a little glad that the voice was back.
At least it meant she wasn't alone anymore, and someone was on her side.
But that didn't mean she could do anything but lie there and watch as Thomas threw the towel over her, using it to scoop her up in his arms. She stiffened when he did, stomach dropping and wishing with all her might that she'd suddenly find the strength to fight back and run away. He couldn't really have meant any of what he'd said, could he? He lied and he abused, he wasn't kind and didn't ever do anything for her that wasn't to his benefit!
He was taking her up there to…to—
"Don't think about that. Keep your mind on me," the voice came back to hush her thoughts. "You've done yourself proud today, Babs – it wasn't your time to go and you agreed."
If C.C. could've frowned more definitely, she would have. She had agreed. But as she was carried back up through the house, she worried about what she was going to do now that she had.
As expected – and feared – Thomas took her to his room and laid her down on the bed. But he didn't immediately start stripping her, or undoing his belt, like her mind had conjured up in the sudden terror of being set down in that place.
"I'll do you this one favour and run the bath for you," he told her instead, sounding like he was warning her the whole time. "But this'll be the only time. And you're gonna have all the time in the world because you nearly fucked
Without waiting for so much as a nod of an answer, he turned and went into the bathroom. She heard the faucets open. C.C. felt relief bubble up in her heart. He…he wasn't going to…!
She'd escaped…it, for now. For once. She couldn't expect it again, but it was a momentary reprieve. It gave her…breathing room, ironically enough.
She nearly burst into tears when he came back out almost right away, thinking in horror that she'd been tricked again, but Thomas wasn't paying her much attention. He was busy wiping himself down as best he could with a towel.
Of course…he'd jumped into the pool to get her out…
He walked right past where he'd set her down, glaring at her as he went into his walk-in closet.
"Now it's my turn to get changed, thanks to your inability to not be a stupid bitch," he said, shouting out as he disappeared around the corner. "You're gonna clean all of these like your life depends on it tomorrow!"
C.C.'s eyes had followed him as far into the closet as they could go, but her mind had brightened with the spark of an idea the moment she'd hit the sliver of the closet's window frame that was visible from where she was. She'd stopped paying attention after that, thinking about what she'd seen out of it on the occasions she'd been allowed in to put folded or ironed clothes away…
It went out over the roof of the lower floor. She remembered that.
Thomas didn't lock every window and door in the place when he was around, but he was very vigilant about keeping an eye on her when she was near them. Usually. Maybe he could miss one, one time…?
Before she could think on it more, however, Thomas' footsteps announced that he had returned to take her to the bath. He was dressed in new, dry clothes and carrying an old shirt of his.
"You'd better be grateful for this. It's not gonna happen again."
He didn't waste time in picking her up, carrying her over, or stripping her down once they were there. But he didn't linger on any of it either, clearly more concerned about what would happen if she died than getting his kicks right that second.
He dumped the shirt on the floor and let her slip into the bath without any further groping or touching. The water was welcomingly warm after being in the pool, then out on a cold side, and then practically air dried as she'd been taken up through the house.
As he'd said he would, Thomas also left the door open when he was done "helping". But C.C. didn't care about that. It was still a thousand times better than…not being left alone at all.
"You're doing just marvellously, you know. You've survived yet again, and you're putting things into better perspective," the voice sounded pleased. Proud, almost. "Now we're here, we have some real time to think about the route we'll take to get out of here."
C.C. lay there in the water, a neutral expression on her face. What the voice was saying might've made sense in theory, but she couldn't bring herself to get any kind of worked up over it. And that wasn't just because she was still weak and exhausted and the bath was making her sleepy.
She might've been alive, but nothing about being alive felt that spectacular, and starting to actually plan a way out currently had about the same importance and emotional depth as helping a friend pick out a neutral colour for painting a guest bedroom. She'd listen, and things would no doubt change as they went along, but for now there wasn't much else she could do.
"That's the spirit," the voice remarked drily. "Anyway, as I was saying; planning a route out of here…"
C.C. chewed a little on the inside of her lip. She might've tapped on the side of the bath, if she'd had the strength to lift her arm out (and if it probably wouldn't have annoyed Thomas even more). To plan an actual route, like the voice was talking about, she'd need to know exactly where she was. She knew the street name and number because she'd seen it on a postcard Thomas' sister had sent, and she knew from reading that that she'd also been taken across the state line into New Jersey. But whereabouts she was beyond knowing the basics was anybody's guess – Jersey City might've looked small on paper, but on foot it would be huge.
Especially if she was over the other side and trying to head for a ferry terminal or something…
No. She'd need a map if she was going to even begin planning a route – there wasn't any way forward otherwise. She'd probably end up going around in circles if she went in blind!
"You do have a point, there," the voice sounded slightly deeper in thought. "If we could look at a map, we could find out where we are and find the simplest, quickest route from there. You should get one."
If she'd had the strength, C.C. would've rolled her eyes. The voice made it sound so easy, like she could just stroll on down the street to a store and buy up all the maps she could ever want or ask for!
It was like it had forgotten she was in that house for the long haul, as far as Thomas was concerned. Even taking a step out onto the lawn was a crime worthy of punishment in his eyes. Besides, she was sure that, if she asked for maps, Thomas would be onto her like a shot. The bastard might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he wasn't stupid. He'd know she was up to something, and that would probably go down as smoothly as a kidney stone.
"Then ask for a travel guide – those usually come with complementary maps," the voice suggested. "You can make up some bullshit excuse about them being a good substitute for travelling, since your "place is here, at the house". He'll probably love to hear you say that and it will soften him right up."
Again, had C.C. felt even the tiniest bit better, she would have rolled her eyes at the voice. It was as if it didn't even know Thomas! She couldn't just ask him for anything – that wasn't how things worked around here. Her request could end up with her being beaten up or worse!
"I wasn't suggesting that," the voice corrected her. "I know how he is, but what you seem to forget is that you've still got one Christmas gift left, remember? That's your opportunity."
C.C.'s gaze darted quickly towards the door. Thomas was still skulking around there, but other than that he wasn't really watching. Probably because she wasn't actively drowning in front of him, and she'd pissed him off enough that day that he was only interested in doing the bare minimum.
The voice was right; she did still have one present to ask for, and a travel guide wouldn't cost Thomas all that much to get. If she played her cards right and, as disgusting as it would be, stroked his ego, he'd probably agree.
But she'd need to ask quickly before the window for gift-asking closed entirely. Only trouble was, she didn't know when it would close and how long Thomas was stay in his mood. If they overlapped there was a chance he'd say no and she'd never get the chance again.
"It is only a chance, though," the voice pointed out. "He still might say yes."
She supposed that was true enough. It wasn't like Thomas had said he was taking away her other gift for the stunt she'd pulled in the pool, and that was something he'd have been totally up-front about if he was gonna do it.
Surely that window had to have passed…?
"You should ask soon," the voice said. "Don't delay it. But do play up the angle of how weak you are – it shouldn't be hard, in your current condition. It might make him more likely to say yes."
C.C. frowned. She could only think the words "and if he doesn't?" in return.
"If he doesn't, then we'll figure something else out. The sooner we know which it's to be, the better."
C.C. just about stopped herself from nodding to what the voice had told her. Thomas might not have been watching closely, but any kind of weird movement could be a cause for questions she didn't want to have to answer. She probably already looked bad enough, being sat there in the bath, not moving – not even to wash the chlorine out of her hair!
She probably ought to do that, actually…Thomas might've said she had all the time in the world, but his mind often changed on the turn of a dime. She didn't want to have to get out and still feel mostly disgusting until…until the next time she was made to take a shower…
"It'll make you feel a little bit better, too," the voice gently directed her away from those thoughts. "Just remember to do it slowly, to get the build-up before asking. Really show him just how weak you still are, like you did with the fainting excuse…!"
Part of her wanted to say that lying to Thomas twice in the same day was as good as drowning in the pool. Another part said that if she'd managed to do it once that day already, she might as well do it again. He probably wouldn't notice, considering she had just nearly died on his watch.
And if she was going to try and escape at any time in the future, she did need that map…
Alright. She was going for it. Keeping it achingly slow as she shifted and lifted herself awkwardly and clumsily, she managed to sit up enough to grab the shampoo bottle on the side. She could've made it look even worse if she'd wanted, but if she'd spread it on too thick it probably would've made Thomas suspicious. Or just annoyed him further, and that would've probably ended up in him "owing her" a correction.
She washed her hair slowly, taking enough time to make it look like she was barely holding on, but also just enough to suggest to her onlooker that she "really was trying, honest". Her body followed, a simple wash and scrub with a bar of soap more than enough to keep up the pretence.
But after all of that came the more difficult part. This wasn't a bath to relax in, and she'd done everything she needed to do and would be wasting Thomas' time if she kept him waiting by staying in there. That meant she had to let him help her out again, especially if she was going ahead with this "look weak" plan…
It made her skin crawl so much it could slide off her body like someone was cooking a chicken, but there was no other way.
"Thomas…? I'm…done, in here," she called out, just loud enough for him to look up and pay attention. "Could you…?"
She finished the question by trailing off and just vaguely gesturing. It had to be more than enough of a show. It certainly convinced Thomas. With a roll of his eyes and a groan in the back of his throat that would normally make her want to flinch or hide out of the way, he pushed himself off the wall where he'd been leaning and shuffled moodily forward.
"Fine. But you're doing the rest yourself – the last thing I'm letting you do is get lazy."
He helped her out of the bath, again not taking his time and clearly trying to speed things along. C.C. was more than fine with that. She took up the towel he'd set down for her with the shirt, patting herself dry in a way that suggested she was still in pain but trying to ignore it. She used it again to wring out her hair, before she slipped the shirt over her head.
It made her feel sick to wear it, but she played up the nauseous angle of the façade for all it was worth. Her captor didn't seem to care much, or really notice if there was a change in how she was acting.
"You done, then?" he asked as soon as the shirt was over her head and hanging freely down to her mid thighs. "Good. Time for bed."
But he didn't gesture towards the doorway, or get behind her in an effort to make her move towards the hall and the stairs.
He pointed inwards, towards his own bedroom.
C.C. thought she could've been sick right then and there, or screamed, or cried, or all of them at once. Oh, God. She really had been tricked! He was doing it anyway! He'd lied to her down in the poolroom, or he'd changed his mind again like she'd thought he would, and she couldn't—
"Would you hurry up and go already?!" Thomas snarled. "I want to go watch TV to take the edge off how crappy you've made my day, but I can't your stupid, half-drowned ass won't go the fuck to sleep!"
C.C. shrunk back from him, curling up as made her way to where she was supposed to go. Her only comfort was the relief that he wasn't joining her. It wasn't happening. For real. For sure. No more lies or tricks – he had some other entertainment that night.
She'd be able to sleep. Perhaps.
She usually hated everything about the room, especially the bed she'd now just been forced to get into on the "wife's side". But she couldn't help feeling a whole lot better getting in between cool, crisp sheets, rather than having to slump and do her best to drop off on a dirty old mattress on a basement floor.
Thomas watched her get in and get comfortable, all the while hovering near the door he was obviously itching to get through and get downstairs.
"Now's your chance," the voice suddenly urged. "Ask him before he goes – he might say yes just to be quick!"
So, before the man could be satisfied with what he'd seen and turn to leave, she called out to him again. She made sure to sound as weak and pathetic as possible, too.
"Thomas…? I…I think I know…what I want for my next gift…"
She hoped to God that this would work. She didn't know what she was going to do if it didn't – she'd be out of ideas, as far as her mind could work out. And she didn't like to think about how angry it would make Thomas if he figured out that she was simply flattering him…
Thomas, meanwhile, was busy narrowing his eyes at her.
Had he heard that right? Was she seriously asking for a fucking Christmas present after what had just happened? Who the hell did that stupid bitch think she was?! Did she really think that she could have him save her life and give up his own gift for another time, and still expect more?
"What did you just say?"
It was as much a warning and a chance to take it back as it was a genuine question.
"You…you said I could have two gifts…?" she sounded even more out of it than before, and completely unfazed by his words. She even smiled a bit. "It is Christmas, and all…"
Thomas felt his eyebrows knit together. This wasn't like Claire – she wasn't ever this…nice and easy to deal with. He could've sworn it was the first time he'd actually seen her smile, ever since he'd brought her home!
He would've considered that a victory, if it had looked normal. But the last thing that smile looked was normal; it was the kind of expression mental patients had on their faces near-permanently after lobotomies. And she was looking around, at him and the room, like she wasn't even really aware of where she was, or what was going on…
Had she hit her head on the bottom of the pool, or something? Maybe her brain been starved of oxygen for slightly too long…?
"You did give me my first, too," she suddenly added, smiling brighter. "You've been…so generous…!"
Okay, it absolutely had to be the shock of almost drowning doing this to her. She'd get over it, in time. If not, he could probably learn to live with it as long as she kept on being this agreeable. As long as she could still cook and clean his house (she still had a body, so there were no issues with him being able to unload into her), he had no complaints about the state of her mind.
But, just in case, and to save himself any pouting or tears right now, he resigned himself to it.
"Alright, fine. As long as you pay me back double for whatever it is, I'll get it. What is it you want?"
C.C. froze to stop her face from falling at the idea of "paying him back double". Hearing it made her wish more than ever that she had drowned at the bottom of the pool…
But she had to tell herself that she'd be getting something better out of it all, in the end. It would be worth it – it had to be worth it…if she left this place for good, then it would all be worth it.
"I…I really want a travel guide…" she told him, realising she'd tripped up only after the words were out and scrambling as best she could while talking slowly to regain footing. "I-I know…! I'm here now…my place is here, with you…but I miss travelling a bit. This'd make me miss it less…"
Thomas blinked. She'd never once openly admitted that her place was with him, in the home…
She must've gotten used to the idea. She'd done it pretty fast, too. Probably as a result of all his hard work getting her trained up to be his perfect wife. It had just taken nearly drowning and having her life saved to admit it.
He'd done his job even better than he'd thought, if she was being this open and not having to be broken into it…!
But that didn't mean he didn't have any more questions.
"And where would this travel guide cover, exactly?"
Claire looked off to one side a little, like she could see something he couldn't.
"The Tri-State Area is nice…or maybe New Jersey, and Washington DC…" she said, looking back at him earnestly. "I'd spend time looking at it when I wasn't cooking, or cleaning…or-or pleasing you…"
Thomas smiled, in spite of himself. Damn, he really had gotten lucky with this one! Whatever had happened – whether it was the half-drowning, or his work as her husband and master of the house, it had happened. He'd gotten her to be compliant, and to take everything he could give with a smile.
And all for a couple of tiny, stupid geography books.
"Alright. I'll get you the dumb guides," he told her, but he pointed a warning finger at her too. "Just remember, I'm still going to want it all given back. Double my Christmas gift."
C.C. bristled inside.
Double. The word was like a jail sentence. She really was going to have to…take him…again. More times than ever before…
It felt like thorns growing in the pit of her stomach, but they were swiftly climbing up her throat as well, choking, digging into her, tearing her apar—
"Hey. Just breathe, Babs," the voice cut in softly, trying to soothe and comfort. "Breathe. Don't let him see that it upsets you – he thinks he's got you, but he hasn't. We'll get out of here soon enough, but you need to keep this all up for a little while longer…"
As much as she would've fought to argue back against anything that sounded like Niles before, she knew it was right. She wished it didn't have to be, but there were a lot of things she'd wanted in life that she hadn't gotten and never would.
She swallowed the painful, thorny feeling. It had to happen. She'd hate every moment of it and she knew that already, but it was just another step on the way to getting out and getting out for good. She was the one who'd decided to live. She had to take every part of that, whether it was good or bad.
Stretching an even wider, dopier, "happier" smile across her face, she addressed Thomas again.
"Thank you…! They'll be just perfect…I know it already…! You've been...so good to me…"
She even found herself blowing him a kiss, but she yawned and exaggerated a pained stretch when she realised that might've been too much. She didn't want him to think he had the go-ahead to…to get what he wanted…
"'M tired now…" she made a big show of lying down and closing her eyes, just as achingly slow as before. "I'll sleep, like you said…"
Thomas watched as she apparently drifted off, the whole ordeal clearly having tired her out. He grinned to himself. If every day was like this, after this whole thing, he was about to become the luckiest husband in the entire world! He'd broken her in in record time – no other man on the planet could boast a feat like that. Some sad sacks out there never got their wives in line!
She could have the guides. All of the ones that she'd asked for – it sounded like they'd be a great gift, in her mind. To him, they were a cheap reward that saved him a lot of money and a lot of thinking about what was appropriate to get. He'd only be out a handful or so of dollars with this, and he didn't need to do any more than grab the ones with the right titles. He could even throw in one small chocolate as a treat without it going overboard!
But that would be it. That was the extent of his generosity this time around; this was a reward for her good behaviour and compliance this time. It wasn't something any wife should come to expect "just because". She'd get another one the next time she was good.
Although, he thought he might just move the bar a little higher for what counted as "good" enough.
He'd see. For now, it was enough that she was obedient and she wasn't going anywhere. They'd have years to get everything else in order.
Turning and leaving, he locked the door before he went to head downstairs to the living room. She might've been rapidly becoming a perfectly compliant little wife, but he wasn't giving her a chance like that.