Chapter 25
Lake City, Texas. That was the God-forsaken shithole he'd wound up in. With a population of 500 people, most of whom were barely able to read or write, Thomas couldn't think of anywhere better to hide.
The road hadn't been easy – not when he knew the police had been (and probably still were) after him. The first step had been stealing a car, which hadn't really represented any trouble for him. Before he'd been sent to juvie, he'd stolen cars galore.
He hadn't been able to drive all the way down to Texas with the same car, though. He'd stolen many more along the way. He'd moved at night, always making sure to steer clear from the most transited routes and, if he'd needed to rest, stopping only in sleepy, half-dead towns.
He'd faced a number of setbacks on his seven-day long escape, the most important of them being the unlucky son of a bitch who'd recognised him. It had happened in Tennessee, when he'd briefly stopped at a dingy motel to rest and have his instant ramen noodle soup. He hadn't really been planning on stealing a new vehicle for a few more hundred miles, but the moment he'd spotted the mousy, middle-aged schlump eyeing him from his own vehicle, his fate had been sealed.
It was what he'd had to do, wasn't it? He couldn't have anybody working out where he was, or tracking him to anywhere else. The police would've sent their helicopters to follow him in a heartbeat, all the way to the next state, and maybe even beyond, until their cars caught up with him! Then where would he be?
Surrounded by cops, no gun, no way out.
And then somebody would've let that Lane bitch know, once he'd been forced to surrender (in interests of self-preservation, he would have eventually had to let the cops take him), and he would've had to go back to New York to face the accusations and listen to the whining of his filthy, traitorous bitch of a wife.
None of that would do. And he'd seen it all in the look that schmuck had been giving him from the car. He'd been so sure of it at the time! He'd been looking directly at him. It couldn't have been anything else – he'd seen the asshole giving him those shifty little side glances that obviously meant he was nervous. But what about Thomas could've possibly made him nervous, unless he'd seen something on the news? And obviously he'd seen him on the news, or in a paper, or…or somewhere else people got their information from, and had been ticking over in his mind like the countdown to a bomb exploding!
He'd known. He'd known about the fucking case, and there had been no way in Hell that Thomas was going to let him rat him out to the cops!
He'd gone over and used the knife he'd been carrying as "leverage" to force the guy to open the car door and let him in. Then, he'd made him drive. The little asshole turned out to be just as mousy on the inside as he was on the outside and hadn't put up any fight whatsoever. He'd preferred to beg and plead and offer money as they'd driven further and further away from potential witnesses.
That way, nobody was around to see when Thomas had repeatedly slammed the guy's head into his own steering wheel, or when he'd taken out the knife and stabbed the schmuck several times in the chest. He'd wrapped the body up in a blanket he'd found on the back seat, and had simply hoped the blood wouldn't seep out onto his new upholstery. That was the last thing he'd needed – still didn't need, if anybody found that car out on the dirt track where he'd left it, fatass of an owner dragged from the back and uncovered for the coyotes to deal with.
If the car was traced back to the guy, even with very little remaining, someone might report having seen Thomas approaching it...
Again, that was something he couldn't allow.
That was basically the only reason he hadn't already blown the joint for somewhere a thousand times better (like Satan's own asscrack, for instance). There was no way in Hell anybody with an IQ, dollar in their pocket or sense of more than just basic hygiene would ever set foot in this...this backwards, desert cesspit of a town!
How could people possibly live like this?! How could they choose to make a home in an area no larger than a suburb back in New Jersey?! You could practically see from one end of town to the other, with only the interruption of a person walking or a car coming through. It made him cringe and crease his nose up in disgust. He had to be the only man in town who wasn't related to every single other person, which even then wouldn't have made him the most eligible bachelor around!
Although, getting a look at some of the women there made him think he was better off. They looked like their fathers had been farmers who'd fucked their cattle instead of their wives. Just seeing their faces, when compared to what he'd been moulding into the most perfectly exquisite shape, disgusted him to the point of rage.
And that rage only got worse every day, when he managed to turn on the TV one channel the town seemed to pick up – or at least, what the flea-pit and cockroach fucking ground of a house he'd bought under a fake name could pick up – and it came around to the time for the news. The same news, every day for the past two weeks. The traitorous bitch's face, spread everywhere like she didn't think she could be touched!
He'd thought that from the first moment he'd seen – the day they'd announced her "return" to "her family and loved ones", and her "slow, but steady recovery".
He'd yelled out wordlessly then, remote thrown like a tomahawk against the wall, imagining the faces of the bastards who were trying to stop him.
Months of work were being destroyed states away by motherfuckers who didn't know how to mind their own fucking business! And as for the bitch who had run away the moment his back was turned...well, she was just going to have to sleep with one eye open, wasn't she?! That way she'd see him coming to get her, and know that her days of ever leaving her room again were done!
He had just managed to stop himself from destroying the entire room. But he had screamed out in anger, whether any of the other Neanderthal neighbours liked it or not. That little cunt was only going to have to recover from one thing, the moment he got his hands on her!
She'd pay for it all – for leaving him, like she thought she had a choice. For getting the police onto him, when it was none of their fucking business what a man did in his own house to his own property. For landing him in this backwater place, with no way of getting back or getting out without getting caught!
It was all her fault. All of it! And all she would've had to do was stay in her place and then he would truly have been living the life of a king! The life he'd broken the little slut in for, to get her prepared for everything he wanted!
And now...now he was stuck here, burning up like the sun with all the things he wanted to do in revenge, the order he wanted to do them in, and the places he could hide her body if it went wrong. Not that he intended it to go wrong, when he could go back to hunt down the bitch that had done this – he'd get it right. Oh-so deliciously right, too; the burial spots were more of a backup, on the off-chance that he hit her too hard when giving a correction, or she stopped breathing when he turned her over to fuck her face-to-face so she could see her master, and he ended up grabbing her throat.
He wasn't going to let the little whore escape again.
Still, if his hunt was to be successful, he had to be patient, just like he'd been when he'd first taken her, all those many months ago. He'd take all the time he needed to craft the perfect plan to recover his bitch, and once he had, not even God would be able to find her again. That, he promised.
She would live to serve him, and once she'd outlived her use, he'd end her misery, just like any decent pet owner should do. She'd be his slave and his whore, and her value would be determined by her home-making skills and her ability to fuck. She had nothing else to offer. Maybe, he could get her to give him an heir – childbirth was, after all, a womanly duty. He'd fuck her over and over until she grew round and, eventually, popped out a son to carry on his legacy. Any useless daughters she birthed him would be quickly disposed of; he wasn't planning on taking care of fuck-holes-to-be. He'd only accept sons, and that was that.
But, again, for any of that to happen, he had to carefully plan his next move. The first thing he would need to do, was find the proper place to build his wife a new and very, very special bedroom. If she'd thought her first room was bad, the cunt was soon going to think of it as a fucking palace in comparison. She would have to shit and pee in a bucket, and she'd sleep on the hard, filthy floor. She would have no entertainment and certainly no lamp for her to illuminate her personal hellhole. It would take years for him to even consider letting her have slightly better living conditions – if she was going to act like a bitch, then he'd treat her like one. She'd be his dog, and she would rue the day she decided to walk away from her master.
Not that the thought of future vengeance was enough to make his current situation better – he was still living in a shithole, he was still on the run, and he still had to cook himself dinner. And by that he meant microwaving one of the frozen meals he'd gotten at the town's only gas-station-slash-convenience-store. It looked small and pathetic and he already knew it would taste like crap, but it would have to suffice. Until he was back to getting meals fit for a king, from the world's only perfectly moulded and controlled slut, that was.
The six-packs of beer he'd stocked up on while he was at the gas station (he didn't want to have to show his face too often) would wash away the aftertaste. Getting to drink was about the only sense of normalcy and comfort he had, while that bitch Lane was busy sending her dogs after him.
As soon as the microwave dinged and he had pulled the disgusting-looking little tray free, he took his "meal" over to the one comfortable chair he had in the place – directly in front of the TV.
He switched the set on, turned it to the news, drank his beer and waited.
It wasn't long before the report of his "crime" came on. It was the only thing America seemed to be talking about, although God only knew why. He'd been keeping his whore in line, and it was nobody else's fucking business how he did that! Half the men around the world – real men – would've begged to know his secret, if he hadn't been driven underground by fuck toys who'd forgotten their places and fawning, grovelling saps who didn't deserve their own dicks.
He was watching one of them now, with a glare in his eyes that could've killed, as the report cut to the hospital where they'd taken his slut to recover from her "ordeal". It was that butler; the Sheffields' servant, pushing the bitch in a wheelchair as they left the premises, bundled up against the bitter cold and wearing dark sunglasses.
What the fuck was she wearing those for?! Other than to obviously present herself as the star of the whole fucking show! Who did that whore think she was, grabbing all the attention and then having the utter gall to act, as she came out of that place, like all of it was suddenly making her uncomfortable?!
She was sat rigidly in that chair she didn't even need as the dogsbody pushing it turned a corner, onto the street. Not moving. Not speaking.
At least she'd remembered to get that part right...
The camera immediately zoomed in, as all the reporters around started crowding in and barking out questions that nobody could hear above the noise and nobody even tried to answer, anyway.
"Miss Babcock, how are you feeling?"
"Miss Babcock, do you have anything you want to say?"
"Mr Brightmore, what is your part in all of–"
Thomas shut out the squawking of the reporters with the remote's mute button. He hated listening to their yapping, especially when it was obvious that none of them understood. He just watched it in silence, as the sad sack of an errand boy kept walking the slut out of the hospital grounds, occasionally waving a reporter away when they got too close. It looked like it made the slut flinch when they did.
She looked fatter around her face, from what he could see, too. He lamented and burned inside at that; to think that they'd fed that bitch! After all the work he'd done to get her to a slut's perfect weight?! He'd have to start all over again, when he put his plan into action!
The bastards had tried to ruin his plan, but they were not going to succeed!
Her parents – his father-in-law and mother-in-law, he thought dryly – were walking either side of her, too, apparently "protecting their sweet, innocent little girl" from the media she was so "terrified" of.
Bullshit. All of it.
They were walking the little whore to a waiting limousine, too, and Thomas felt the fires of his anger burn hotter. An entire limousine, for the "return" of one slut that nobody would've missed if she was gone for good! That was nothing but a waste of a good car, on something that wasn't even fit to lick the dirt off the tyres!
His anger and his thought about the special treatment his whore was getting automatically made him crush the now-empty beer can. He let it drop to the floor and felt himself already aching for another one.
It was getting like mind-numbing heroin, in this backwater hellhole.
Especially with everybody on the side of a bitch they'd soon never see again.
It was a shitshow – all of it. One that was making him burn with an anger so terrible he simply had to hurl his bland dinner across the room. It made a satisfying bang as it impacted against the wall, but the relief was temporary. He had no bitch to clean up after him; he would have to do it himself – just as he would have to cook himself another meal and do the dishes afterwards.
It was lucky Thomas' new home was in a rather secluded area of town, otherwise, everybody would have heard the deafening roar and string of insults that came out of him, as well as the banging and crashing noises of him trashing the house.
And it was even luckier that hundreds of miles and an entire police force separated him from C.C..
She didn't know it yet, but she was in the most danger she'd ever been.
A month had gone by since C.C.'s escape.
A month that had felt like a lifetime.
C.C. had spent much of that time sleeping and trying to recover from both her physical injuries and from the bad case of pneumonia that she'd caught after having ventured out during the blizzard. Niles, Stewart, B.B. and, to a lesser degree, Noel, had kept a bedside vigil, taking turns so C.C. would never be on her own.
She had liked that – it was one of the few things she had actually told them. Apart from that, she hadn't spoken much. They'd watch movies with her, binged on whatever junk food C.C. was feeling like that day, and they'd even done crosswords, but that was about it. She didn't want to talk, and they weren't going to force her, even if they were desperate to know what had been done to her.
It had to have been truly horrific, that much they knew. They were reminded just how much every night, when C.C. had to be drugged so that she would sleep – the first few times they'd tried without medication, and she'd woken up, screaming and inconsolable, every single one.
As awful as it seemed, at least the drugs meant that she was getting a deep, peaceful sleep. Not a single dream or nightmare image in her mind.
That was probably why, upon her release, she'd been given a truckload of medication – from antibiotics and antidepressants to the end of the alphabet. She'd also been referred to a therapist that specialised in trauma and PTSD. She would start her treatment in two-weeks' time, which was when he'd have his first home visit with her.
And speaking of C.C.'s living arrangements, they had changed drastically from before she'd been kidnapped. Her new home was a beautiful penthouse on 5th Avenue that Stewart had both bought and refurbished in record time. Lane had also arranged for her to have police protection 24/7, and (after much consideration and a long talk with C.C.) it had been decided that Niles would be living with C.C. full-time until she was well enough to be on her own. Of course the Sheffields and her family would take turns dropping by to check on her, but she still needed someone to be there with her on a permanent basis.
They'd rather be safe than sorry – with Thomas on the loose, they couldn't be too careful.
The moment when they'd finally told C.C. that Thomas had, in fact, run away, had been one of the worst things they'd ever seen or done. C.C. had had a complete meltdown.
Nobody had ever thought it would stop. Not by itself, anyway. She'd gone almost into a kind of hysterical frenzy, which had started softly but had soon crescendoed into screaming and crying, her frame curling over as though she were trying to defend herself from...something unspeakable, and all the while, the coherent words jumbled in with the terrified, incoherent ones, each proclaiming that he'd be back. That he was coming to get her. Not to let him get her. Please don't let him get her, or make her go back...
They'd promised they'd never let such a thing happen, and had held her, comfortingly and allowing her to cry, while someone discreetly called for a nurse to pump in something to calm her down, through her IV line. Ten or fifteen minutes later, she was in a medication-induced sleep. It had been over.
But the incident had haunted them ever since. Not that they'd ever talk about it, even amongst themselves – there was no point. They knew who she meant, and they knew where she was talking about. And none of them intended on letting her go anywhere without them, anyway. This new penthouse was the start of a new level of security. They'd had to find a well-hidden back entrance and go past a gate with a guard just to be permitted entry.
Luckily, all the building's staff knew to be on the lookout, and they'd been quickly waved through.
The parking lot wasn't too busy – most people were out, or maybe still at work. They pulled up in an available space (none were big enough for a limo, so that was just in the middle of the lot, as close to the stairs and elevator as they could get), Stewart quickly instructing the driver just to stop the car there. He didn't know when they'd be back, but that didn't matter. The driver knew to call, or circle the block and come back around, until his employers were ready to leave.
Everybody sat in the back in silence, for what seemed to be a moment suspended in eternity. It was as though they were all contemplating the same thing at once – that this was it? The start of a new, protected life for C.C.? That she was safe, in this new home, and they were ready to make it everything she hadn't had in nearly a year?
If they were, they eventually reached a silent agreement, and started to shift in their seats again.
"I'll get out and get the chair set up," Stewart said, before turning to C.C.'s mother. "B.B., why don't you go through and up to the lobby, to see about getting the spare keys, and see if there's any mail arrived?"
B.B. nodded silently, before unbuckling her seatbelt, getting out and going to do as he'd suggested.
Stewart then turned to C.C. and Niles.
"You two just sit and relax. We'll get upstairs in no time."
He waited for C.C. to nod before getting out of the car, making sure to direct one last comforting smile in her direction. He hoped she appreciated it, because if she did, she didn't show. She was deep in thought, which wasn't really good these days…
C.C.'s mind was a dangerous place for her to be in for too long.
Niles didn't try to make small talk – he knew she didn't like it. More often than not she preferred them to sit quietly, hands held tightly together. She wasn't ready to open up, but she appreciated his presence. It soothed her.
It wasn't long until Stewart had prepared the chair. He helped her into it while Niles got her hospital bag and the blanket that she'd used to cover her legs when coming out of the hospital. He offered the latter to her, which she readily took and wrapped around her frail form.
Together, they made their way to the elevator. Stewart punched the first floor button; B.B. was waiting for them there, spare keys in hand and a small stack of letters for Niles to go over. For security reasons, Lane had suggested that the apartment should be in Niles' name rather than C.C.'s – Thomas, being the seasoned stalker he was, would most likely try and find any new address linked to C.C. or any of her other family members. Stewart had agreed and had named Niles as the owner. He'd also given him access to his own bank account, so he could pay for whatever they needed while he was looking after C.C..
As a little extra, Stewart would be paying Niles ten-thousand dollars a month for his kindness, given that he'd had to quit his job to take care of C.C.. The butler had protested countless times, but the older Babcock simply wouldn't have any of it. Stewart was well aware Niles was taking care of his Kitten out of love, and that was something he felt should be rewarded. The least he could do for him, was give him financial security.
"Let's get going," B.B. said. "We need to get C.C. home as soon as possible."
Stewart nodded, stepping aside to allow her into the elevator with them, before pressing the button for the top floor and letting the doors close.
"Alright, then. Let's get moving."
He knew just how anxious she was, to see their girl get behind a closed, lockable door on the top floor of the most secure apartment complex their side of anywhere.
C.C.'s disappearance had hit B.B. so hard, she would have willingly never slept another wink, if it meant making sure her baby never went anywhere unwillingly again. They all would have. But, luckily for the health of everybody involved, that didn't have to happen. They had a support system, in the form of each other. They were a family, and they looked out for one another. Protected one another. Stepped up when someone had to fall back, for whatever reason.
And he more than willingly included Niles in that, too. He wouldn't have let anybody he didn't consider family to look after the most precious thing in his life, even if the butler probably would've protested that, as well.
The man was too good for his own good sometimes. But that made him the perfect person to look after and love his little girl.
Even taking a sneak peek while the elevator went up, the businessman could see Niles doing little things that might as well have shouted his feelings from the rooftops; straightening up the wheels of the chair so that it wouldn't get even the tiniest bit stuck or caught on the way out, quietly asking her if she was too warm with the blanket and if she wanted him to carry it, suggesting that he should make some tea when they got in...
And the look of adoration he wore might've been such second nature that he'd forgotten he was wearing it at this point, but it wasn't lost on Stewart.
Still, the older man kept it to himself. He didn't want to embarrass the guy, after all, and more besides, there was no good, vital reason to bring it up at a time like this.
The elevator sound system chimed softly as they hit the top floor, the doors opening out into a short corridor with a plush carpet and walls decorated with framed pencil sketches.
"Here we are," Stewart announced, gesturing for Niles and C.C. to go first. "After you two; it's only right and fair, after all. This is your home now."
"Thank you, sir," Niles smiled at him, grateful that the man was giving him this opportunity, even when he couldn't feel like he possibly deserved it. "It truly is appreciated."
"Yeah, Daddy..." C.C. agreed quietly, reaching out and gripping her father's hand briefly. "It means a lot."
Stewart tried not to let any sign that he was getting choked up show, but it proved difficult as he and B.B. followed Niles and C.C. into the corridor.
"There is no need for either one of you to thank me – for this, or for anything else, for that matter. This is no less than you deserve, after the...it's what you need. And I'm your father, Kitten, so there's no way I'm ever going to deny you what you need."
That was why he'd picked the apartment they were now approaching, B.B. getting the keys ready to open the door, so that Niles could push C.C. inside. The door sounded at least a little reinforced when B.B. pushed it open, but the sudden mental image of a fortress that Niles and C.C. both had in their minds at the noise disappeared as soon as they saw the place.
The whole apartment was sleek, stylish, and open; made light and airy by white walls tastefully decorated with pop art (perhaps actual Lichtensteins?) to serve as bursts of colour. The living area, with its plush, grey furniture and off-white rug, flowed almost gracefully into a large dining room with a table complete for the whole family, and outside the window, a huge balcony waited with plant pots lined up along the edges, as though they were stood to attention, ready for spring to arrive and the area to come alive with rainbow explosions of flowers. In the corner, overlooking the city, it opened out into a rooftop terrace with a currently-covered pool, a couple of cushioned sun loungers and a barbecue grill that Niles could've sworn was bigger than him.
They stared in awe as they went inside, the chair moving easily across the hardwood floors. B.B. and Stewart followed them in, making sure to close and lock the door again.
"The kitchen is just through there," B.B. said, pointing delicately down in the direction opposite the living area. "And there are four bedrooms, two of which have been prepared for you both, if you'd like to see them."
"Would you like to do that now, Kitten? Or would you like a cup of coffee or tea?" Stewart offered, gently placing a hand on C.C.'s upper back.
Everything froze in an instant, as a razor-sharp gasp tore its way up and out of the producer's throat. She ripped his hand off her, leaping from her seat, and she backed away from her father with a strangled, bloodcurdling screech that threatened and screamed in fear at the same time.
"Get away from me!"
Immediately, all the others in the room heard alarm bells going off in their heads, accompanied by a dozen questions not one of them had the slightest idea how to answer.
What had just happened?! Had she been asleep in the chair without them realising, and Stewart's hand had startled her back into being awake? No, it couldn't have been that – she'd been perfectly awake just now, when they'd come in! "The kitchen is just through there," B.B. said, pointing delicately down in the direction opposite the living area. "And there are four bedrooms, two of which have been prepared for you both, if you'd like to see them."
"Would you like to do that now, Kitten? Or would you like a cup of coffee or tea?" Stewart offered, gently placing a hand on C.C.'s upper back.
Everything froze in an instant, as
a razor-sharp gasp tore its way up and out of the producer's throat. She ripped his hand off her, leaping from her seat, and she backed away from her father with a strangled, bloodcurdling screech that threatened and screamed in fear at the same time.
"Get away from me!"
Immediately, all the others in the room heard alarm bells going off in their heads, accompanied by a dozen questions not one of them had the slightest idea how to answer.
What had just happened?! Had she been asleep in the chair without them realising, and Stewart's hand had startled her back into being awake? No, it couldn't have been that – she'd been perfectly awake just now, when they'd come in!
Was this a flashback? But caused how?
Not one of them knew. All they could think about doing was trying to calm her out of it!
"C.C.! C.C., it's alright, dear," her mother tried to speak over the sounds of her daughter sobbing. Sobbing as she cowed away, not looking at any of them. "You are with us; there is no need to be afraid."
Unfortunately, as she'd said this, she'd also reached out to try and pull her daughter into a hug. By placing her hand on her back.
"I said, stay away!" C.C. screamed, ripping B.B.'s hand from her back and bolting from the room, her crying fading as it hurried down the hall.
But the others weren't far behind, their minds screaming more questions than they would have given limbs to be able to answer, and all of them calling her name.
"C.C.! Kitten?! What's the matter?!"
"C.C., dear! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, please come back...!"
"Miss Babcock, please, come back! Please, tell us what's wrong!"
All their pleading was met with her disappearing behind the bathroom door, slamming it shut and locking it. Their footfalls slowed uselessly to a halt in the corridor, but Stewart paced forward a few more, to go to the door and quietly knock.
"C.C...?" he asked hopefully. When she didn't answer, he tried again. "Kitten, what's the matter? We're only trying to hel––"
"Everybody just...leave me alone!"
The force of her cried demand made Stewart back away from the door, his heart sinking as he realised she meant it. He didn't know what would happen, if they tried to demand, or force the door open somehow. It could be much worse than things already were...
He turned and looked helplessly at the others, shaking his head.
It all proved too much for B.B., who burst into tears and fled dejectedly, back towards the living area. That only left Stewart and Niles there in the corridor, not knowing which way to turn. They obviously couldn't get C.C. to come out – the damage, whatever was causing it, was too great. All they had was hope that C.C. would calm down by herself, and then tell them what had gone on, perhaps opening up more about the things that had happened when she had been gone.
Both had a feeling it would be a long wait.