A/N-Sorry to tell you this, but I don't think we're even close to being done. Which'll be good for all my reviewers who say they love this (btw, guys, you rock) but bad for those people who are reading out of boredom and want it to get the heck over with already. Tee.
Hee.
2:30 PM
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Xx
Rachel was glaring at Alec as he carted her into the small café and stopped her in the coatroom.
"What?" she glowered, a hand hovering angrily on her hip. "What?"
"Coat," he smirked, holding out a hand.
Oh. Still seething, she ripped it off and threw it at him. The zipper grazed his lip and the flash of fury over his eyes was gone as soon as it appeared.
"Now, Rach, we're going to do this the right way or we're not going to do it at all," he began.
"I prefer not at all," she snapped.
"Christopher doesn't, though, sweetheart," Alec replied pointedly, hanging the coats on a hook behind him. "Here's how it's going to be: you're going to keep quiet, talk only when spoken to, and do what I say. Any misdemeanors on your part mean not only death for your brother but a lengthy continuation on our discussion in the car."
She paused. "I'll kill you. I hate you."
"Doubt it."
Alec took her arm and led her through zigzagging tables to one near the back. He sat her in the booth and pointed out the window.
"See that man?" Rachel gazed out through the rain-coated glass and saw a Renault parked directly in front of them, with a man smoking a thin cigarette at the wheel.
"Yeah. So?"
He stuck his thumb crudely behind his shoulder, back towards the coatroom. "I'm going to go meet your uncle. I can't take you because, Rachel, the coatroom is in direct view of the bar and I can't afford your little shenanigans that could cost some lives."
"You're going to wait here, my Rachel, and if you move a muscle the man in the car will see you and alert me. I'll be waiting at the door with cell phone in hand, ready to make the call to kill your brother. Besides, where I'll be is the only exit. So any attempts to foil the plan will be otherwise futile."
"You sound like a perverted version of a forgotten Disney character," Rachel said, disgusted. "Go."
He left and she was, for once, alone.
Rachel's fingers skipped over the table until they found their way to the sugar packets. And stopped.
She stole a glance out the window at the man in the car. He was lighting another cigarette. Smoke it up, chimney.
Rachel worked out a strategy in her brain. She had probably five minutes before Alec would be back, in which time she could do something.
She knew she'd probably be caught.
But not until he was back at the table, with her uncle. And then there would be two of them, two against one. Well, two, with the man in the car. But then, three for the Rachel/Fred team, if you counted the unwary bartender.
Time to go.
She split the packets on the table and began to form a word, at the same time signaling the bartender over.
H E L P
The girl at the bar wasn't paying attention, wiping down glasses as she danced to the bad music that was seeping from the jukebox.
Rachel frantically tried to make eye contact. She couldn't get up. She couldn't wave. All she could do was pray that the girl would glance her way.
"Come on," she whispered to herself. Now the message read:
H E L P M E, M A N W A N T S
The girl glanced over, smiled at Rachel. Looked away.
Rachel glanced down again. Now, it was:
H E L P M E, M A N W A N T S T O—
Yes! Yes! The bartender was looking now! She was walking over, and--
The sugar fell in a blinding snowstorm to the floor. Rachel looked up. Alec was glaring at her.
"Having fun, Rachel?" he sneered, pushing her further into the booth. She was now sandwiched on either side by Alec's muscle or the wall.
"I--" The bartender had arrived. She smiled at the two, then glanced at Alec.
"Sir, is she--"
"Underage? No. We're not drinking, though, if you could just bring a few waters, that would be nice." He glanced at her nametag. "Clarise."
She grinned flirtatiously at him. "No problem."
Rachel looked across the table at her uncle. His eyes were red and crusted from lack of sleep and tears.
"Uncle Fred," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Please. Just leave now."
"Rachel," Alec scolded, his eyes burning daggers into her own.
"I won't leave you here with this—this thing," Nolan insisted, glaring at Alec. "I'd rather die, Rach, sweetheart."
"There will be unnecessary death, Rachel, if you don't quit with the pointless escape attempts and blabbering, however," Alec hissed at her, nodding at the table where a few grains of sugar still lay. "And that conversation back in the car is beginning to become inevitable."
"You know I'm not scared of you," she replied defiantly. "And if that's what it takes for my uncle to li-"
Alec stared piercingly into her eyes, creating a pause that he elongated by stretching his arm across her lap, his hand coming to rest on her knee.
"What conversation?" Nolan questioned worriedly, and then his eyes trailed to where Alec's hand was. "Get your hands off her!"
After a quick, subtle glance at the bar, Alec withdrew his pistol and pressed it against Rachel's abdomen, pulling his hand away and smirking at her uncle.
"They're off, Mr. Nolan, I can assure you."
"Uncle Fred, he's not going to kill me, just please, leave, no-"
Alec took hold of her hair and held her inches away from his face. She moaned a bit as his hand tugged her scalp.
"You say one more word and Christopher is dead," he menaced, before dropping her. She held her head and leaned against the wall, trying to hold back tears as Nolan looked between the two.
"Christopher? Her brother? Rachel, what's going on?"
"It's all quite the beautiful chain, Mr. Nolan," Alec sneered. "If you don't help her, she dies. If she doesn't do what I tell her, Chris dies. If you don't do exactly as I say, they both die."
I'll kill you. You fake son of a bi—
Light footsteps interrupted them. Alec smiled up at the waitress. "Thanks so much. Now, I don't mean to be rude, but we're trying to work out some…wedding details.." he smiled bashfully at Rachel. She forced a loopy grin as the waitress matched it.
"Oh! Congratulations!" but she looked a bit disappointed. "I understand. I'll leave you to your work, then." She bustled away. Alec looked behind him and waved, then nodded out the window.
"What's going on?" Nolan began to panic. "What are you doing? What do I have to do to get Rachel back?"
She cried. Quietly. But she cried.
"Mr. Nolan, I would not like to expose your incredibly sensitive niece to what I must, inevitably, tell you, so you and I are going to take a little drive and Rachel here is going to wait with my friend—don't worry, they've already met, she won't be lonely—and when we're done, my company will release her. I give you my word."
Nolan nodded in concern, his gaze darting to Rachel, then at the man approaching. "He won't touch her? You promise?"
Alec smirked up at Jackson, who arrived and leaned casually on the table. "What do you say, buddy? Do you agree to our friend's terms here?"
"No problem," Jackson sent a wayward grin and glance in Nolan's direction, who cried out in shock at the intensity of his eyes.
Lord knows, Uncle Fred, Alec's are enough. Maybe initiation into this stupid company is incredibly freaky eyes.
Alec and Nolan walked off, and Rachel stared at his back for five seconds before bursting into tears, collapsing into the wall. Jackson slid across from her.
There was a pause as her cries quieted in volume but not magnitude, and Jackson just watched her.
"You know, Rachel, it really is better this way."
She wiped her face and glared at him. "What way?"
"The way that your uncle will die. Our first plan was a lot more grisly. The way the clients wanted it was prime horror-film material."
"What are you talking about?" Rachel was truly angry, but her curiosity was now rising.
"We tried to kill him before but failed. Apparently, not many people are fans of Mr. Frederick Nolan. Guess, Rachel, who was assigned to the job initially?"
"Santa Clause."
"Close. Alec. The Alec. Alec Rocher. Blows your mind, doesn't it?"
She shot a disgusted glance at him. "Why are you telling me this? I don't care."
"I think you do, Rach. Alec was supposed to shoot out your uncle's kneecaps--"
There are plenty of ways to painfully injure a person without killing them, Rachel, Alec's voice popped back suddenly into her head, and she shook it away.
"Stop telling me!"
"—and then his ankles, his wrists, and, finally, his stomach. We were going to just leave him there to send a big brash message to the government."
Rachel felt sick. "You're an asshole, doing this to me, to us! How can you do something like that and live with yourself?"
"See, then, it's a good thing for you that we ran into trouble along the way. Although I'm sure you didn't think so then," Jackson mused thoughtfully, dramatically, knowing that he had once again grasped Rachel's interest and was toying with her.
"What do you mean?"
"If I recall correctly, you had a little boyfriend about a year ago."
"It's none of your business."
He smiled coyly at her. "I think it is. I know him personally."
"You can't. He's dead."
"No, he's not."
"Yes, he-" Rachel glared at him. "Why are you doing this? You're arguing over something I know for sure and you know that."
"He's not dead, Rachel," Jackson laughed. "He's with your uncle."
"And my uncle is dead, thanks to you!"
"Your uncle's not dead yet," Jackson denied, checking his watch. "Alec's calling me when its done so I can meet him."
Rachel fell into silence, trying to forget her interest in Jackson's juvenile behavior. He leaned over the table and whispered, "His name was Daniel Gregory, was it not?"
She looked up. "Yes. Yes, it was. How do you--"
"Know? Rachel, Dan Gregory was not your boyfriend's real name."
"Oh yeah, hot shot?" she leaned back with a raised eyebrow. "If you're so smart then, what was it?"
"Alec Rocher."