Author's Note : okay, so I said I'd update soon and didn't, and if anyone cares whether or not this story is being updated, you have a right to be angry ) I just got REALLY caught up this summer, but I'll admit it, I missed my favorite teaming couple. Hope you'll enjoy this new chapter, remember reviews are always welcome : )
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'What is true of most men, is doubtless so of him.'
The Dangerous Liaisons
CHAPTER 3
Sara Tancredi wasn't a foolish woman, and part of her began to suspect that for a certain ex-spy to be part of her life wasn't the smartest of things. Often, she would lay half-sitting on an armchair, in her living room, and she would ponder on the relationship that had settled between her, and Paul Kellerman.
There was something about that mere name now that sounded aggressively present.
He'd taken over an important part of her life; not in the way that he busied many hours in her days, or called on her on a daily basis. But in the way that he'd become someone she thought about a lot. And Sara couldn't think of a worse man than Paul Kellerman to be let inside your head.
And deep down, she knew it couldn't be smart.
Because if she wasn't certain that Kellerman was a cruel man, or even an evil one, she'd come to know clearer than clear that he was devious.
Because she'd let him inside of her life once, and this mistake had almost cost her her life.
Still, when Kellerman would call or ring her doorbell, he would ask for her time, and she would grant it to him; she really wasn't sure why. Maybe it was just the thought, although to trust him might be bad, the alternative was much worse.
He didn't call that often, and didn't visit her half as much as she thought he would, back when she liked to call those visits harassment. He peaked inside her life just enough for her to have time to ponder on it, think of how she would answer him, and plan on saying no – but she never said no; he never came up with the arguments she'd planned on countering. He never said what she expected him to say.
As she had told her late husband during his first month in prison, Sara considered herself a careful woman. She was a cautious, rational woman, and possessing the experience she had had, she knew that a relationship with a man, with any man half as devious as Paul Kellerman, would have to be ended.
Because she wanted to be a healthy mother for her child.
Because she knew that no good came out of taking a bite in that apple.
Because she'd been through enough to know better by now.
She really should know better. She'd heard too many times men tell her promises, and vows, which sounded sincere, and softer than a plea… and which they had no intention on keeping.
…
That morning, Sara woke up with a gasp, and sweat-soaked. Vivid dreams were something she was well-used to since the beginning of her pregnancy, but although she first awakened with no memory of it, she could tell something was strange about this one – something was different.
And almost immediately, without being able to explain why, she knew it was about Kellerman.
It came back to her in the shower; at the very first spray of water, still a hint cold, which hit her face. It was about the bathtub; it was about this particular motel room, in New Mexico, about the torture. A memory so clear it was almost only a transcription of the event, rather than a dream.
Sara looked down, and the swell of her belly which grew rounder every week was a reminder of where she was… and where she wasn't. She wasn't the same woman who had been fooled by two men in a row; and the second had left her quite the aftertaste. She wasn't the same foolish girl that had allowed a predator inside her home, before he turned against her.
Before he showed up out of nowhere, with a pistol in his hand.
And though Sara Tancredi was no longer that woman – she couldn't deny that the timing for such a dream couldn't be random. So she figured that, when Kellerman would show up next at her door, she would not allow him anything; regardless of what his arguments might be.
…
As if to test her determination, he came that same afternoon. He rung the doorbell, and Sara figured it could only be him; Lincoln wasn't scheduled to stop by until the next day, and rare were those who came to disturb her in her grief, barring the exception of Paul Kellerman. With that expectation in mind, she made her eyes impassive.
She walked to her door with a dragging pace; there was something about her that would have wished to stall, for some reason. As though she was afraid to discover that, regardless of her will, there would always be something about Kellerman's persuasive words that would make her give in.
She was momentarily startled by his proximity when she opened the door, and was oddly tempted to take a step back – it was because of the dream, no doubt. Because there had been something more significant to it than a simple nightmare; something close to a warning.
And Sara Tancredi was a careful woman.
"Hi." He greeted, and there was something overly gentle in his tone – perhaps it only had to do with the look on her face. "Came I come in?" He asked naturally, because if she hadn't denied it to him the past two weeks, the odds were slim she would now.
"Actually, I'd rather not." Sara said. She forbade herself to clear her throat, or swallow, run a hand through her hair, or anything else that might give out her nervousness.
When facing a man like Kellerman, one needed to be inflexible
He feigned surprise and arched a brow – but something seemed aware in his eyes. "Really?" He said politely, and inquired then. "Well, are you free for dinner?"
"I'm tired, Paul."
"Yes, I can tell." He noted with imperturbable calmness. "What was it? Rough night?" He reattempted. "Bad dreams?"
"Well, that's actually none of your business." She didn't speak sharply, but the reply was clear; the last thing she wanted was to make it his business.
"I see." He nodded, but didn't move an inch. "Well, I was just on my way to go for some coffee, would you care to join me? I know no better cure to sleepless nights." That was only half true; he could think of quite a better cure for Sara Tancredi's mood, right now, although he thought it smarter not to point it out.
"If you don't mind, Paul, I'd rather be alone today."
This much was enough to dim the imperceptible smile on his lips; it was his reaction to surprise. But Paul Kellerman dealt well with surprises. Truthfully, he grew bored in an instant without them. And so, both quick and patient, he appraised the young woman's behavior, and her sudden cautiousness. Once he would have spotted which fences she had drawn, it would be easy to break them down.
"Well, that's up to you." He first emphasized, gentler than a lamb. "Though now I'm afraid you got me worrying, I wouldn't feel right leaving you by yourself."
"It's fine, really." He watched her flinch in her character slightly – that coldness was but a layer of ice asking to be kicked down. "Lincoln is going to stop by some time this afternoon."
That was a lie, but Sara figured she wouldn't be above making something up, if it would make Kellerman disappear from her doorstep right now.
"So you won't be alone anyway." He observed, neither offended nor reproachful; above all, not worried. Because he suspected Sara had never quite looked at their relationship as something that could last, and so rejection was but a natural step of their friendship; therefore… when she would give in now, and she would give in, eventually, it would be the last time she refused him anything.
In order for this to work, she had to think of him as a person who would remain in her life – someone who would make her as happy, if not happier than her first husband had.
Kellerman watched the confidence decrease, in the eyes of the woman he preyed on, and she was meant to realize that he would get his way today, just by the time he yielded. "All right, well. You'll be sure to let me know when you have some spare time. You have my number." He smiled with as much genuineness as it took, and turned away without further insistence.
Because it was about time this woman realized that she cared whether or not he walked out on her. It was about time she realized the best days of her week were those when he stopped by.
And so walking away, Kellerman allowed himself a full grin, merciless and very devious. Because right now, he knew the young woman felt as though he'd gone with something she needed.
And he would get that phone call by the end of the day.
…
The clock announced ten p.m. by the time Kellerman started to rethink his judgment. And he wasn't the type of man who likes to question himself.
At some point or another, that phone would ring, and there'd be Sara Tancredi at the other end of the line. He was one hundred percent certain of this, when he'd left her house this afternoon, and each hour passing by seemed to steal away a small percentage.
He didn't allow himself to think twice on his confidence.
She'd call.
She would call because, after spending two to three days a week in his company, she'd start realizing that he was basically the only excitement left in her life. She might still fear him, she might even still hate him, the fact remained that there wouldn't be much left for her in the matter of feelings, if she didn't.
Kellerman thought he knew one thing or two about women like Sara Tancredi. And he thought without a doubt that, after loving a man enough to be willing to die for him, the only stronger alternative than to mourn him for a lifetime, would be to have her heart stolen away.
The black did suit her, he had to admit. Still he thought he'd like her even better with no clothes at all.
He could have thought it tricky to seduce a woman freshly widowed, although after a short consideration, he'd decided it was the better way. So that she didn't even have the opportunity to settle in her grief, but moreover acknowledge that she didn't want to – and after that, it was only a matter of time before her hate grew into desire.
Half indifferent, Kellerman sometimes thought that he was doing her a favor. She might believe she wished to belong to her dead husband eternally, such a love, as respectable as it is, couldn't compare to something concrete. And Sara's love for her husband had stopped being concrete, from the moment the object of her love had been put underground.
Kellerman thought perhaps she would try to resist; in fact, she certainly would. But should it take weeks, or months, her resistance would fade, because his affection for her would be real. Because he would crowd her with real promises, that held a concrete significance. The impact on her body would be real, too. Shivers. Dizziness. Heat in her cheeks, and collar.
Something that would remind her that she was alive, and young.
Something other than tears for her loss.
Still, at a quarter past ten, the phone hadn't rung. This managed to irritate him, a bit.
She could wish to be left alone all she wanted, to raise her child on her own and never be desired again, and see what he'd do about that. Oh. That silent phone was enough to fill his head with cruel schemes. Perhaps he'd started out too slow, perhaps he'd been too merciful. He'd promised not to make that mistake again, and yet from time to time, as he'd spotted the deep sorrow in her hazel eyes, he'd played that friendship act slightly too well. She wasn't to think of him as a friend.
She wouldn't need him like a friend.
The sound of silence in the room was enough to inflate his anger. Persuasion used to be his job. Now, when he'd come to see her again, he would be unbending. He would get her out of that house or be let in, should he have to use threat. He would wipe the tears on her cheeks with his lips, not his fingertips.
No more patience. No more mercy.
Then the phone which lay on the bedside table started ringing.
His anger didn't vanish magically like a ghost made of thin air, instead it lingered heavily in his body, and on his mind; he'd gotten carried away. That was one of the things that had happened when he had played Sara Tancredi for the first time, and a mistake he'd sworn not to make again.
The phone had begun its third ring when he picked up. "Hello?" And his voice was impassive, and casual as required; this stage of his game wouldn't be about persuasion. Sara had made the first step for the first time in their relationship, and she would make it all the way.
"Paul, hi." He spotted the nervousness in her voice. "Were you busy or something?"
Her genuine awkwardness managed to appease his anger slightly – every word leaving her mouth was exactly how he'd planned it; he couldn't see why he'd even gotten upset in the first place. It was a bit as though the woman managed to fall in every one of his traps just how he'd intended her to, but not exactly in the way he expected.
Careful, he had to remind himself. It'd be silly to get caught in his own game. Wouldn't that be quite like poetic justice. You reap what you sow. What comes around goes around. See if who laughs fast laughs longer.
At this moment, Paul Kellerman was grateful to think there was no justice in this world… and if there were, it wouldn't be poetic.
"No, Sara." He vouched softly, and in a day only, he knew she'd missed the sound of his voice – because this was the way she would miss him. This was the way she would need him. A fierce, hysterical love, more passionate than anything most women ever experience in their lives, and something that this particular woman never had felt before. Because only something of the sort could wrench her from the promises she'd made to her first husband.
Only passion would win over her devotion.
"Actually, you're not interrupting at all." He went on, and something was more casual in his voice; he aimed to make her comfortable. "I don't know what the weather is like in Channahon, but it's been raining all around since I got back to my hotel. I haven't gotten out of it all day."
This was his way of telling her it was all right and appropriate for her to call, regardless of what the hour should be. This was his invitation to invite him. And this, he knew she would. Because Sara Scofield hadn't just picked up her phone at ten in the evening, without the intention of doing something ridiculously impulsive.
She laughed at this, and though there was no amusement in her laughter, there was a bit of relief. Maybe just because she'd never thought she'd end up discussing the weather with a man who had attempted to kill her, and whom she had attempted to kill. "Yeah, it's um… I haven't gotten out much myself."
"Was Lincoln well?" He asked, for no other purpose than to hear her lie; he knew there had been no meeting with Sara and her brother-in-law today, and for some reason, he would like to hear her make something up. It was ironic, after all, that she would lie to him now. More than ironic. More than she could know.
"Oh, um –" Hesitation cut her words, as well as a bit of guilt. "Yes, he's fine." She cleared her throat before she went on. "Listen, I know it's late, but I have some tea left from this afternoon, and I thought maybe…"
There wasn't a doubt she expected him to tear her from her misery, but Kellerman didn't make a sound. Maybe because he thought it was time she confessed to what she wanted. Maybe just to punish her for not calling sooner.
She cleared her throat a second time. "If you could stop by, just for an hour two, it would mean a lot to me."
This was today's victory, but Kellerman didn't grin. Well, that was the idea, wasn't it? That he meant something to her. Thad she acknowledged he did. And that finally, after the initial fear, she admitted it out loud. Yet, right at this moment, Paul wasn't in the mood to smile at all.
In fact, during a single minute, the strangest of things happened.
He was tempted to let her go.
There were thousands of beautiful women he could prey on, without leaving them as emotionally wrecked as he would leave Sara Tancredi. There were other girls he could choose to tease, and drive mad with desire, girls who wouldn't have to first betray everything they valued and believed in.
He didn't have to push Sara Tancredi to forsake her dead husband. He didn't have to go against her will to belong to man's grave. He didn't have to awaken what she tried to leave behind.
For a second, inexplicably, he was tempted to tell her.
Go. Put down that phone, pack a suitcase, and run with your unborn child somewhere far enough so you won't ever be found. Go before a voice sweeter than an angel's comes out on the other end of the line, and everything inside you starts to surrender. Go before I have the time to change my mind.
The urge was still present on Kellerman's tongue when he opened his mouth to reply, and he had to stifle it with a blow colder than a snowfield. "That's no trouble at all, Sara." He swore and, through his casualness, the emotion in his voice had something authentic. "I'd love to come."
They hung up on this promise, and Kellerman remained still for an instant.
This wasn't the first time he was tempted to set Sara Tancredi free, but it had been a while. Last time had been when he had interrupted her trial, and saved her life. The first had been some time after he met her, when they'd shared a blueberry pie.
What left him frozen now was the thought that, if this wasn't the first time, it may not be the last.
Kellerman was not a good man, and he was not much interested in philosophical things; he lived a life of satisfaction, and had met enough pleasure so far, without anything quite standing out in the balance. He had never known something paradoxical enough so that, just when his fist was about to close on the catch, he was almost tempted to let his hand fall to his side. He had never met something so beautiful he decided to leave it there, free, untroubled, and unscarred.
There had never been anything that he had wanted enough not to want it.
And now…
He wondered with his eyes closed. Perhaps Sara Tancredi was part of a new game, one that wasn't quite completely alike all the ones he'd played before. Perhaps she would be a bit realer than that.
Then a thought crossed his mind, but didn't quite hit him.
Perhaps he was playing the only thing that was meant to be true in his life.
…
Sara's hands were shaking when she poured tea inside his cup. Her own lay untouched in a corner of the table, quietly cooling.
If, a few months ago, she'd had to write a list of unlikely situations, having tea with Paul Kellerman would have no doubt made the top ten. But she couldn't quite blame this on the crazy circumstances of her crazy life anymore. She'd called him.
For a while, she'd tried to think it was part of a temporary insanity, some sort of mad pregnancy phase or whatnot; but deep down, there was a deeper knowledge to this situation, one that Sara Tancredi would rather ignore, as careful of a woman as she was.
She had begun to accept Paul Kellerman as a part of her life. It wasn't a single day in his absence that had made her realize it, but rather the fact that she pictured parting with him. When she had first agreed to his friendship, she had known that it was branded with an expiration date; she had agreed because she was lonely, because the only friend she had was a brother-in-law, who grieved her husband almost as deeply as she did. The thought of a friendship with her former torturer had appeared mad, but there was more excitement to the thought than fear – and excitement was something that had drastically drained from Sara's life, in the past month. Grief had hit fast, and it had hit hard, and the hours she spent crying were so heavy that, although it was mad, to accept Kellerman's offer had seemed enticing.
It had seemed okay to let him tease her, and bring lightness and warmth into her days, for the time it would last.
She didn't think she would want it to last this long. But as she found herself alone, pregnant, and with no joy or life inside her house, she had realized she needed it, too.
And she would indulge herself into that need.
"Well, I can't say I expected you to call today." Kellerman said after a small swallow of tea; his tone was casual enough so that the mention didn't make her uneasy. "Though I have to admit, I'm a bit relieved you did."
"You worried about me, did you?"
"That's not it. You know, whether you'd like to believe it or not, I actually fancy your company." He smiled, and admitted. "But I did, worry about you."
Sara put down her tea and sighed. "I'm sorry I threw you out this morning."
"You didn't throw me out, this would imply you had let me in."
"I mean it, Paul." She pinched her lips together to hold back another sigh. "I was tired, and – I wanted to be alone."
This wasn't the real reason, but it didn't trouble him that she lied. What mattered was, in the course of her day, she had realized alone was the last thing she wanted to be. The idea might have seemed inviting, when her world of grief seemed gray and gloomy – but not when there was the possibility of another a life. One where she would laugh, want and be wanted, and loved. Even if she had to love a man her husband hated.
"That's okay, Sara." Kellerman said and, as he followed the thread of her thoughts, easily spotted thanks to that gloom that brought sadness in her eyes, and depth to her beauty, he added on instinct. "It must be terrible to have him gone."
She lifted her face to him, eyes drowned in bewilderment, an emotion so fully confused that it could have been relief as well as outrage. She could have kicked him out of her house for such a personal statement, if he hadn't spoken it with such sincerity – and if he hadn't gotten it so right.
As if, for months, Sara had been left without a husband, and through the sorry condolences she collected, no one had thought of asking her how that felt.
She remained silent for a minute or two, still puzzled and breathless, before the words started coming out. "Every time I dream of him… it's like my mind is trying to fool me, into forgetting it's not real. Every time I wake up," she went on, and her voice clouded, "there's a lingering moment when I close my eyes again, and I try to go back." She swallowed, as though it were the most ridiculous thing in the world. "I try to go back." She said again, almost apologetic, and before she could think of wishing back such personal words, her mind was wrenched back to reality, as a hand came in contact with her knee.
Her eyes flew to Kellerman's hand, but he didn't break the contact, and his touch felt – familiar.
It was meant to be reassuring, she knew this much, and the weight of his fingers on her leg was the liveliest contact she'd felt in months, and yet… something more came with that touch.
A memory.
A souvenir of their "friendship".
She remembered more than well being friends with Paul Kellerman before, back when she thought he was a harmless addict in her group, and she remembered just as vividly where this friendship had led her… and in an instant, she remembered her dream.
The message that the dream had tried to pass along, and which she had tried to follow in the morning, only to ignore as night fell.
The nightmare had been about the torture; about the day she had spent, strapped to a chair, inside a shady motel room. Sara thought she recalled this day well, but there had been a detail in the dream, something that hadn't quite hit her then, but which was all she could focus on now – it had been a touch, just like now.
When Paul Kellerman put her head underwater, when he wiped her face gently with his gloved hands, there had been something that she hadn't noticed right away. The pain and panic of the moment had perhaps prevented her from it.
His fingers, when they pushed damp locks out of her face, had lingered slightly on her cheek, and down her neck. His index had brushed the curve of her collarbone before he pulled away.
The memory was so vague it might as well be solely part of the dream; this was perhaps even paranoia.
But deep down, she knew it was real. While he'd been questioning her with violent threats and icy water, there had been a part of him that had wanted her. She had felt the desire in his touch, like a trail of clues left by his fingertips.
This was why the dream had shaken her. This was why this one had been different.
Because if Paul Kellerman wanted her then, then odds were, he wanted her still.
Because this put a whole new dimension to his promise of friendship.
Because Sara Tancredi was a careful woman; she should know better by now.
But she didn't slap his hand away, and when his fingers tightened around her knee in a comforting squeeze, she didn't move still.
And as the seconds wore on, she began to curse her fate. If the caring mask fell from the face of her sweet Paul Kellerman, she would have been warned.
And at this moment, she thought, there were no worse evils than those which doomed us hopelessly, and which we made no effort to escape from.