AN: I just wanted to say thank you so much for all of your reviews. I'm so excited to be getting into the heart of the story and I'm glad that you're excited too. These next few chapters are going to be very stressful, so I would recommend holding on tight!
As always, please Review with any thoughts you might have.
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Chapter Thirteen: Utter Entrapment
"Do you like iced tea, miss?"
A young officer hovered in front of the still shaking Christine, a cool glass in his hand. She smiled nervously and accepted it with thanks, shifting to a more comfortable position in the hard wooden chair before taking a big gulp. He continued to stand near her, his face concerned.
"Do you think that you'd be ok to talk to some people soon? The quicker you answer their questions the faster this can all be over and we can catch whoever did this, and you can go home." He was so earnest, so eager to do his job that it made her smile.
"Sure, I can answer any questions you'd like to ask," Christine affirmed quietly. "Just as long as you can guarantee that I'll be safe."
He bobbed his head. "Of course. I'll be right back."
Christine smiled serenely as she sipped on her tea and stared blankly ahead at the bustling, noisy police station. There was such a feeling of safety here: officers in crisp blue uniforms with heavy guns at their sides juxtaposed with cluttered desks and, a little further back, a few mostly empty cells. There was a wonderful sense of organized chaos, of being in a room filled with people who fought every day to protect others.
"Miss Danes?"
Christine glanced up, startled out of her reverie. A tall, strong jawed man of about fifty towered above her, his stern face attempting to look gentle. She swallowed, inexplicably nervous, like it was she who had done something wrong, like this was to be an interrogation, not a simple question answer session.
Suddenly his grim mouth broke into a compassionate smile, like the sun breaking out from behind the clouds, and he enclosed her hand in his large, calloused one.
"I have to say how admirable what you did was," he said, his voice serious. "You didn't lose your head and relied on your wits to stay alive and escaped a dangerous and potentially fatal situation. You're really an inspiration, Miss Danes. You must be very strong."
She gaped at him silently for a minute, suddenly unnerved by his last statement which almost mirrored one of the things that Erik had said to her. "You're very strong."
'Am I?' she thought. 'All I did was survive. How does that make me strong?'
Christine realized that the officer was speaking to her again, and she tried to focus on what he was saying. She noticed absently that his tag read "Jones."
"….Anything that you can remember. Any detail will help us."
Christine took a swig of her iced tea and deep breath. "I'll tell you everything that I remember," she promised, then launched into the story, from the music left at the grave, to the medication for her aunt, even to the suddenly important seeming loss of Raoul's family's company. She recounted the frightening, smiling people who had abducted her, and her first realization that she was trapped in that house. But it was when she mentioned his name that something odd happened.
She could have imagined it, but the officer standing next to her seemed to suck in his breath. Jones leaned in intently and asked her to describe exactly what he looked like. She struggled her way through the description of his tall, skin and bone figure, unearthly grace, heartrendingly beautiful voice, and finally his odd yellow eyes and full face mask of smooth black leather.
This time she knew she didn't imagine it; Jones looked deeply troubled and glanced at the other officers with a gaze that seemed to register something to them that was incomprehensible to her. His questions became rapid fire and unrelenting: how long were you there? Were you harmed in any way? Were you raped? (Where she flushed awkwardly and shook her head in a fierce 'no.') What exactly did he say to you? Do you believe that he would hurt you? Some of the questions seemed out of place and extraneous (are you sure the mask was black? Do you have any idea how he spelled his name?) and soon her head was dizzy with them. After another half an hour she was finally left alone, but her eyes followed Jones for a long time as he paced the floor, muttered with colleagues, and finally made his way to a far corner where he hesitantly picked up a ringing phone and spoke into it for a long time.
Christine sat there for what seemed like hours watching the police station, which suddenly seemed disorganized and frenzied. Many times when officers were huddled together and speaking low voices she could have sworn they glanced her way. Voices were raised in argument, though the words were inaudible. Jones in particular seemed distressed; his wide, stern mouth pursed together, his posture stiff, his hands moving in nervous motions at the cuffs of his shirt.
Finally, as her eyes were drooping shut against her will and her mind was falling into a pleasant state of numbed unconsciousness, Jones made his way over to her chair, his expression sober.
"Miss Danes," he said, his voice jerking out of her half asleep state and nearly causing her to fall off of her chair. She righted herself quickly and stared into his face.
"Is everything ok?" she asked, and he stared at her for a long time, like he had never seen anything quite like her before.
"It seems that we have run into a problem, Miss Danes. The person you described is known as dangerous and while we are attempting to apprehend him I'm afraid that you must be moved to a more secure location. Immediately."
She stared up at him uncomprehendingly. "Where?" She asked after a long moment. "Where will I go? And when can I return?"
He paused, and for some reason that brief hesitation caused a small hard rock of unease to settle in Christine's stomach. "The location is secure. For your own safety, that's all I can tell you. Let's go. The sooner we get this over with," he stopped for a moment, searching her face again. "The safer you'll be."
Jones took her arm with a gentle but firm grip and led her outside to a waiting car. He opened the backseat door for her, but before getting in she paused and laid one hand on his arm.
"Officer Jones…" she stared up into his face, searching his as he had searched hers but not finding what she was looking for. "Thank you. For everything. Thank you so much."
His face twisted as if he had swallowed something sour but he nodded gruffly and motioned for her to sit inside the car. From the back seat she watched him as they pulled away, as his large figure grew smaller and smaller before finally disappearing altogether. Twining her fingers nervously around her cross necklace she sat with her head against the window as the car moved smoothly across the pavement, and noticed quietly that it had begun to rain.
"So where exactly am I going?" she asked, not taking her eyes from the window where thick, fat drops of summer rain were sliding lazily down the clean glass.
"You know, I've only been married for five years, but I've already got two kids and one more on the way. Can you believe that?" He wasn't answering her question, and his response was so out of the blue that Christine found herself cocking her head, confused.
"Oh, that's nice," she said slowly. He nodded and continued talking, his voice steady but spoken with a barely noticeable tremor.
"Right now I have two little girls," he continued. "And the doctor says that our new one is going to be a boy. We're all so excited; the girls can't wait to have a brother. They're really little angels. Everyone is so proud of me, being a policeman. Anna and Susan brag to everyone they meet."
"Ah," she said awkwardly. "Well, they sound wonderful."
"They are." He gripped the wheel tighter. "I love them all so very much. My wife is amazing. My family…they mean the world to me. They're my world. I don't know what I'd do without them. 'Daddy is a police officer,' they say. 'He protects people.' And I do. Especially them. I'd do anything to protect them. Anything."
Slowly she sat up, staring at him, and a horrible winding worm of paralyzing fear started in her stomach and moved up her windpipe. Her hands started to shake.
"Where are you taking me?" She whispered.
The officer clenched the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles turned white. "I have to protect them," he gasped out. "You understand that, don't you? They're my family."
Christine placed hands against the thick plastic barrier that separated them. "Where are you taking me?" She asked, her voice louder and more hysterical. "Stop the car."
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, but you have to understand…my girls…"
"Stop the car!" Christine screamed as she fumbled with the car doors, which refused to unlock. "Stop the car now!"
"I'm sorry…."
Frantically she slammed her hands against the plastic barrier. "Stop the car!" She screamed. "Let me out!"
"I can't…Oh God…please forgive me…" His shoulders were shaking softly, as if he was crying.
Fighting a rising panic attack, Christine faced the window and did the only thing she could think of. She pressed her back against the black seat and pushed out with her legs, slamming her tennis shoes into the bullet proof window. She slammed and slammed and slammed, the soles of her shoes hitting the glass with dull thonking noises, but the window refused to budge.
"Please don't do that." He seemed to be regaining some of his calm. She turned her attention to the thick plastic between her and the officer and slammed into it with her feet, but it did no good.
"Let me out!" she screamed as her feet connected crackingly with the plastic. "Let me out, please! Stop the car, stop the goddamned car!"
"Try to understand, Miss…"
"What if it were your daughters?" She howled. "What if it were your children here? Please, help me!"
That stunned him into silence, and for a moment she thought he was going to relent. But he only turned his head to the road and muttered, "I'm sorry."
"You can't do this to me!" She shrieked, her face red and wild and wet with tears. "I'm a human being! You can't do this to me! You're supposed to protect people! Protect me! Help me! Stop the car! Stop the car! Stop the car! STOP THE CAR!"
But he didn't slow, didn't say another word. He just drove while she screamed, while she clawed at the plastic barrier until her fingers bled, while she pleaded with him desperately.
"Please!" She bayed blaringly when her panic had robbed all other words from her throat. "Please! Please! Please! Please! Please! PLEASE!"
The car was slowing. A destination was being reached.
"PLEASSSSEEEEE!" She screamed as loud as she could, her eyes scrunched tight, her hands over her ears, childlike, hoping that it would all go away. "PLEASSSEEEEEE!"
The car stopped.
Christine was still screaming blindly when her passenger door opened and she felt a hand on her wrist. Her howls stopped immediately and she turned to him with a kind of hopeless whimper, noticing absently that they were in a large, abandoned parking lot.
"Please," she whispered to him, her face tear streaked, her breath coming out in gulping gasps. "Please…"
The officer studied her for a moment with sad eyes. His face was young, tanned, round and healthy, but he had prematurely lined forehead and his eyes were old. "Listen to me," he said, his voice quiet and rushed. "Please listen to me. I couldn't let you go even if I wanted to. You'd never get away. You have no idea how much power this man has. It's not just this precinct, it's all precincts. All laws. All courts. Everything. No matter what you'd do, he'd find you."
"What can I do?" she whimpered hopelessly.
"I can't tell you anything, except…" he paused. "This is the longest of all long shots, but as far as I know his political power only extends to the borders of this country. If you could get out of the country somehow, go somewhere far…you might be able to get away. Maybe." He stared at her. "God bless you," he whispered brokenly. "I'll never be able to forgive myself for this. I'll…I'll never forget you."
He moved away from the car and held the door open for her. Suddenly all of her adrenaline had disappeared, and her body felt weak and shaky, her arms and legs like dead weights.
Christine stumbled out of the police car and fell sideways to her knees and then, helplessly, folded over into a collapsed pile. Rough gravel scraped her cheek as she laid her head on the gray pavement and stared out of blurry eyes at a tilted sky. She couldn't stand, couldn't walk towards that fate. The summer rain slid under her thin shirt and plastered her hair to her head but she laid there, wet and shaking, waiting to be dragged back into the darkness.
