Two days later...
Saturday, February 19th, 2017
Blairhoyle House, Scotland
00:01
Amber awoke with a start.
What had awoken her? She looked around the room, but nothing appeared out of the ordinary – Diana was still fast asleep and snoring lightly. Amber sat up, listening to try and figure out what could have awoken her. The girl – who had gone to bed a twelve-year-old girl but had just awoken on her thirteenth birthday – groaned as she slipped out of bed and peered out into the passageway outside. She was awake and she wanted a drink before trying to get back to sleep. After a brief descent down the dimly lit winding stairs, Amber stepped into the kitchen. Suddenly, everything went black as something was brought down over her head and all visibility was cut to zero. Amber felt hands on her arms, and she started to scream but then she froze as she felt something hard pressed against her right temple. Her mind told her that it was a pistol – she had been in that very same position, just a year before. Then came a voice which scared the girl to her core: "Make a sound, bitch, and you die!"
Amber was very frightened. She had no idea what was happening to her. She was dragged out of the kitchen and then outside. The freezing cold struck her pyjama-clad body and she shivered. Under her feet, she felt cold tarmac before she was shoved to the ground and she felt what had to be wet grass under her hands, then she screamed out as she felt her pyjama top pulled off over her head, the hood over her head somehow remaining in place. She felt the cold on her bare skin and the shivering grew worse. Then her pyjama bottoms were ripped away. She felt the cold mud against her bare bottom as she fell to the side, and she began to weep with fear. Amber was hauled to her feet and she stumbled as she was pulled along. Then she screamed again as she was shoved to her knees, the muddy water of a puddle splashing up over her bare thighs.
"You are a fucking traitor, Amber Dawson," an electronically enhanced voice announced. "Once we are done with you, and we have found out all that you know, then you will die."
For a moment, Amber felt warmth between her legs, but then she felt ashamed as she realised that she had just peed herself.
..._..
Then came a different feeling of warmth as she passed inside a building.
Amber was totally disoriented, not to mention cold and muddy. She found herself dragged down a set of steel stairs to a lower level and then down again. Only then was she released and thrown to the cold concrete floor.
"Get up!" a voice ordered out of the darkness which surrounded her.
It was the first voice she had heard since her ordeal had begun. Only, it was not really a voice. It was electronically enhanced, and it put the fear of God into Amber as she knew full well who the voice belonged to, although maybe not the individual, but she knew that the voice belonged to a Vengeance vigilante. That meant that she had been found out and that she was going to be tortured for information before...
"We don't want to hurt you," the voice continued. "But if you don't follow instructions..."
The voice made it brutally clear that she would suffer should she not obey instructions. Amber slowly stood up, looking all around for something other than darkness. Then she sensed movement a short distance away, but she could neither hear nor see anything. Then a light snapped on, illuminating her and two masked, armour-clad vigilantes. Her mind recognised them as Nemesis and Ajax. The two vigilantes began to circle her, and Amber found it increasingly difficult to keep both of them in sight as they moved independently. It seemed like an age before either spoke again.
"Who are you?" Nemesis demanded.
"Amber Dawson."
"Your middle name?"
"Don't have one."
"Your file says you do."
"Then your fucking file is wrong," Amber shot back, anger building inside her; if she was going down, then she was going down fighting.
"Maybe it is," Nemesis conceded. "Age?"
"Thirteen – I'm thirteen today."
"Happy Birthday!" Ajax growled in a derisive tone.
"You've been investigating Vengeance, WHY?" Nemesis continued.
That last word had been bellowed almost in Amber's ear.
"I was curious."
"Curious, my arse!" Ajax growled. "You were trying to find a way in, to infiltrate us."
"No!"
"You want to do us harm; you are reporting back to someone, WHO?"
"No one," Amber shouted back. "I am reporting to no one!"
"We don't believe you," Ajax hissed. "You are an enemy agent and should be put to death."
"You saved the life of James Carter, not too long ago," Nemesis stated. "Am I right?"
Amber nodded, staring down at the ground visible at her feet.
"You were being held by William Fraser," Nemesis continued. "Why were you being held by that man?"
Amber hesitated. If she told the truth, they would kill her. The truth was something which she had intended to carry to her grave . . . assuming she actually lived long enough to die. Amber closed her eyes, blocking out the bright light for a few moments.
"He killed my mother and I was forced to live there."
The lie mixed with a semblance of truth came fluently out of her mouth.
..._...
A part of Nemesis felt for the girl as she stood there for all to see.
The girl was struggling to understand what, why, how . . . there was also something in her eyes: fear. Well, that was kind of expected considering what was happening to her, Nemesis considered, but there was something more in those eyes. Was that fear of somebody else? The girl was just too damn secretive for her own good which just made the girl all that harder to trust. There was general dissent among certain members of Vengeance as to whether the girl could be trusted. Nemesis had talked extensively with many of them, but all said the same. It was the same thing – Amber's behaviour was complicated and while explainable, was seen as demonstrably untrustworthy. Hiding Vengeance from someone so close to the organisation and the people within it was getting more and more difficult, so a decision had to be made – one way or another. It had been Olivia who had suggested the hard and fast approach for the interrogation – Craig had been firmly against it, but Jasper had agreed, so Amber had been forced to suffer. Jasper had been of the opinion that if Amber made it through her ordeal then she had to be innocent and could therefore be trusted. Everyone knew that Amber was nothing special – i.e. she was no Predator with extensive anti-interrogation training – so basic interrogation techniques were deemed appropriate as far as the girl was concerned.
Naturally, her personal laptop had been inspected inside and out, but apart from an unhealthy liking for research into vigilantism, aliens, conspiracy theories, and the like, nothing incriminating had been found – much to Olivia's annoyance.
..._...
After intensive deliberations, Nemesis, Ajax, and Belle had descended to the lowest level where the cells were.
Ajax unlocked and pulled open the steel door to the second cell from the left. Inside, it was dark and not all that warm; the lights and heating had been turned off for the past two hours. Ajax switched on the lights from outside the cell and turned on the heating. Inside, there was a somewhat pitiful sight. As the naked, dirty, sweaty Amber Dawson sat on the cold concrete, she looked up and she began to sob as she anticipated her next interrogation.
"We trust you, Amber," a familiar voice announced, and the distraught youngster looked up into the eyes of Olivia Kensington and then over at Princess Mary and Cassie Perrin. "We trust you to keep our secret."
Only Mary and Craig caught Olivia's muttered words which followed, "For now..." as a warm blanket was thrown around Amber's bare shoulders. Amber pulled the blanket in close to her body.
"You're safe," a voice stated.
Amber felt anything but safe as she looked around at the supposedly friendly faces; she felt like she was about to be lynched.
Later that same day...
Oxford, England
The churchyard was not large and occupied the north and south of the thousand-year-old church which dated back to Norman times.
Beyond the churchyard, to the west was a larger cemetery, the northwestern corner of which held modern-era graves. While Harper Sharp was generally okay with death – she had both seen and caused death many times – the reason behind why they were both there was horrifying in the extreme. Indeed, Keira Sharp had not fully come to terms with why they were there, in that churchyard, standing at the stone surround for the Sharp Family grave. The names went back to the mid eighteen-hundreds with the most recent on fresh marble inserted beneath all the other names. There had been no bodies to bury – not even ashes – so it was just names:
In memory of
Kimberley and Ian
and their daughter Harper
Died: March 2015
"What am I doing on there?"
"When that stone was cut, you were still lost to us," Keira explained.
"It's creepy!" Harper complained.
"I'll get it changed..."
"Well, well, well," a somewhat nasal, disapproving voice commented. "Back from the sea, are we?"
Keira scowled and Harper saw her sister's fists ball-up before being released. Only after taking a deep, deep breath, did Keira then turn to face the speaker.
"Hello, Aunt Beatrice," Keira offered in a distinctly sour tone.
Aunt Beatrice was in her late forties and beneath the permed hair, her beady green eyes glared down at Keira. The eyes were full of disapproval as was the expression on her face.
"Who is this?" the woman demanded as she examined Harper like she might examine a piece of mangy Haddock down the fishmongers.
"What are you doing here?" Keira asked, ignoring the question.
"Something which you rarely do – I am visiting your mother, my sister."
"She's not there you know," Keira shot back, tears in her eyes.
"But it is all we have," came the response in a decidedly softer tone.
Aunt Beatrice had never approved of the man whom her sister had married. Nor had she approved of her sister's eldest daughter who had appeared to be a wild child who ultimately ran off to sea. While Kimberley had been proud of her eldest daughter's commission as an officer in the Royal Navy, Beatrice hated anything to do with the military – sea, land, or air.
"Keira? Who is that girl . . . it can't be?" another voice piped up.
Keira looked over and she forced a smile for her Uncle Arthur whom she liked very much.
"She's Harper, Uncle Arthur."
"But..."
"But... It's a very long story; Harper came back to me, about a year ago," Keira said.
"And you never thought to say anything!" Beatrice exploded.
"I am not about to explain myself to you," Keira responded tartly.
Harper looked beyond the two adults to see a pair of children a few years older than herself simply loitering and looking decidedly uncomfortable.
That evening...
The Star Restaurant
Oxford
The party of six sat around the table with nobody saying a word.
"May I take your drinks orders?" a waitress asked, breaking through the deafening silence.
"I'll have a white wine," Beatrice Standburn stated stiffly from a seat facing her husband at the far end of the table.
"A pint of bitter, please," Arthur Standburn added, "and the kids will have a Coke each."
"Ma'am?" the waitress asked Keira who sat facing Harper at the opposite end of the table with the two Standburn children in between as a neutral zone between the two warring factions: Keira and her Aunt Beatrice.
"I'll take a Coke, too," Keira replied.
"Me, too, thanks," Harper concluded.
"So, when did Harper reappear?" Uncle Arthur asked.
"It was early June 2016," Keira replied.
"Where was she for eighteen months," Uncle Arthur persisted.
"And what happened to your parents, Keira?" Aunt Beatrice added.
"Our parents were murdered after they and Harper were kidnapped," Keira replied.
"And before you ask, I do not remember what happened," Harper said quietly. "I found out afterwards that my parents were shot."
"By whom?" Aunt Beatrice wanted to know.
Harper forced down her angry retort before she spoke calmly.
"I do not know who shot our Mum and Dad."
Keira felt distinctly uncomfortable, knowing the truth, and knowing that the truth could never be spoken allowed.
..._...
The drinks arrived and then the food was ordered.
Forty minutes later, everyone was eating, which was useful as nobody was talking. The three children happily shovelled down the food, much to the combined disapproval of Keira and Aunt Beatrice. The two older children were a boy and a girl. The boy, Dominic, was the eldest at thirteen years of age while his sister, Dominique, was twelve. Neither had a quarrel with Keira – who they adored - nor Harper, although both, in the past, had tended to see themselves as superior to their annoying little cousin, Harper. Dominque was sitting next to Harper but generally ignoring her. Harper was very happy just to be ignored as the earlier conversation had started to go in a decidedly nasty direction. Keira was also aware how close things had come to a very touchy subject for both herself and Harper.
"Where are you working, Uncle Arthur?" Keira asked.
"I'm working in central London," Uncle Arthur replied. "Thames House."
"You're Box?" Harper blurted out without thinking, before yelping as she received a kick to the shin from Keira.
Uncle Arthur paled slightly at the instant recognition of his workplace. Harper had referred to the colloquial name for MI5 which related to its World War II postal address of 'PO Box 500'. His nine-year-old niece should not know that detail – unless... HI mind drifted back a few months... As part of his job, he had come across a top secret document concerning events the previous October when a badly-injured young girl called Harper had reportedly received a Queen's Gallantry Medal from The Queen herself, while an unnamed female Royal Navy helicopter pilot had received a Distinguished Flying Cross at the same time. He had registered the name but had swiftly put it off to coincidence. Of course, his wife knew nothing of what he did at work – and she did not want to know which worked well for him considering the secrecy involved in his work.
"And what are you doing, currently, Keira?" Uncle Arthur asked.
"I am living in Scotland with Harper," Keira replied. "In fact, there have been two major changes to my life, since Harper's return. I have left the Royal Navy to look after Harper, full-time, and we live in Edinburgh, Scotland. I have also become the ward for an eleven-year-old girl called Diana. I am also engaged to be married to a Surgeon-Lieutenant-Commander. I will be marrying Blake next month."
"What!?" Aunt Beatrice almost exploded as she finished a forkful of tuna steak. "Marriage!? Adoption!? What is this rubbish!?"
"It is not rubbish, Aunt Beatrice!" Keira exploded. "I have met a man who I love. That man also brought my sister back from the edge of death and quite literally pieced her back together again."
"What preposterous nonsense!" Aunt Beatrice retorted. "In all my years, I have never heard such claptrap! It is obvious that that girl survived whatever happened to my sister and her husband – she was probably partly to blame for whatever happened I would surmise. I knew that you would never amount to anything, Keira – and I was right!"
"Now, hold on!" Keira said as she stood up to glare down at her aunt. "I am not standing for this..."
Keira stood up, and she marched around the table to where Harper sat next to Dominique.
"We're going!"
"But...," Harper tried as she was pulled by her arm out of the chair and out of the restaurant.
That very same evening...
Paris, France
Ten-year-old Yvette Dubois was creeping through the Paris darkness in her alter ego of La Terreaur.
She loved her new life and she loved the attention she got from her adoptive family. However, she had no idea that her life was about to be turned upside down in a decidedly unpleasant manner, in just a few short hours. The night was cold, but her combat suit kept her warm and snug as she navigated the narrow streets and alleyways around the Gare Paris-Montparnasse and the Cimetière du Montparnasse. There were always people out after dark who were up to no good and La Terreaur was determined to ensure that those just wanting to go about their lawful business without interference could do so. Fighting crime and doing good was just a small part of why the young girl was out on the streets.
Two would-be muggers were about to find out just what the major part of why the young girl was out on the streets was.
..._...
The young woman was in her mid-twenties and heading home from an evening out with friends.
As was usual, the woman was chatting on her mobile phone, and not paying very much attention to her surroundings. She was too excited as she chatted on her phone to notice the two men as they closed on her through the darkness from two different directions. By the time she noticed that she was not alone, it was far too late for her to do anything about it. Just as she was finishing her call, she noticed someone in the shadows, a dozen yards ahead of her. Once she had said her goodbyes, she began to panic slightly as she swiftly pocketed her mobile phone and turned away from the someone in the shadows, but then another someone began to emerge from the shadows ahead of her, and the young woman began to feel real panic rise inside her as she realised that she was in real trouble. The two men closed on their mark, broad smiles on their faces as they considered the success – and the fun – they would have that night.
The woman began to scream.
..._...
The men were very pleased.
One dug through the young woman's personal affects while the other pawed at her body, the woman frozen with fear, her screaming having stopped dead the very moment a sharp six-inch blade had appeared. The woman could not keep her eyes off of the blade as the shiny steel shimmered in the light from a nearby building. The blade was mesmerising, and the woman was scared stiff that that blade was going to come closer to her body. Unfortunately, for the woman, the man had seen her eyes following the sharp tip of the knife.
"Vous aimez la lame, n'est-ce pas?" {You like the blade, don't you?}
"Non!" {No!}
"Tu fais. Comment aimeriez-vous le ressentir?" {You do. How would you like to feel it?}
Before the young woman could scream again, she saw movement beyond the man with the knife. She could see little more than a shadow, a small shadow, but still a shadow. Then came a voice, a strangely electronic voice, but still a voice.
"Alors, tu aimes jouer avec les couteaux, n'est-ce pas, salaud?" {So, you like to play with knives, don't you, bastard?}
"C'est une de ces fichues vigilantes!" the man with the knife said as he turned towards the armour-clad vigilante. "Va te faire foutre, salope!" {She's one of those damn vigilantes!} {Fuck you, bitch!}
The man raised his right hand, the knife aloft. He made to throw it, but then he screamed as the shorter-than-normal vigilante moved like lightning and the would-be mugger froze, his knife clattering to the ground at his feet. Then he began to scream as he stared at his right hand which was not knife free. Two titanium throwing knives had pierced the palm of his right hand and penetrated all the way, remaining firmly embedded with their points emerging from the back of his hand.
"Les couteaux sont dangereux!" the unnatural voice growled from the shadows. {Knives are dangerous!}
La Terreaur stepped forward to where she could be seen more clearly just as the second man moved forward, however, he raised his right hand, where a small Astra 680 revolver was plainly visible. Then something small, circular, and very deadly came spinning out of the darkness. The device was about four inches in diameter and spun at a high rpm. At first glance, it seemed like nothing more than an overlarge metallic-red yo-yo, but it was no standard yo-yo. As the device closed its target, a round dozen hawkbill blades emerged, extending out a further three inches from the racing disk. As the blades passed across the man's exposed right wrist, blood sprayed out in an expanding cloud as the revolver plus hand fell to the ground.
The combat yo-yo spun back to its owner, the blades retracting and vanishing from sight as it flew backwards. La Coccinelle grasped her weapon in her gauntleted right hand. The veteran vigilante gave little heed to the man scrabbling on the ground for his severed limb.
"Ça va madame?" she growled from behind her mask. {How are you miss?}
"Oui . . . merci." {Yes . . . thank you.}
La Terreaur helped the woman to her feet.
"Etre sur votre chemin," La Coccinelle suggested. {Be on your way.}
"Merci!" {Thank you.}
The man with blades in his palm tried to get to his feet, only for a long black staff to appear from the shadows and take his legs out from under him.
"Personne ne vous a dit de vous lever, crétin!" Le Chat Noir commented as he joined his colleagues. {No one told you to get up, cretin!}
"Bien joué," La Terreaur said as she faded into the darkness. {Good game.}
La Coccinelle and Le Chat Noir followed, vanishing from sight.
An hour later...
Rue Froidevaux
The trio of Parisienne vigilantes kept their speed low as they cruised along the road in their armoured Range Rover, Féroce.
"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" La Terreaur called out from the back seat. {What is that?}
"Quelle?" Le Chat Noir asked from the driver's seat. {What?}
"Trois personnes ont juste disparu dans le cimetière - celui-ci était beaucoup plus courte que les deux autres," La Terreaur explained. "Je pense que le plus court suivait les deux autres." {Three people just disappeared into the cemetery - one was much shorter than the other two.} {I think the shorter one followed the other two.}
"Jusqu'à rien de bon," La Coccinelle considered. {Nothing good.}
"Je le pense." {I think so.}
"D'accord," Le Chat Noir commented as he pulled over. "Allons voir ce que tu as trouvé, ma petite terreur." {Okay.} {Let's go see what you found, my litte terror.}
"Yay!" the little terror responded. {Yay!}
..._...
The cemetery, dating from 1824, was about forty-seven acres in size and was packed with over 35,000 graves and over 300,000 dead.
All three of them found the whole idea of creeping around a dark cemetery at night distinctly creepy, although, the younger member of their small party appeared to not be as creeped out as the adults. Back at Bastille, Akuma was using the high definition cameras secreted around Féroce to keep a wary eye on her friends, but she quickly lost sight of them amongst the myriad of grave markers, some of which were over eight feet in height. La Terreaur moved ahead of the two adults, her eyes scanning all around for anything and everything. Her right hand hung just two inches from her holstered Beretta Px4 Storm Compact pistol. Her left held a pair of titanium throwing knives, identical to those she had used earlier that evening. La Terreaur paused as she heard voices, just a short distance ahead of her. A quick hand signal and Le Chat Noir moved off to the right while La Coccinelle moved off to the left.
La Terreaur moved closer, peering around a large stone cross which towered three feet over her head.
..._...
The shorter person turned out to be a boy.
He was doing exactly what La Terreaur was doing – skulking around a graveyard. 'But to what purpose?' the ten-year-old thought as she moved to a better position to observe the two men whom the boy had obviously been following. Then it clicked; they were drug dealers – could the boy have been seeking to rip them off? The drug dealers were using the cemetery to distribute their product, a point which became blatantly obvious as three more men appeared, obviously intending to do business at the impromptu cash and carry. One of the new arrivals was apparently the buyer while the other two were purely muscle. La Terreaur kept an eye on the boy as well as the new arrivals – her practiced eyes told her that something was about to go down.
She was bang on!
..._...
While two of the men bartered, the three muscle men talked amongst themselves.
La Terreaur could see two medium-sized holdalls which had to contain the drugs and probably a good deal of cash depending on how busy the dealers had been that night. Then she groaned inwardly as she saw the boy inching towards the seemingly unguarded holdalls. The boy did not stand a chance, although she had to admit that he had balls! As the seconds ticked by, the boy moved closer to the holdall and La Terreaur found herself holding her breath as the boy moved. She willed him to be successful, but then she saw one of the muscle men turn and...
"Connard!" the man exclaimed. {Asshole!}
La Terreaur gave the boy credit as he did not flinch, reaching out to grab the closest holdall and drawing a pistol from his belt in a fluid movement which ended as the boy shot one of the men, but not before one of the dealers smacked him with a baseball bat which La Terreaur had not seen the man holding in the darkness. Swiftly, the scene went to shit when La Coccinelle shot the man with the baseball bat for his trouble as the boy fell to the ground almost at the feet of La Terreaur. Le Chat Noir went to town on the two remaining muscle men, striking them with his carbon-fibre staff and shattering bone. While the muscle men were being corralled, La Terreaur raced for the boy, who lay on the ground grasping his stomach, and dragging him to safety. With a yell, the drug dealer fell to the ground, knocked out cold by Le Chat Noir. Nobody hung around as Le Chat Noir swept up the fallen boy and La Coccinelle grabbed the two holdalls. La Terreaur covered their return to Féroce and safety.
Once aboard, Le Chat Noir put his foot down as they threaded their way through Paris, back to Bastille.
Later that night...
Bastille
"Ewww! C'est un garçon!" {Ewww! It's a boy!}
"Oh! Pour l'amour de Dieu!" Marinette responded as she checked out the boy's injuries. {Oh! For God's sake!}
"Nous ne le gardons pas, n'est-ce pas?" Yvette went on. {We're not keeping it, are we?}
"Donne moi de la force! Des gamins!" Marinette growled. {Give me strength! Kids!}
While Marinette went off to change, Yvette sat with the boy as he lay in a spare bed. He had passed out with the pain from his bruised ribs during the drive back and had not regained consciousness since. Yvette had winced at the black and blue bruises which covered the boy's abdomen, knowing how much something like that hurt, having experienced such a bruising herself. After a while, Yvette became bored and she began to poke the boy in an effort to be both annoying and to wake him up.
"Ow..." the boy complained.
"Putain qui êtes-vous?" Yvette demanded as the boy's eyes opened. {Who the fuck are you?}
"Yvette!" Marinette exclaimed as she returned.
"Salut comment tu t'appelles?" Yvette asked in a nicer tone. {Hello, what is your name?}
"Es-tu lesbienne?" the boy responded grumpily. {Are you lesbian?}
"Connasse!" Yvette retorted. {Bitch!}
"Yvette!" Marinette warned for the second time.
"Je m'appelle Owen," the boy said as he smirked at the scowling Yvette. {My name is Owen.}
"We speak English, if that helps," Marinette said, after listening to the boy's accent. "Your French is very good."
"Thanks," Owen replied before looking over at Yvette with a sour expression. "Hello, Yvette."
"Hello," Yvette responded, somewhat reluctantly, and a little tartly.
"I'm Marinette, and you are safe here."
"Can I go back to sleep now?"
"Yes, Owen, you can," Marinette replied. "I promise that Yvette won't annoy you."
"Don't bet on it," Yvette muttered as she sat down on her own bed, across from where Owen lay.
Marinette gave the unrepentant Yvette a withering look before she left the two children alone.
The following afternoon...
Sunday, February 20th
Bastille
The boy awoke, feeling very confused.
He had no idea where he was, but then he rolled over and he grimaced with the pain from his ribs. He saw a young girl looking at him from another bed where she sat brushing her long black hair.
"Who are you?" Owen asked.
"Yvette, remember?"
"Oh, yeah, sorry."
"You had a bad time," Yvette went on. "If you want a shower, the bathroom is across the corridor. Your clothes are on that chair – they've been washed for you."
"Okay," Owen said as he pushed back the duvet and forced himself to sit up.
There was a small medical dressing on his left side, but otherwise all he could see was heavy bruising. He also noticed Yvette craning her neck to see more detail.
"Can I help you?" Owen asked.
"Just checking to see what you got," Yvette grinned, her cheeks turning pink, before she bolted from the room.
Owen sighed as he gingerly stood up before making his way to the bathroom.
..._...
Owen entered the kitchen forty minutes later.
"Hello, Owen," Marinette said. "How did you sleep?"
"Marinette, right? I slept okay – the shower felt good. Thanks for the clean clothes."
Owen sat down at the kitchen table where Marinette indicated.
"Hey!" Owen exclaimed.
"Thought so," Yvette commented as she released the boy's head. "You're a Predator."
Owen glared at the young girl as she sat down in the chair beside him. The girl flipped back the long hair from her right ear, and he saw the tattoo identical to his own.
"You could have asked," he groused.
"Where's the fun in that?" Yvette grinned.
"Yep," Owen commented. "You're a female Predator all right – a total bitch!"
Marinette laughed as Yvette grinned happily.
..._...
After breakfast, Marinette appeared with a packed holdall.
"Are we going somewhere?" Owen asked.
"Chicago," Marinette replied.
"America?"
"You're clever," Yvette snidely pointed out.
Owen was worried as he considered his future.
Just over a week later...
Tuesday, February 28th
Ilkley, West Yorkshire
England
Owler Park
Rylee was nervous as hell.
She had never felt so nervous, she realised, as she sat in the back seat of her mother's brand-new 66-plate Audi A4 Avant. Things were definitely changing, just as Rylee and her mother had been promised. The most important thing for her was their current destination – a new home. Rylee had originally disliked the idea of leaving her childhood home, but without her father there, she agreed that she and her mother needed a new start. However, it was not just the two of them anymore, there was also Simon. He sat in the back seat beside Rylee, just as nervous – he was very soon to see his new home, something which he had never expected to have again.
"Oh, this is going to so piss off Tricia," Rylee grinned, referring to Tricia Hartley, her worst enemy at school.
Tricia lived in the snobby part of Ilkley, right where they were headed at that moment, and Tricia had made sure that Rylee knew she belonged in the lesser parts of the Yorkshire town. As they headed up Owler Park Road, Rylee grinned broadly. She was openly amazed by the enormous properties which lined the road. Then Simon yelped as Rylee screamed the piercing sound hurting his ears. The cause of Rylee's scream had been her mother turning left onto the drive of their new home.
"You – are – fucking – with – me!" Rylee exclaimed as she saw the house for the first time.
Rachel hated the coarse language, but she allowed her daughter the profanity as Rylee was thinking the very same thing she was. It felt so unreal, but it was real, she realised as she sopped the car and turned off the engine outside the detached double garage. Simon noticed that Rylee was shaking as she climbed out of the car and walked over towards the front door of their new home. As Rachel opened the door, Rylee began to squeal in eager anticipation. Simon pushed the suddenly reluctant Rylee ahead of him into a small hallway and on into the dining hall where a large light-oak table sat with eight light-oak chairs arranged around it. Ahead, a set of glazed double doors led outside while a set of part-glazed doors led into the living room. Also, to the right, there was a small family room and then a downstairs toilet or cloakroom. To the left, a single-glazed door led into a capacious kitchen with a utility beyond.
Before they could go any further, Rylee began to cry, and she sagged into Simon for support.
..._...
It took Rylee a good half hour to sort herself out.
Simon stayed with her for every second of it, and Rachel did not intervene. She knew that Rachel had a lot to come to terms with and some of it involved events for which Simon had been there for. Rachel hated the time during which she had missed out on her daughter's formative years, but she was pleased that Rylee had not been alone and that she had someone who cared for her.
"I'm okay, mum," Rylee said as she wiped her eyes and she saw the worried expression on her mother's face.
"Thank you, Simon," Rachel said, and she grinned as the boy blushed.
The climbed the stairs out of the dining hall and they three of them found themselves on a T-shaped landing. To the left was the master bedroom where Rachel would sleep. She had an ensuite bathroom too. Straight ahead was Rylee's new bedroom.
"Don't worry, we can paint it pink," Rachel said as she saw Rylee's neutral expression.
"Pink is for girls!"
"You have a twat," Simon pointed out. "I know, I've seen it and touched it."
Rachel laughed at her daughter's embarrassment and they moved onto the next bedroom which was the smallest and would become a spare room. At the opposite end of the house to bedroom one, there were two bedrooms. Simon would take the one looking out over the rear garden while the other would be a spare bedroom. Lastly, or so Rylee and Simon thought, there was the bathroom which consisted of a massive shower and a massive bath - both of which could handle two people simultaneously.
"You two can share a bath," Rachel commented.
"Mum! I am a dignified young woman who does not flaunt her body!"
Rachel raised an eyebrow as she turned for the stairs, then called back to her irate daughter.
"One more place to see – the basement."
"The basement?" Simon and Rylee asked.
Both scampered after Rachel as she descended the right-angled staircase before she turned for the door leading into the tiny hallway. Full of curiosity, the two youngsters followed Rachel as she pulled open a door beside the front door and she descended a set of steps. As they descended, Simon could smell something, a chemical, and he felt the warmth coming from below. At the bottom of the steps, Rylee stopped dead and her jaw almost hit the stone tiles which made up the floor of the basement. However, it was not the stone floor which had caused Rylee's jaw to drop, it was the twelve-foot by twenty-foot rectangle of water which occupied three-quarters of the space.
"Bloody hell! A goddamn jacuzzi!" Rylee squealed as she bolted forward.
The end of the space not occupied by the swimming pool and the jacuzzi which sat at one corner of the pool, was open and occupied by four wicker sun loungers. There were four triple floor to ceiling windows allowing a panoramic view out to a wooden deck which then looked out onto the back garden. A pair of glazed doors opened out onto the deck beside the jacuzzi. Rachel watched her daughter taking in everything and any thoughts that the house was not right went right out the window as she saw how happy her daughter was and the biggest grin she had ever seen.
"Mum," Rylee asked. "Is the house really ours; like right now?"
"Yes, honey, it is."
"Cool!" Rylee announced as she pulled off her jacket and toed off her trainers.
"What are you doing?" Simon asked, glancing at Rachel who simply shrugged.
Then Rachel's mouth dropped open as Rylee, totally ignoring the presence of her mother and Simon, continued to strip off until she was completely naked, her clothes scattered on the stone tiles. Then she grinned sheepishly at her mother and Simon before she then ran and dived into the swimming pool. Rachel thought that she had seen everything, but then Simon grinned apologetically before he too stripped naked and joined Rylee in the swimming pool.
Rachel laughed as she went over to one of the wicker sun loungers and laid back to watch her daughter and her ward playing together in the pool.