No love for the last chapter? We had such a good relationship, you and I, dear reader. Come back :'(
This story is very much back on track, I feel. If you were here in 2009, let me know how it's going! Expect more updates over the summer. It's going to be amazing!
Alex's throat was aching with thirst. It was the first thing he felt; that dry, itchy, agonising hurt for a sip of water, is what pulled him back into consciousness. His eyes flickered open but they seemed not to be working very well; they refused to stay open for long or even focus on anything in the dimly lit room. He closed his eyes and in a desperate attempt to figure out where he was, he flung his arms out to either side of him but all he felt was, unsurprisingly, the soft bedsheets that swaddled him. His head was foggy and begging him to go back to sleep but he knew he couldn't; he had to focus, he had to get out. Alex's fingers brushed against the linen curiously as he opened his eyes again to stare at the ceiling. Slowly, a chandelier came into focus and he recognised the feel of the bedsheets as that kind of cotton Jack Starbright used to love; cold, hard and scratchy but oddly comfortable. They were the kind of sheets you would find in an expensive hotel. Even the chandelier, which was fully in focus now and no longer swimming about his vision, was a modern mesh of twisted metal, the kind you would find somewhere expensive.
"Ugh," Alex grunted with the effort it was taking to get feeling back into his body. His limbs felt heavy and unresponsive to his brain telling them to move. Alex stopped for a minute in a bid to get his head straight; thoughts were tumbling around him in his disoriented state. The last thing he remembered was Hera at dinner, in a red dress. That was it, he cursed himself, just the vision of her, that's all he had been paying attention to. Someone had been next to him, his mind travelled back to those memories at dinner…Sabina! She had been holding onto his arm and looked at him with unfocussed eyes. She had been drugged. He had been drugged! Suddenly the heavenly vision of Hera turned dark, her hair fell in front of her face and her porcelain face cracked as though to form a malevolent smirk…Hera had drugged him and brought him here.
The cold realisation of the situation seeped into Alex's bones and seemed to wake him up. His eyes snapped open; that grotesque, overly-decadent chandelier that reminded him of barbed wire, came into focus and he sat up to look around him. The blinds were drawn and the room was bathed in a dim, dull light that emitted from all around him; the chandelier, bedside lamps, small lights lining the wardrobe in front of him. Everything was in creamy, rich tones of brown, mauve and ivory. Everything was luxurious; from the cotton bedsheets to the impressive, ornately carved desk in the room. It looked like an antique, Alex observed as he squinted at it. Looking to his left, Alex jumped out of bed and struggled to find his feet for a moment as he was unbalanced from the drugs still going through his system, before he ran up to a coffee table in the room, on which was placed a water bottle. He unscrewed the lid and drank eagerly until he had guzzled down every last drop. Breathing heavy, Alex turned back to face the room.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror; he was still in his clothes he wore at dinner. His hardened blue eyes looked back at him and a sudden strange and familiar feeling came to him; that same feeling he would get on a new mission. This was exactly that: escape from being held prisoner. A mission. He hated it, it almost made him sick to realise he had missed this feeling. The same feeling of stepping out into the unknown in search of something precious. He looked away from his reflection and instead checked his belongings, as he had been trained to do. Looking down he saw his shoes, socks and watch had been removed and, searching the room, they were nowhere to be found. In the wardrobe, he found trainers, dark trousers and a black t-shirt, with the label 'for dinner' placed neatly on the folded clothes. He washed his face and changed quickly, almost eager to see who it was Hera had brought him to.
Upon leaving his room as quietly as possible, Alex almost gasped at the mere size of the building he was in. Like the Tardis, his room gave no indication that it would open up into a mansion but it did. Dark wood made up staircases, four staircases to be exact, which connected the corners of this first level to a massive open hallway below. Three crystal chandeliers, the size of which Alex had never seen, hung at differing heights int he middle of the hall. Soft, nude-coloured carpet lined the wooden floors and ran along the staircases in a way that reminded Alex of a labyrinth The scent of oak and flowers was drifting in on a breeze although, as Alex peered around, he could see the floor-to-ceiling windows were unopened and the impenetrable darkness outside told him it was very late in the evening.
No one was around, which was surprising; this place looked like an old museum where at least thirty people were required to keep it upright and clean. A floorboard creaked on the floor below him and the sound seemed to echo through the hall with the same jarring sound as a gong being struck. Gently, Alex crept toward the banister in the hopes of seeing someone emerge from one of the rooms below.
"You can come down for dinner now." A voice called up to Alex. The ex-spy jumped as the voice came from below but he could only make out a shadow on the floor in the hall. Realising he had absolutely no plan to escape, Alex decided it was better to greet his host. He descended the staircase, still marvelling at the magnificence of the house. It had an odd feel to it; it wasn't English, Alex could tell from the regal staircases and pastel colours that it was more like a chateaux. Was he in France? How much time had passed since dinner at his uncle's house?
The blonde took a light step off the final stair and jumped as he finally noticed a man in a suit, coat-tails and all, looking distinctly like a butler, watching him from a passageway to his right.
"This way, Mr Rider." The man said in an accent Alex couldn't quite place; it was European but with a twinge of something American. He was not the person who had called up to Alex. The man, who had greying hair and wrinkles which indicated he was in his late fifties, moved off in the kind of manner that told Alex to follow him. The ex-spy obliged and followed the man through an archway and passage with a low-ceiling and that same floral-woody scent. Alex tried to gain some sort of understanding of where he was but this place was difficult to categorise; it had the structure and elegance of a French chateaux, but the furnishings and decor that reminded him of Italy. It gave nothing away about the outside world for all windows showed such perfect pitch darkness that Alex was convinced they must be boarded up, or else the mansion was sitting amidst nothingness.
The sound of a crackling fire caught Alex's attention and he peered around the butler, to see the back of another man, stood in a sharp, navy blue suit. The man was staring into the fire, his back to Alex, holding a bell-bottomed snifter, swirling the contents of his glass idly. He turned as the shadow of the butler fell upon the floor beside him, alerting him to his guest's arrival. As he turned, Alex recognised him instantly; Sabina would point him out in newspapers and magazines, the 'Biotech Billionaire'. With dark shaggy hair and equally dark eyes, the handsome man approached Alex in an almost cheery manner.
"Alex!" He exclaimed, "Daniel Goodchild." The well-dressed man held out his hand but was disappointed to find that Alex merely stared at him in response. "Yes," Daniel retracted his hand; he had the awkward air about him that posh English people have when they realise they're a little too posh for the company they're keeping. "I suppose," the billionaire muttered, "given the circumstances, pleasantries are bygones at this point." All the while his eyes never left Alex's until he had the same realisation that everyone else does: those cold blue eyes were shared only with one other person in this world.
"Where am I?" Alex asked, ignoring everything Goodchild was saying.
"I will hide nothing from you." The man, who Alex guessed was a few years older than him, spoke sincerely and put a hand on his heart. "You are in Saint-Èmilion," he spoke with a perfect accent, "south of France," the tone of is voice unnerved Alex; Goodchild almost spoke as though Alex would be happy to hear he had been abducted and taken to a nice place. This thought seemed to manifest itself as an expression of suspicion on Alex's face. "She told me you liked this part of France." The look on Goodchild's face told Alex he knew exactly what he was doing. Alex knew Goodchild had used the pronoun 'she' to peak Alex's interest, to latch on to something Alex would want to know more about. Who else could 'she' refer to?
"I know." The two men made direct eye contact as Goodchild spoke. "About your past. I know about her." Goodchild walked towards the centre of the room where there was a beautiful wooden table, which could seat at least sixteen, but was set for three. He went to take a seat at the head of the table and gestured for Alex took do the same. After a moments hesitation, Alex took a seat to the right of the enemy. "Hera," he said her name softly, with a slight sigh, "I know her well, actually." He smiled a little, showing perfect, dazzling teeth, "she goes to your head like wine." Alex almost scoffed; Hera had clearly perfected her 'damsel in distress' technique with this guy. "She has this way about her; you don't even realise you're in love until she tells you she's not." Alex lowered his gaze. No, it wasn't the usual routine. It meant it was real; Goodchild had fallen for her. Alex knew all too well because- "Same thing happened to you," Goodchild, keeping a hand on his glass, lifted a finger to point at Alex, a small grin on his face. Alex simply looked up at him darkly. "I don't know why I was so," He searched for the right word, "interested in meeting you. Only guy Hera couldn't get out of her head." He muttered as though that was an explanation. Alex tried to stop his eyes widening with surprise.
"You're in her movements, you know," the man continued, adjusting the cuff of his shirt beneath his jacket. "When she goes for her gun she looks to her right side to see who is covering her. You see the frown when she realises there is no one there." Goodchild lowered his gaze and his voice; "when she's looking straight at me, she's searching for you." Taking a sip of cognac and indicating to the butler to pour some for Alex, Goodchild relaxed back in his chair. "I wonder: does Sabina feel the same way? Does she see you searching for Hera?" Alex jerked suddenly, thinking only of his girlfriend. Where was she? Was she safe?
"What do you know about Sabina?" Alex asked, a slight growl entering his voice, matching the crackle of the fire in the background.
"Very little, only what Hera wishes to divulge." Alex watched as the butler poured a rich red-gold liquid from a crystal carafe into the tumbler at his place setting. It swirled like a golden typhoon into the glass. "Nineteen, beautiful, student, your fiancé." As the billionaire finished his description of Sabina, he saw Alex wince a little at the last phrase. This interested the criminal mastermind. "I am not one to make such personal threats, Alex." Goodchild assured him, placing his hand on his heart again, "I hate it, in fact. I go after men who have empires to be taken down, work to be destroyed; I would never stoop so low as to threaten a man's family." Goodchild watched the ex-agent with interest; who was Alex more concerned about? It was one of Daniel's greatest joys; to figure people out, to know what made them tick, what motivated and dissuaded them. Because, in the end, that built his fortune; the ability to manipulate and control.
It all started with information. The more you could know about someone or something, the closer you were to controlling them. He appraised Alex; the blonde was so alike to her, it was fascinating. They both ached for the same thing, they both could be played in the same script. Who should Daniel choose to motivate Alex? He made up his mind as he saw Alex reach over for the drink.
"MI6 have Sabina now and we're keeping a close eye on them." Daniel said in a reassuring tone. "I'm sure Blunt has plenty to talk to her about." He leant forwards, "no, I won't threaten you with her life, but principle is not the only reason making me promise this. I know that there is no escape for you; you will not attempt to flee, or contact MI6 or refuse my instruction. SO there is no need to threaten you." Alex cocked his head at the man.
"How do you know that?"
"Because you're a good person." As Daniel spoke, Alex raised an eyebrow.
"What does that-"
"And you would give your life for Hera's."
"Clearly you haven't paid much attention for the last three years; Hera and I are finished." Alex spat at him.
"I have my suspicions that that is not true. I see the way you are looking at her." Alex's eyes snapped back to Goodchild's. Alex had noticed a figure emerge from a door on the other side of the room, behind Goodchild and in walked Hera, looking like she stepped straight out of paradise. "Evening, Hera." Daniel spoke without turning to look at her. She approached wearing a white sari; a traditional indian outfit which consisted of a cropped blouse, decorated with what Alex would call small mirrors, and then a long piece of material wrapped around a petticoat and draped on her shoulder. She walked up happily to the pair of them and squeezed Daniel's should affectionately as she approached the table. Her smile glittered just as the diamonds around her neck did.
"Hey!" She smiled brightly down at Daniel as she took her seat. The material of her sari was a fine, see-though chiffon. Alex could make out the curve of her hips, her smooth and toned stomach that she trained every day to maintain. Hera sat down next to Daniel who looked at her clothing and smiled.
"How many women did it take to dress you this time?" At the question, Hera shot him an evil glare.
"Two." She answered.
"And how many pins?"
"One, on the shoulder." She winked at him.
"Impressive."
"Thank you." Her eyes left Daniel's face and travelled directly across the table, to the man she had not yet greeted. Alex stared at her with a look of utter repulsion as she stared back at him, softening her eyes into that familiar seductive stare. The tension in the room sparked like electricity as Daniel stared from Hera to Alex and back again.
"Now," Daniel began, practically making the two teenagers jump, "this may be presumptuous of me, but I would appreciate it if I could leave the two of you in a room together without the fear of you killing one another." Hera smirked at Alex. "Or…anything else that comes to mind. " The pair of them looked over to Daniel who almost laughed; they looked at him as though they had no idea what he was talking about. "Especially given the nature of the situation, I would very much like to keep you both alive."
"Why's that?" Alex asked.
"Because I have one last mission for you both."
"What?" Hera and Alex stared wide eyed at one another.
If you want to find out exactly what the heck Hera is wearing to dinner then feel free to google 'Deepika Padukone Nach Baliye Sari'. Hera is part Indian. She gotta start representin'.
And a big shout out to anyone reading this who hit their twenties and still requires help to put a sari on. I tell my mother it's the 75% European part of me that refuses to learn.
Reviews appreciated!