Walking through the vestibule, Peter saw the stained glass marking the struggles of Christ to the top of the hill burning through the moonlight. A soft rain had started to fall, and a quick shot of lightning accentuated the images of veiled ladies and soldiers standing in armor but never clanking. For a split second, Peter thought he saw Caroline beyond the glass, rain running though her hair as she reached for him. Peter moved towards the window, but came to a halt when he heard the flick of a match, and he looked towards the altar as a candle started to glow and a scarred figure was bathed in light.
“So we meet again,” the man said.
Right on cue, Swanson limped forward. No doubt his limp was on account of Nellie’s special brand of justice, and Peter pressed his hands into the air as he bowed my head.
“You came when I called,” Peter said. “Has to count for something.”
“Maybe I just wanted a chance to plant a bullet in your brain and hear you scream,” the big man said.
Looking up, Peter saw Swanson’s scars blazing through the flames, and he knew that if he made one wrong move, the man would not hesitate to cut into a part of him where he stood. Peter would still get back to Caroline with legs, but he wanted the chance to love her in every way possible.
So Peter spoke slowly.
“Ever… ever stop to think that it should be you?” he asked trying not to sound nervous.
“Come again,” Swanson said, scratching his chin.
“Think about it. You just about run…”
Peter was just at the edge of the altar when Swanson pointed a gun at his eyes, and he was forced to lower his head.
“Sorry,” Peter muttered. “I’m… I’m just saying that you… you do all the running, the back and forth. Pay all kinds of prices...”
“Thanks to the little, old, gray haired bitch,” he spat.
Hating to hear him talk of Nellie like that, Peter had to choke back his rage.
“And it was the wrong call,” Peter said. “I think that you should have the reins, and that’s where it should end.”
Peter slowly met Swanson’s eyes and as he watched him as he seemed to consider himself a warlord in the space of the stained glass. Keep thinking it, Swanson, Peter thought. That’s the real conquest.
Just tell me where she is.
“You coming along for the ride?” Swanson asked as he stepped closer and kept his gun poised.
“I…” Peter was lost for words for a moment as the thought that Swanson might still want to work with him registered.
“Bet we could make, like, boat loads of money, me and you.” Swanson continued.
Of that Peter had no doubt, but he quickly pushed his hands into his pocket and flung the note before Swanson’s feet.
“What’s this shit?” Swanson asked picking up the note. “Your bitch’s little love letter? What do I want with this?”
“Turn the page over,” Peter sighed.
Stopping short of calling him a moron, Peter watched his face brighten as his eyes trailed down the page, and when Swanson finally looked at him again, a sick smile crossed his lips.
“So this is the formula?” he asked.
“And now it’s yours,” Peter said.
Swanson bounced from one foot to another, and Peter fell back into a bare pew as Swanson shook his hand.
“We can take this shit to the bank!” he said. “Bury the boss in the dust.”
“That was sort of the idea,” Peter grinned.
“So what the fuck we waiting for?” Swanson frowned.
Swanson started to limp away when Peter grabbed his arm and turned him back to face him.
“Tell me where she is,” he demanded.
“She..? Oh come on, man!” Swanson sniggered.
Peter let him laugh as Swanson waved the paper before his eyes.
“We don’t need her,” he said. “Let her old man have his fun. With the green we’ll be bringing in, we can get you another little lady in like no time flat.”
“I don’t want another…” Peter began.
He wanted to rip Swanson’s head from his neck and leave him bleeding as so-called martyrs mourned all around him. But that would never get him back to Caroline’s side, and Peter fell back in the pew and took a deep breath.
“That’s… that’s just the formula,” he said. “Want the supply line at your disposal, too?”
“Pretty fucking sure I can get that without you…” Swanson said quickly.
“And I’m more than fucking sure that you can’t,” Peter said. “But it’s yours. It’s all yours if you tell me where he has her.”
Swanson shuffled to his feet and snorted into his fingers as he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
“Don’t know nothing,” he said. “Way I hear it, she took off on you. So…”
“So you do know!” Peter yelled.
Barreling towards him, Peter sent Swanson falling to the floor and started to hit him when he suddenly checked himself and stopped.
“Oh that… that was…” Swanson began.
Swanson cocked his trigger and pushed the barrel of his gun to Peter’s temple. And the thought occurred to him that if he went down like this, there would never be any way to find her. Peter wrestled the gun in his hands and pushed his head closer to the point of explosion as he focused on Swanson’s eyes.
“Stupid?” Peter asked. “No dumber than you throwing the world away with both hands. Think of taking charge and never having to do anyone’s bidding ever again.”
Watching the thought appeal to him, Peter watched as Swanson took a small step back even as he kept the gun fixed on his eyes.
“Okay,” he said. “So spill.”
Sighing as he stretched to his feet, Peter looked towards the doors and shook his head.
“Tell me… tell me how to find her first,” he said. “And then the world is yours.”
Chapter Seven
“No! Not again!” I cried.
I ignored my nakedness as I pushed away from him and tried to climb up the walls. Longing for a window, glass, anything to break through in the hope that I might bash out into the night and find a way out, I found nothing but dark, damp walls, and I clawed at the dark steel door as my father’s arms surrounded my waist.
“Oh God!” I screamed as I kicked and thrashed under his hold. Reaching into the air, longing for anything but the air to take hold of, I caught hold of nothing and moaned as he pushed me into the mattress once more.
“Please, no! Not again!”
My father felled me with a sharp blow, and I collapsed back on the mattress as he fell on top of me and pressed my arms over my head.
“Caroline,” he groaned as he ripped into my bare thighs. I knew I’d made a mistake as soon as he had taken me the first time, and I’d tried to push him back as he tugged at my hair and slammed my body into the bed.
“You gave your word,” he reminded me in a thick voice. “And I want you to play nice. Don’t fight me! Do what you’re supposed to do, or I can have him shipped out and chained to a wall before the night is out.”
No, anything but that. Not after he had fought so hard to crawl out of the gutter and get something of himself back. I relented with a weak whimper, and my shaking thighs parted as I fought to keep my trembling arms at my sides. When my father stepped away, I turned my head into the sheets and slammed my eyes shut. Maybe he would make me wait, and I pictured him dragging a chair to the edge of the bed, his leering eyes roaming over my body. No ropes at my wrists or ankles, but I was bound all the same.
“Now that’s a good girl,” he muttered.
My hopes were dashed as I heard the snap of his belt buckle again and the cold song of his zipper. The rustling of fabric confirmed my fears that the worst was bound to happen again at any second, and I longed to hide my face in my hands when I suddenly felt the weight of his body on the bed at my side.
“Caroline…” he crooned.
He took me into his arms, and I tried to wriggle away from his hold as h
e slapped my cheek and gave me no choice but to look into his eyes.
“So much like your mother,” he said. “I saw it as soon as you could walk.”
“You… what are you talking about?” I asked through my tears.
“Such a blow to lose her,” he said. “But even if it hadn’t happened, you were always meant to be mine. You were only two years old when I married your mother and I knew that one day you would grow into a beauty. And I was right.”
I was too stunned to speak when he forced his finger between my lips. It was either suckle his flesh or gag, and I opted for the former as his other hand pulled on my hair. But his words were whirling in my brain. He said I was two when he married mom. Did that mean that he wasn’t really my father after all? A part of me was desperate for that to be true.
“I wanted you for so long,” he continued. “And as hard as it was to put her in the ground, it was… it was almost as if it was fated. So that we could finally be…”
My skin crawled at the thought that he had had me in in his sights for far longer than I ever dared to imagine, and I managed to push him back as I waved my hands before his eyes.
“But… but you didn’t want to lose her… You didn’t want to switch off the life support machine. You were so sad and I had to be the one to tell you that she wouldn’t have wanted you to live like that?”
His smile filled me with fear, and I winced when he touched my eyes.
“Yes you did,” he said. “And that’s when I knew you understood. That you wanted to be with me, too.”
Falling into a state of shock, I loathed the idea that he viewed my act of mercy as some perverse declaration of lust. Part of me had to wonder if he had set the Chevy in motion, even poured the liquor down the driver’s throat so that he could find a way to have me all to himself. And I had to wonder if he hadn’t married my mom so that he could get his hands on me.
And just the thought that she might have bounced back if he hadn’t switched the life support off, that I had played right into his horrid hands…
“Stop!” I screamed. “Get away from me, you sick fuck!”
Forgetting Peter and focusing on nothing but the need to get out, I pushed him back and scrambled towards the floor. Moving wildly on my hands and knees, I avoided the door and raced right for the keypad. I had tried every combination I could think of when he left me alone. There had to be a code, and I had tested every combination that might make sense; his social, my birth date.
No, I had it! It had to be the date of my mother’s death! It was the only thing that made sense now, and I heard the door click open after I punched in the numbers and I wrenched the door open. But he was too strong for me and he wrestled me back to the bed.
“Let go!” I screamed. “I don’t want to…”
“Hold still!” he shouted.
He slapped my face hard, and my stinging face fell into the sheets as his hand surrounded my neck.
“Now you will behave!” he said. “You’re going to do all the things to me that you did to that worthless sack of shit!”
“I won’t!” I cried. “I’m… Peter’s going to marry me.”
“Really?” my father scoffed. “Then where’s the fucking handcuff?”
Hating the fact that I had removed the ring before I fled, I wondered if it was still at Danny’s place, abandoned by Peter as the last possible straw. Had he thought twice when he realized that our lives were linked even before the gallery? I sadly shook my head as my father, who was not my father, touched me all over.
“He was,” I said with a sob. “I don’t… I don’t know if he wants me anymore.”
“Of course not,” he said. “Because you were always meant to be mine.”
Without Peter in my sights, I started to submit to my father’s vile entry. He kept kissing my face as tears streamed down my cheeks, and when he slapped me again, I forced my eyes to meet his glare.
“I don’t care what you do!” I spat. “I will never really be yours.”
He seemed to shudder at the sound of that, and when he rose from the bed and began to back away, my eyes turned to the door. Now all it would take was one quick dash. I felt sure that I could find my way out and get some kind of…
“Stop!”
His hand was at my ankle as I made a dash towards the door, and he slammed his fist into my face as a groan left my lips.
“I wanted to make this nice for you,” he sneered. “But if you want to play it like a whore, then that’s how I’ll take you.”
Before I could speak or scratch again, he picked me up, threw me face down on the bed, and I pressed my nails into the sheets as he took me from behind. As he shredded my dry flesh, I tried and failed to push away from him. He hit me again, and my world narrowed to the pain in my head and the agony between my legs.
Was it going to be like this for the rest of my life? Locked away in this dark hole with streets full of people passing by outside with no way of ever knowing that I was alive and what I was enduring? Would Peter move on in time and think of me only as the girl that had left him after a promise and a lie? Needing to find some other way out, I let my body go numb, and my mind drifted into a comforting haze. A place devoid of faces or kind hands, but I’d rather dwell there than feel my father… who was not my father…
He was about to climax, to drive me into a place where there was no hope of return, and my ears barely registered the sound of a voice from the doorway.
“Get away from her!”
Chapter Eight
The price of Swanson’s survival and success allowed Peter to slip into the back of the building undetected. He slid into the elevator with a quick glance and the hope that no one would question his presence. A small man paged through a magazine from behind a reception desk, and when their eyes locked, Peter’s heart seized in his chest. What move would he make if he called the cops? He could try to play it off like it was nothing and hope to be on his way, longing for another chance to find Caroline.
Or should he rip the rug out from under the bastard’s feet and tell the world that the man’s daughter was an unwilling captive in her own home? No doubt Winters would call him a jilted lover and a liar and swear that his daughter was out. Peter could demand a look at the panic room, hoping that he would find her there and just take her back into his arms. But gaining that kind of entry would be easier said than done given who and what Peter had been and the face that Winters displayed to the world.
He straightened his shoulders and nodded to the man behind the desk. The man gave him a friendly wave, and Peter heaved a sigh of relief as the elevator doors closed and the car started to ascend. One hurdle crossed. And for the best. Peter thought that it would be better to handle this on his own and find a way to get her out.
As soon as he stepped out of the elevator, Peter glanced down the hallway. A young couple didn’t seem to notice him as they shared a quick kiss and disappeared into the elevator. Peter’s eyes lingered for all of a second at the sight of the girl’s golden locks. Pretty as she was, she had nothing on Caroline. And his Gypsy should be with him. Not with… not with that fucking…
Peter waited until he heard the elevator start to drop, and when he felt sure that he was alone again, he turned the key, courtesy of Swanson, in the knob. The door opened with ease, and Peter slowly stepped into the apartment and scanned the room.
At first glance, everything was in order. Mahogany end tables and mirrors lined with gold reflecting the dark toned furniture surrounded hand woven rugs. Peter could almost picture Caroline in a place like this, as classic and stunning as she, as he turned down a tiny hallway in the hope of seeing her. But there was only an immaculate kitchen that appeared to have never been used and a den without a trace of dust, which was illuminated as he flicked the switch on the wall.
“Jesus Christ, Gypsy,” he moaned. “Where are you?”
Peter found what must be the study and started to toss the drawers. Not that her father was going to draw him a map back
to her side. But maybe there was some note scribbled in haste and tucked away for later. Or the code for the prison that had to be just a few feet away. Somehow Peter felt that she was near and needing him.
“Hang on, Caroline,” he vowed. “I’m close.”
Bypassing a massive bookcase, Peter hurried up the staircase. The room that had to be Winters’ looked slept in, and he caught the faint whiff of Cuban cigars in the air. Peter’s hands touched the rumpled sheets, and he gagged at the thought that her father might have had her here and forced her to…
“Oh God, Gypsy!”
Plowing through another door, Peter saw a pristine mattress resting below a canopy. Knowing on instinct that this was the place where she had to have laid her head night after night, Peter looked around for a panel out of place or a wall where the paint just didn’t match. All he had to do was find it, push hard, and…
“Caroline…”
She stared at him from behind a silver-lined photo, Danny on one side and Sabrina on the other. Her eyes were on his, and he touched the glass and wanted her back in his arms. How could he… why would any man, especially her father, ever want to rip that grin from her face and force her to…
“Let go of me! I don’t want…” a distressed female voice shouted, the sound barely audible.
“Hold still!” Peter heard a low voice rumble in reply.
It was her! Had to be her, and Peter raced back down the steps with his hand in his pocket. A blade curled under his fingers, and he was ready to strike at anyone who was making her scream like that. As soon as he hit the foyer, Peter hurried back to the kitchen, peeked into den again. Where the hell was she?
“I wanted to make this nice for you. But you want to play it like a whore, that’s how I’ll take you,” the faint voice said.
Running towards the sound of the man’s voice, Peter saw the shelf of books just out of place, a copy of Lolita too pristine to be believed, and as soon as he had the spine of the book in his hand Peter felt the whole wall give way like it was a flimsy curtain brushed away from the glass.
“No…” Caroline shouted.
Peter pushed open the steel door which was slightly ajar. Caroline was on her belly, her father trying to force his way inside her. She looked into the distance with glazed eyes and a lolling tongue, and as much as Peter wanted to hold her close and kiss the pain away, his focus turned to her father.
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