| Chapter 24 "Where are you going?" Stefan grumbled in low raspy voice still filled with sleep. He lay on his stomach, his face smashed against the pillow and the covers pulled halfway up his head. His eyes were closed, but he could sense his wife's movement around the room. Celine finished lacing her running shoes and stood up, smoothing out her black leggings and T-shirt. She went over to the mirror, swiftly sweeping her long thick hair up into a ponytail and securing it with a thick elastic band. "Celine?" She clipped her cell phone case onto the waist band of her leggings. "I'm here....I'm going running, Stef. What are the chances that you'll still be in bed when I get back?" He grunted, turning over and burying his head underneath her pillow. His eyes were heavy and refused to open, clinging to the comforting refuge of sleep. As good as it felt, he knew it couldn't last. He had things to do. "Slim." She grimaced, knowing that he needed rest more than anything else. Neither of them had slept a decent night's sleep in days. Him because of the kidnapping and the resurfacing of Stavros, and she because there wasn't much sleep to be had with him tossing and turning. "At least forget Tai Chi this morning...use the extra time to sleep. Okay?" She bent over the bed and kissed the side of his face right above his temple. "Okay?" "Yes..." her muttered against the silk pillowcase. Celine left the room, quietly closing the door behind her. The hallways were dark and abandoned as she found her way to the stairs. She glanced down at her watch, hitting a small button on the side to illuminate the face. The warm indigo light came on and Celine noted that it was 4:56am. Right on time... Usually, she got up around five to go running. She loved the feel of running through the odd time that was neither day nor night. It was the small pocket of time in between, where she was shielded by dark, yet teased by the gray that so eagerly faded into sparkling light. She always headed East, liking the thought of running into the dawning day. Celine wound her way though the house, slipping out the side door into the fragrant rose garden. Before she could begin to stretch out her muscles, her phone began to vibrate against her hip. She pulled it out of it's case and flipped down the mouthpiece. Sweetly, she said, "The Countess Cassadine at your service..." When she heard the voice on the other end, she groaned. "What the h*ll do you want?" Stavros sneered, barking, "Do I, or do I not, pay you to handle security?!" "Yes, Stavy, you do...and very handsomely." "Well, then don't you think it's time you start doing you job?!" Celine released a long slow breath. "I do my job. Everything is 100% secure. You and Tracy have trained guards. The house and the cars are swept every two hours. Has anything happened? NO! Has anyone breached security? NO! What are you nagging me about?" "What about Rochester?" "I told you I do my job. Rochester went off without a hitch." "And how would you know?!?!?!" Stavros yelled. Celine moved the phone away in order to save her eardrum. He snickered before continuing, "I wanted you there when it happened, making sure that everything was executed according to plan. There is no room for a mistake. Not ONE mistake!" "I couldn't be there, but I was kept informed. There's nothing to worry about, Stavros. Rochester is secure," Celine explained easily, wishing he would leave her alone. "And why couldn't you be there? Let me guess...you were off somewhere 'entertaining' my little brother...I'm starting to wonder where your loyalties lie, Celine." Celine felt her stomach clench. Her life had become an incredibly complicated dance. She found that she was struggling to keep up, struggling to match her steps to those of whatever partner she had the misfortune of being passed to. Most of the time, she was just trying not to step on anyone's toes. Confidently, she responded, "My loyalties lie exactly where they always have. With me. I know that making you happy is in my own best interest. So, tell me, Stavros, what can I do to make you happy?" "Go to Rochester and make sure that nothing has gone wrong." "Fine, I will go right away." As Stavros started on another tirade about the weapons she had chosen for the guards, Celine felt her joy fading away. There would be no run today. "You're absolutely right, Stavros," she murmurred,"AK-47s are overrated..." * * * * * Anders sat on the edge of the bed all night and watched her as she tossed and turned viciously in her sleep. Though he was incredibly tired, he found that there was no resting in him. His stomach churned as Emily's incoherent words played over and over in his mind like a CD in an endless skip. Dirty...so dirty... All he wanted was for her to love him, but now, it seemed as if that would never happen. How could she love him if the memory of their night of passion made her feel unclean? Long slow tears began to roll down his cheeks as he stared at the pale white shoulder that peaked above the blanket. He reached out, rubbing his smooth palm over her flesh. "Can't you love me, Emily..." he sobbed. He slid down off the mattress onto the floor, kneeling before the bed. He looked down into her sleeping face, aching to feel his lips on top of hers, but knowing that there would be no tender return to the kiss. She hated him. He began to tremble, his hands gripping the edge of the bed as if it were the only thing keeping him from crumbling to the floor in small broken pieces. He lowered his forehead to the bed, more tears leaking from his closed eyes. His father was right. He was useless. Worthless. Weak. Unlovable... Through the thick fog of sleep, Emily heard the sobbing...the cries of a soul as wounded as her own. Her eyes flickered open and she waited for them to adjust to the gray light that slipped in through the shades. She could make out Ander's bent head on the mattress near her stomach. Her first instinct was to pull back, to retreat to the farthest corner of the room, but she didn't. It was the sound of his muffled cries that kept her still. Anders was in pain. She understood that because she was in pain, too. "Anders?" she said, her voice raspy from sleep. When he didn't answer, she reached a thin hand out to lay gently on the top of his head. "Are you alright?" Ander's head popped up and he stared at her with huge reddened eyes. "Emily..." He took her hand between his own. Desperately, he said, "Is there something I can do to make you comfortable? Something I can do? Anything...." "Can you make me clean, Anders? That's all I really want..." "Was it that bad? Was making love to me that bad?" he screeched in pain, clamping onto her hand and refusing to release it. Emily closed her eyes, feeling oblivious to his hysteria. She welcomed the numbness that enveloped her. "Yes," she replied calmly, "it was that bad. It wasn't what I wanted." "What a crock of sh!t that is!" he lashed out, grabbing her chin. He tightened his grip until she opened her eyes to look at him. Her eyes were disinterested and that set him off. "You wanted it...you were begging for it!!!!!" He pushed her away, jumping to his feet and pacing before the bed. "You ASKED me to stay. To make love to you!" "I was out of my mind. I didn't want you." Her voice was flat, held no statement. "You wanted me!!" "I never wanted you. It was...it was Lucky I wanted, now I can never have him." Saddened, Emily rolled over, hiding her face in the pillow beside her. She wanted to cry, but there were no more tears. She was dry. Dry in tears. Dry in spirit. Dry in hope. "That's right, baby! Lucky is never going to break you off a piece like I did!! He's maggot food these days...a rotting corpse in a stinking grave! All you have is me and what I gave you." "Don't remind me." "I'm going to remind you!" he shouted as he launched himself on the bed and grabbed her shoulders. Straddled on top of her, he began to shake her. Her head and neck moved around limply, her face impassive. "I'm going to remind you everyday of your life that all you have is me! ME, EMILY!! No one else will want you now..." "Because I'm dirty?" she asked, her chaffed lips barely parting to let the words escape. "Not just dirty, Emily...filthy." "I want to go home." "You want them to know? Anyone who looks at you can see how filthy you are. I'll take you home and they will know....and they'll hate you! They won't even want you in their house!" Anders growled as he continued to hold onto Emily's shoulders. "I'm the only one who wants you...the only one who wouldn't be disgusted." "I'm disgusting..." "Let me love you, Emily....let me love the dirt away. Please!" Anders began to beg, dropping her back against the bed. He laid down on top of her, placing his head against her chest. Again, he began to cry. "I just need you to love me! I need someone to love me! My father...my father never did...only my mother. She died a long time ago. My father thinks I didn't know her, but I did. I DID! She knew I could be loved. She told me that some day a woman would come and love me. I think that woman is you! I need you to love me!" "I can't," she whispered hoarsely. "I can't love anything or anyone. I just want to curl up and fade away." "NO! You can't leave me, too!! Please don't go away. Stay here with me, don't go back into that secret world that I can't follow you to. You have to stay with me to prove to my father that he was wrong. He said that I was unlovable...that I was weak and pathetic." "He was right..." Anders began to cry harder, his stomach twisting in knots as her words penetrated his skull. Emily was aware of the heavy weight of his head against her bosom. She was aware of the tears that soaked the bodice of her night gown. She was aware of the pain that streaked through Anders. She brought one hand up to lay across his back and the other to run through his light brown hair. "Emily?" he asked eagerly, feeling her embrace him. "Do you love me?" Anders looked at her face, but it was blank, her eyes looking up, focused on the slow circular spin of the ceiling fan blades. "Birds of a feather should flock together," she breathed. "I don't understand..." She pulled his face back down against her chest. Softly, she replied, "You're dirty, too." * * * * * He sat in the darkness of Stefan's office, hoping beyond hope that she would somehow appear. It had been hours since Dr. Thornhart had announced Gia's disappearance and still, they had no idea where she was. The police were combing the hospital with a fine tooth comb, as was the staff. She had to be there somewhere. She had been in no condition to wander off. She hadn't even been conscious. But, of course, you didn't have to be conscious to be abducted, which was what both he and Taggert suspected. Nikolas had felt responsible for this mess as he stood before the man. He had apologized, handing Taggert a list of possible people who would want to hurt him through Gia and had been rewarded with a nasty scowl, a carefully discreet punch to the gut and a death threat. Apparently, Taggert didn't care how sorry Nikolas was. Now, Nikolas was alone in his uncle's office in the hospital, waiting for any news to arise and fighting the sense of dread that was claiming him, little by little. "Please," he mumbled, dropping his head into his hands, "please just be okay, Gia..." The shrill ring of the phone startled him, making him jump, his hands falling to the desk. He quickly grabbed the receiver, placing it against his ear, and blurting out, "Gia?" "Not Gia," a distorted voice answered. It sounded cold and robotic, with no inflection. "Who is this?!" Nikolas demanded. "The question is...who are you? You'll find the answer to that question and your lovely Gia in...the morgue." "What? Gia's in the morgue?" Nikolas' heart began to pound as he stood. "What's going on?" "Go to the morgue," the voice said before hanging up. Nikolas was greeted by the testy whine of the dial tone. He dropped the phone, sprinting out the door and down the hallway. His mind kept replaying the cold voice in his head that instructed him to the morgue. He hopped onto a waiting elevator and pushed the button for the basement. As the car took him down, he laid his head against the wall, breathing deeply in and out. His worse fear was that he would find her dead body lying on one of those cold steel tables like in the movies. He didn't think he would be able to take that. She HAD to be alive. He would accept nothing else. Most likely, this was a trap of some sort. Someone was using Gia as bait to lure him in. He knew exactly who it was. As the elevator door opened to the basement, he yelled, "Where are you, Grandmother?!" He stalked down the empty hallway towards the opened door that led to the morgue. "Come out and let's get this over with!" Helena was nowhere to be found. He started to consider the possibility that he his guess was wrong. As he entered the room, he saw her... She was lying, stiff and pale in a partially unzipped body bag which lay on top of a gurney in the center of the room. The tines of the zipper lay across her cheeks, closing under her chin. Nikolas surged forward, his heart in his eyes as he rushed to the gurney. "GIA!!" His hands landed on the durable rubber of the bag, pushing it away from her face as he took her head in his shaking hands. He lowered his cheek until it was against hers. He felt the warmth of her breath against his neck. "She's alive!" he shouted, kissing her lips, but not receiving a response. "You're alive, Sparky," he whispered into her ear. "And you're safe..." "I wouldn't count on it," a familiar voice said. Nikolas recognized the voice and an involuntary sneer colored his lips. "I should have known you had something to do with this!" He laid Gia's head back down and swiveled around just in time to catch another fist in his stomach. His breath caught in his throat as the pain of impact skittered through him. His shoulders hunched over as the balled up hand made contact yet again. He sank to his knees, his hands going to press against the tight muscles of his injured side. "You bastard!" he screeched in pain as he looked up into his father's cold eyes. Stavros stepped back, looking down on his son with curiosity. "Consider that payback for last night. Hmmm...you seem upset." "You did this, didn't you? You took Gia..." "Of course, I did. It was meant as a lesson." "Really? And what kind of twisted lesson could I have possibly gathered from you abducting my girlfriend and then punching me in the stomach?" Stavros reached down and grabbed Nikolas' arm, hauling him up off the floor. Nikolas tried to resist, but couldn't. His father's grip was incredibly hard and forceful. "Let me go!" he yelled. Stavros swung his son's arm around, slamming him against the hard metal cabinets that lined the far wall. The impact sent rings of pain spiraling down Nikolas' back. He gasped, feeling twinges from his side as well. Stavros' face was twisted in anger as he moved ever so closer to his son. Chest to chest, they were intimately close. Nikolas was nauseous, the scent of his father's English cologne making him feel as if he were trapped in a coffin full of leather. He was pressed against the wall with no air to breathe that wasn’t coated in that overwhelming scent. "Listen when I speak, boy," Stavros started harshly, "for I will only say this once. I am a selfish man. I always have been. What's mine is mine and I do not like to share. That extends to everything that is mine. That extends to YOU." Stavros trailed a long soft finger over his son's cheek. "You're mine, Nikolas. My flesh and blood..." Nikolas flinched from his touch, shrinking back against the wall. There was a possessive glint in his father's cold black eyes as he touched him. That look, more than the body language or the threats, made him as afraid as he had ever been. "What do you want from me?" he asked boldly, fighting to keep still. As much as he wanted to bolt, he held his ground. He wouldn't be intimidated! He was a man, now! "..my only son," Stavros continued, ignoring Nikolas' words. "Mine! But others...the greedy...the jealous...they're trying to take you away from me!! I won't have it! It is here, Nikolas, here and now that you learn the most important of lessons. The voice on the phone asked you who you are. The answer is that you are MY son. Only mine. I have plans for us. The start of a dynasty that will topple half the world. We will be close, Nikolas. And anyone who gets between us will be dealt with." "Dealt with?" Nikolas swallowed deeply, already understanding his father's meaning. The man was sick. "Your lovely Gia is in a body bag, Nikolas. That was meant as a warning. Anything or anyone that gets between us, will be eliminated. If Gia should pose a problem, she might very well end up in another body bag just like that one," Stavros threatened, his voice sharp and hard like a blade. "If you were to make any more claims, such as the ones you made last night, about Stefan being your real father...I would have to eliminate him, too. Anyone and everyone who's in our way. Lucky. Lulu. Lasha. Alexis. Emily. Luke...the list goes on." Nikolas' mind raced. His father was threatening to kill anyone who he thought could undermind his diseased notion of how things were supposed to be between the two of them. "Again, I ask you...what do you want from me?" "Nothing. I just want you at my side as the Cassadines conquer the squalid mass. I will do what I have to do to make sure that you are." * * * * * Celine walked through the doors, noting with satisfaction that the guards were lined up on either side of the hallway, their backs straight, their chins high. She kept her face stern as she strutted across the marble in her tennis shoes. Before coming inside, she had grabbed her holster out of the trunk of her car and slipped it on. She wore it with experience, the leather straps cutting across her strong back. The double .38s clung to her sides as she made inspection. "I suppose I should compliment you all on the successful coup that transpired last night. But, of course, none of you will be surprised when compliments are not forth coming," she said, stopping at the end of the hallway. "Mr. Cassadine is not satisfied, which means that I am not satisfied! The perimeter is NOT secure! I drove up undetected! I was not stopped! I was not questioned! I simply drove up to the house...those are not the guidelines I set!" Celine shouted. She may have been small compared to the lumbering guards, but she had their attention. She un-holstered one of her guns, pulling it out in the flash of an eye and pointing it at a guard named Pollack. "Do you care to explain why you were not at the gate?" "There was a situation in the house, Ma'am. Mr. Faison was attempting to kill the boy. We were following orders by preventing that from happening," Pollack replied defiantly. "Hmmm....well, I guess I can't blame you for that," she smiled, letting her gun drop to her side. "No, Ma'am," he nodded, "You can't blame me for following orders. " "On second thought," she said, raising the gun, "maybe I can." She pulled the trigger. The bullet tore through Pollack's lower leg. He fell to the ground, hollering in pain. Celine shook out her ponytail, turning back to the other guards. Loudly, she said, "I don't tolerate bull sh!t, fellas! If you have an assigned detail, you had better be there!! Now, everyone get out of my face!!! Go do your jobs...and take this piece of crap..." Celine indicated Pollack, " with you!" She turned on her heel, walking the maze of hallways until she reached a door that was guarded by two of her own personal men, not Helena and Faison's rent-a-cops. "Hey boys," she said winking, "Is the kid in there, too?" "Yes, Mr. Spencer is in there as well, " the one named Romano answered. Celine bit her lower lip. "He can't see me. Go in there first and put him somewhere where he can't see me." Romano nodded, opening the door and bursting inside. Faison looked up from a book he was reading. "What's going on?" Romano ignored him, stopping at the foot of the bed where Lucky Spencer was curled up in a non-responsive ball. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing. He felt the rough hands grab him and drag him off the bed. The strong guard looked around before opening the closet door and stuffing the thin boy inside. "Stay!" he commanded before shutting the door. He locked it and then moved to the hallway. "Everything is clear, Ma'am." Celine strolled inside, stopping halfway in the room. Faison stood up. They stared at each other with unrestrained curiosity. "You're in charge here?" Faison demanded angrily, throwing his book down on the desk. "Yes," Celine purred, moving closer. Faison moved closer. "But you're not the mastermind?" "No." Celine smiled. "Tell me who is. Who should I kill when I escape this place?" "The one man that you thought you would never see again." "My bastard son?" "No, Fai," she answered, stepping closer, "wrong guess. Try again..." Celine moved until she was able to put her hands against Faison's chest. With a wicked laugh, she pushed him down on the bed. He grabbed onto her arms and pulled her down with him. They rolled over and over, each trying to land on top of the other. Finally, Faison won, straddling Celine. Their faces were just inches apart. "Tell me who, Celine!" "I know you Fai...better than anyone else. You don't need me to tell you who's behind this. You already know!" She flipped him off of her, rolling over and climbing on top of him. She touched his cheek, laughing. "No, I don't!" He tossed her off of him, climbing off the bed. "I never thought you would turn on me," he grumbled. "Liar," she replied. "You knew I would." He turned back to look at her, leaning back on the edge of the desk. "Yes, I did. You're a piranha, Celine." She appeared to be flattered. "Look, Fai, I didn't want it to go down like this...especially after what you did for me...but I'm trapped." "So, you're going to toss me to the wolves to save yourself?" "Yes." Faison smiled. "I would expect nothing less from my most impressive student. I always wanted you to be okay, Celine." "I want you to be okay, Fai. I do! I'll see if there is anything I can do to save you. I owe you that much...since you're the one who gave me the ability to cloud men's minds." Faison turned, looking out the nearby window. "Enough chit chat. Tell me who you're working for. I know about Helena, but I also know that she had nothing to do with turning my son against me. So, there's someone else. Who is this man that I'm supposed to know?" Celine crawled off the bed, moving to stand behind him. "You know him well. He's the man who really killed your wife, my sister." "The one who killed Trina...no, no! He's dead!!" She put her hand on Faison's shoulder. "He's not dead. He lives and he's trying to destroy us both!" Cesar Faison's eyes grew dark as he narrowed them. The glint of hatred flashed in them as his hands clenched into fists at his side. "Stavros Cassadine!" he growled. "Yes," Celine whispered, "Stavros the Butcher." |