| Chapter 27 She was in shock. There was no doubt about it. As Anders finished his business with the pastor, Emily sat in stunned silence. Her mind couldn’t quite accept what she had done. The pastor left with a bemused glance at the girl who seemed to be only a spectator at her own wedding. She was so young and pretty, so innocent against the likes of Anders. The older man recognized Anders’ underlying tense, maybe even abusive tendencies, but what could he do? He didn’t even know the young woman. She must know what she was doing. He left Emily alone, with Anders, with the man who was now her husband. “Emily,” Anders called from the door. “It’s time to go.” Emily, her eyes glazed, her body a sitting statue didn’t move. In her soft gray dress, the one Anders bought from a department store, she was a doll, fragile, easily broken or so she thought. Her arm was suddenly grabbed in a viselike grip pulling her instantly to her feet. “Emily! I called you,” Anders snapped. “When I call, you need to answer me. That’s not an option.” Emily came to life, pulling her arm away. “And I told you not to touch me in public!” She retorted. “We’re married, Emily. Do you understand. I call the shots now. You are my wife, and you will do Exactlyas I say or else.” “Or else what?” Emily asked with disdain. “You can’t do anything worse to me than has already been done.” Anders took Emily’s arm again, pulling her from the tiny chapel outside to the waiting limousine. His lips were pursed together in a new feeling, one of superiority, possessiveness, certainty that he had it all, now that he had Emily. He pushed her into the waiting limousine. Emily didn’t care about his abrasiveness. What did it matter now that Lucky was dead? She sat in the farthest corner of the vehicle, her face pale, but slightly mutinous. Somewhere inside was the real Emily Quartermaine, struggling to surface, to live again. A sudden slap across the face forced Emily backward, hitting the side of her head on the limousine window. Anders, his cruel face glowing with victory, got right in front of Emily. “Or else your life will be more miserable than it has ever been. You may be grieving your precious Lucky, but the truth is, you have married me. You made love to me. You gave yourself to me. You gave yourself to the lowest of the low. You are no better than Lucky was, a dog who deserves nothing better than to be treated as such.” “You would treat me that badly?” Emily wondered out loud. “After you said you loved me, and you would take care of me?” Emily’s voice was bewildered, hurt. Anders smiled. He touched her cheek, then pinched it. “Only if you disobey me, Emily. Do as I say, and our life will be beautiful. I love you, Emily. I want to bring the world to you. I will give you everything you ever dreamed of. In fact, tonight, we will celebrate our wedding with your family if you want. Do you hear me, Emily. I can take you home, and we can live with the people you love.” “Provided I live by your laws, and your desires?” Emily questioned her eyes wide and fearful. Anders nodded, pulling his wife to him. His kiss sent chills down Emily’s spine. His tongue made her want to vomit. He nibbled on her ear, his hands pulling her slender body to him as his desire grew. He lifted her long skirt. “Provided you act on my decree, Emily. Then and only then will you be treated like the Queen you are. If not, well, your life will truly resemble hell.” Anders whispered in a heinous tone that finally brought Emily back to reality, to what she had truly done to herself. Anders’ voice rang in her ears, echoed in her mind, shouted in a final threat that made her realize she was no better than a dead person, because she had given into her grief, because she had married a madman. Emily-Bowen Quartermaine no longer existed. She was Emily Faison, and she had just signed her life away. She closed her eyes while Anders satisfied his overwhelming needs right there in the limousine. Woodenly Emily lay beneath her husband. She closed her eyes, thinking of Lucky. She shut off her emotions, shut out Anders’ degrading touch, his vile threats. She told herself over and over again, she didn’t care, she didn’t care, she didn’t care… ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ Alexis Davis drove through the streets of Port Charles, wishing the world was not upside down. The fact that Helena was out there was absolutly terrifying. God only knew what she could do with Stavros helping her. She wished they could decipher the code that Mikkos had encrypted on those papers. Maybe then, they could defend themselves. Alexis pulled into the empty parking lot. She turned the ignition off. Sitting there, she thought of her daughter, of Emily, the child she had given up at birth. Emily was so beautiful. Alexis had every reason to be proud of her. She hoped she would be able to explain to Emily, to let her know that she was always loved, even before she was born. Putting her car keys in her purse, Alexis got out of the car, and locked it behind her. She walked across the lot towards the club, Luke’s Club. Stepping inside, she said a silent prayer that all hell would not unfold tonight. Somehow as she stepped into the club, she knew that prayer would not be answered. “Luke?” Alexis called out. No answer. Instead, Claude came from the kitchen in the back. He looked at Alexis in puzzlement. “We’re closed,” He told her. “There’s a private party here tonight, but that’s not for a few more hours.” “I came to see Luke,” Alexis told him. “Is he here? He said he would be.” “Dunno. You can check the office,” Claude replied, shrugging his shoulders. Alexis shook her head. The man never said more than a few words. She couldn’t figure out why Luke kept the man around. Like most people, she didn’t realize that Claude ran the club. Luke had no business sense. Luke was the charmer who brought in the customers and kept them coming. Knocking on the door to Luke’s office, Alexis waited for a reply. When none came, she opened the door. The first thing she saw was Luke’s desk, cluttered with papers. There didn’t appear to be anyone in the room. She moved further, her heart beating so hard, she could feel it. Thump! Thump! Th…Alexis gasped. “Luke! Oh, God!” Lying on the floor behind his desk, Luke Spencer lay in a small pool of blood that was fresh under his head. Alexis swallowed her hysteria as she raced to her boyfriend, to the man she realized she loved above all others. Kneeling in front of him, she yelled his name while she gathered him in her arms. “Luke! Luke, can you hear me? Luke wake up!” In response, Luke moaned. He could hear Alexis calling distantly through his pounding head. “Luke Spencer, if you don’t wake up, I’m personally going to finish whatever someone started,” Alexis fairly screamed. Claude, hearing her cries, came running from the club. He stopped short when he saw Alexis cradling Luke’s head in her lap. “Call 911!” Alexis ordered sharply. Claude picked up the phone. Just as he was about to dial, he heard his boss’ voice. “No! No, Claude.” Luke protested. “Call 911 and you’re fired.” Claude put the phone down. Luke struggled to sit up on the floor. He dragged himself to his feet, Alexis helping him. Finally he got into his desk chair with Alexis encouraging him. “Wow, that was some blow,” He marveled putting his hand back to the open wound on his head. His hand came back with a small amount of blood. Alexis looked to Claude. “Get me a basin with some cold water, and a washcloth,” She ordered sharply. Claude nodded, only too happy to let Alexis deal with his boss. Alexis hugged Luke. He basked in her trembling body, knowing she had been frightened by his near miss. “Now, Darlin,” He told her charismatically. “It’s not that bad.” “Not that bad?” Alexis retorted sharply. “You could have been killed. What happened?” “Damned if I know. One minute I was resting here, my head on the table, and the next, I was on the floor.” “I don’t understand,” Alexis said. “What did someone have to gain by hitting you?” Luke shook his head. “Think Helena wanted me dead?” He asked. “I think if Helena wanted you dead, you would be,” Alexis replied flatly. “This is more than I understand.” Claude came into the room with the basin of water and a washcloth. Alexis ran the cloth through the cold water, and then started to use it to clean Luke’s wound, and inspect it. “Ow!” Luke cried. “Darlin, watch what you’re doing!” “You’re the one that wouldn’t let Claude call 911. You could have a serious injury here, Luke. It’s open about a centimeter.” “I’m not going to the hospital. They ask too many questions. We’ve got guests coming, or so I’ve been told, courtesy of our invitation from the Prince.” “Luke, I don’t understand…” Once more, Alexis’ words trailed off. “What, Alexis? What’s the matter?” Luke followed Alexis’ gaze to the picture of Lucky that sat on Luke’s desk. The picture lay flat on the desk over a piece of paper. The picture was an older one of Lucky when he was fourteen or fifteen, his young face still innocent and hopeful. Luke treasured that picture. The glass frame was shattered. Worse, the picture was slashed, precisely across Lucky’s neck, as if he had been decapitated. Luke picked up the picture. Alexis picked up the paper while Luke stared at his son’s face. “No matter what happens tonight, remember that Lucky’s life hangs in the balance. Take action against your enemies and Lucky will pay.” Alexis read out loud. The letter was typed in large pica type and unsigned. Alexis put the paper down on the table. Luke looked up at her, his blue eyes glowing with anger and frustration as well as fear. “Luke, we don’t know who sent this,” Alexis started gently. Luke slammed the picture down on the table, sending small shards of glass filtering across the papers and pens on the desk. One landed on Alexis’ skirt, right on the blood where Luke’s head had been laying. She picked up the shard and put it back on the table. “We don’t do we? That’s the most galling fact, isn’t it, Alexis. We still have no idea where Lucky and Emily are, and who is controlling the shots. This stupid party tonight has been called and I can’t even stop it. I could close the club, but I have a feeling that wouldn’t get our questions answered. It won’t save lives either. Why do I have the feeling we are being set up, Darlin? Why is that?” Luke’s voice reflected his emotions. Alexis called Claude who came to take the basin away. Then she turned back to Luke. She smiled a devilish smile that Luke was instantly suspicious of. “What?” He asked again. “What are you thinking?” “I think,” Alexis smiled. “I think that you hit it on the head. We’re being set up. Something is going to go down here tonight. It could just be Helena. It could be something much worse. Either way, we are now ahead of the game.” “And what do we do about it?” Luke wondered. Alexis was so logical, so brilliant. She leaned forward, kissing him, sending a rage of desire racing through him. He pulled her close, savoring her scent, her beauty, her touch. Reluctantly, Alexis pulled away. Still she smiled in smug satisfaction. “Why we do what they think we won’t do. We fight fire with fire.” Luke’s serious face gave way to a smug grin of his own. Once more he pulled Alexis to him. “I love how you think, Darlin,” He whispered as he nibbled on her ear. Alexis laughed, and gave into Luke’s desires. They were in control now. Or so she thought. ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ Stefan hugged his nephew close to him. Nikolas was so frightened. That much was obvious. Clinging to his uncle, he sputtered, ''He's crazy! He's a lunatic....and I...I can't handle him alone.” Stefan stroked Nikolas’ hair, cursing himself for letting Stavros get his hands on him. With determination, he replied, ''You won’t have to.'' Nikolas pulled away. “I won’t?” He asked in surprise. “No. Nikolas, Stavros is my brother. That he threatened you is ludicrous. I will handle him. You need to get back to Gia, don’t you.” “Yes, I do, but if I go back to the hospital, Tracy will tell Stavros.” “Let me handle Stavros,” Stefan said purposefully. “He’s no longer your concern.” “Uncle, you have no idea. He has threatened everyone I love, including you. If I cross him, if I even think of it, he will kill you. He’ll kill Gia.” “He’ll do no such thing,” Stefan said. “I can’t miss the party,” Nikolas returned. “Stavros would know.” “You will be protected, Nikolas. You belong at the hospital,” Stefan said firmly. “I’ll take care of Tracy Quartermaine.” “Uncle, you can’t protect me!” Nikolas screamed in frustration. “Stavros doesn’t think the way you or I do. I told you that!” Stefan grabbed Nikolas firmly about the shoulders, shaking him slightly. “Nikolas, listen to me!” Stefan ordered. “I grew up with Stavros. I know him better than any man on earth. I know his strengths and his weaknesses. He is not infallible. I will keep him at bay, and he will not be allowed near you again! Do you understand me?” Nikolas was thinking of Gia in the morgue. Her beautiful face haunted him. He couldn’t bear to think of losing her. He may have lost his brother already. He couldn’t lose Gia. “Promise me, Uncle. On your life, and I will believe you,” Nikolas replied. “If not, then I must leave with Tracy.” “On my life, Nikolas, I will protect you and Gia. I may be too late to keep her from being hurt or Lucky, but I know about Stavros now. He won’t have changed. I promise you will be safe.” “I don’t believe you, Uncle. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I believe you are up against more than you can handle.” “Nikolas, if you give into Stavros, you will be putting Gia at more risk than you know.” “How so?” Nikolas retorted. “I can only protect her by doing as Stavros says. He is my father. He owns me!” Those words rankeled Stefan. He had brought Nikols up to be independent, to think on his own, and to be the Prince. “He is not your father, Nikolas. Perhaps in the physical sense, he is, but not in any other form of the word. From the day you were born, I nurtured you. I loved you. I cared for you. It is I who has been there for you your entire life, long before Stavros was supposedly killed. You must return to the hospital. Now.” Nikolas appeared to consider Stefan’s words. Then he nodded his consent. “That’s the boy I raised,” Stefan said proudly, hugging Nikolas. Nikolas’ hand lay at his side. Then, in one swoop, he picked up the flower vase on the nearby table and smashed it over Stefan’s head. With a surprised look and a groan of pain, Stefan fell to the floor in a heap. Tears in his eyes, Nikolas knelt beside his unconscious uncle. “You don’t understand, Stefan. You don’t understand anything,” He intoned. He dragged Stefan’s body across the floor to the closet. Opening the door, he stuffed Stefan into the closet. Then he put a chair under the door. Then, apparently speaking to no one in particular, he said out loud. “I told you I would obey, Stavros. And I have. Stefan is neutralized…for now.” ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ Monica Quartermaine was running for her life in the mall parking garage, an unlikely place to be praying for rescue, for help of any kind to save her. Her hope for survival was fleeting when the SUV stormed forward, accelerating to a dangerously high speed as it zoomed towards her, the driver compensating his aim for a moving target. As a plea to God escaped her lips, the lumbering vehicle slammed into Monica, the bones of her shoulder and ribs immediately cracking as she was lifted from her feet and driven in a whirl of wind and screeching tires directly into the hard, unyielding concrete wall. Dead end... There was no hope left as Monica saw her life flash before her eyes, General Hospital, her marriage, her husband, the Quartermaines bickering, Emily, Jason and A.J., Alan, Lila and even Edward. Their pictures gave small comfort as the terror gave way to resignation, all in that fleeting instant that she realized she was going to die. Her body splattered against the wall as the SUV crushed her chest against her heart in an irrevocable motion that Monica was helpless to prevent. Her scream of horrific pain echoed through the garage as she was pinned against the wall. Unable to take the pain, her mind caved and she lost consciousness. With a screech of tires, the SUV backed up, coming to a halt as his victim’s body crumbled to the ground in a jumpled heap of broken bones and blood. After surveying his handywork with satisfaction, the driver turned the vehicle around and left the scene. Minutes passed. Slowly, Monica regained consciousness. Unable to move, Monica’s mind was consumed by sharp fiery pain from everywhere. Her arm lay at an odd angle. She could see blood falling to floor from a wound in her chest. She breathed with extreme effort, realizing a rib had probably punctured one of her lungs. If her mind had been in the right place, she would have taken an assessment of her condition, and realized where she was injured. Physician, heal thyself, she actually thought. But she wasn’t a physician now. She was the patient, the person dying because of a hit and run, of a malicous, deliberate act. She concentrated on breathing, on staying alive, on surviving. “Help,” Monica gasped softly, so softly that no one would hear. She tried to crawl, to get help, but any movement caused such extreme pain that she screamed. Precious seconds were ticking by. Monica wondered where everyone was. She couldn’t just die here in this garage all by herself. She couldn’t. She had too much to live for. “Please, someone, help me,” Monica screamed. But the words were unsaid. Monica turned her head, as a wave of nausea turned into an overwhelming feeling of vomiting. She couldn’t stop the blood that came from her abdomen, from spewing out of her mouth and onto the floor beside her. The pain was suddenly gone. The world was a fog that gradually overtook the brain as it started to become oxygen deprived due to loss of blood. Monica was bleeding both internally, and externally, her life seeping away far too quickly. In one last, futile attempt to save her self, Monica tried once more to grab the wall, her bloodied hand clawing to get up. Instead of allowing her to stand, Monica’s body suddenly trembled in the throes of death. She fell back, all thought erased from her mind. Monica stared, taking one more breath, using every chest muscle she had to breathe, just to breathe. The air flowed out through the open chest, but not through her body. There was no way to fight any longer. As her breathless body relaxed on the ground, the life of Monica Quartermaine, wife, mother, friend and Physician came to a violent, inexplicible end. Death had won again. |