| Chapter 9 As soon as Emily slapped Anders, she should have realized she had made a mistake. In her hysteria, she missed the cruelty that gathered in his gaze. The delight he had felt in watching her fight changed to withering anger as Emily, enraged and hysterical, continued to pound on the door. Anders grabbed her by the shoulders, swinging her roughly around. His own stinging slap left her face far more reddened then his. Stunned, Emily’s hand went to her face. A tear formed in her eye. “Stop!” He yelled, ignoring her feminine wiles. “Stop this childish behavior at once. Or do you want things to be worse for Lucky? Because I promise you, if you don’t behave, he will suffer all the more.” “He won’t,” Emily shouted back. “You’re just threatening me.” “I assure you, Emily, if I was threatening you, you would know it. I’m trying to help you. Fighting me is not going to help.” Anders tried to get his voice under control. Emily could not know how angry he was at her for her slap. Emily pulled her light robe tightly around her body, placing her hands across her chest in a defensive motion. Her eyes blazed with fury. Anders let her go. He turned away from her. Emily relaxed. From behind her, the door started to open. In a sudden move, Anders turned around, and slapped Emily so forcefully that she fell to the ground. A cry of pain escaped her as she lay where she had fallen. She hadn’t expected the second slap… “Anders?” came a voice Emily didn’t know. She buried her head in the soft blue carpet, trying to just ignore what was happening. It was as if her mind could not accept one more trauma. “Father,” Anders said congenially. Emily’s ears perked up, but she didn’t move. “What is going on here?” “Emily was disrespectful. She doesn’t appear to understand who is in control. I was just giving her a lesson.” “Really? It entails hitting women? Well, I suppose some lessons are necessary,” Cesar Faison admitted, chugging away at his cigar. Smoke quickly filled the room. Emily coughed. Faison yanked her to her feet. “She doesn’t belong on the floor. Let’s get a look at the merchandise,” Faison said roughly. For the first time Emily saw the man who haunted Lucky day and night, the man who had destroyed Lucky’s life, and tortured his family beyond belief. She lowered her eyes. His face was just as Lucky described. Pure evil. “Seems to have learned her lesson,” Faison commented. He lifted her chin. “Doesn’t look much like her mother, I must say. Her mother was never this pretty as far as I know.” Uncertain if she had heard correctly, Emily refrained from speaking. Her mother? What did this man know about either Paige or Monica? Was he going after Monica? Emily shuddered, but held her ground as Faison cruelly crushed her right breast with his free hand. It was all Anders could do not to push his father away at that moment. Emily was his, to love, to destroy, to cherish, to hurt. Not his father’s. Not Lucky’s. “Father, if you hurt the merchandise more than I have, there won’t be much left to send to her mother,” Anders stated coming towards Emily. His hands squeezed her shoulders, gently now. Faison smiled demonically. “I’m off to see Young Spencer. He’s waiting patiently for me.” “Please,” Emily begged. “Please, don’t hurt him.” Faison took a drag off his cigar, then pointedly exhaled into Emily’s face. She coughed again trying to clear her lungs. When she had recovered Faison was gone, the door shut once more behind him. She turned to Anders. This time, she was completely confused. “Where is Lucky?” She demanded. “And what does he mean he’s going to see Lucky?” “You know Emily, you never cease to amaze me,” Anders told her, sitting back down at the table where Emily’s breakfast had gone cold. He gave her the orange juice he had brought for her and Lucky. “What do you mean?” She asked, wondering where the angry Anders had gone. “First you’re angry, then you’re defeated on the floor, then you’re begging for Lucky and now you’re making demands. Is this an example of a woman’s moodiness?” “It’s an example of the fact that I’m terrified for Lucky and I don’t appreciate being beaten up by you or your father.” “Well you definitely have more spunk than I would have given you credit for. Here, drink some orange juice. It’s good for you.” Emily, still filled with her emotions, grabbed the orange juice and drank it down defiantly. Then she took the glass and threw it against the wall. Anders looked from Emily to the wall and back again. “Was that necessary?” He asked standing up. “Yes it was,’ Emily replied with an infuriating sweetness. She walked over to the window that looked out at the courtyard below. A thousand thoughts assoiled her as her hands touched the warmth of the glass. She leaned her head against the panes, longing to be outside. The garden below was beautiful, alive with color. The bars on the outside of the window prevented escape, and the window didn’t open, but at least the sun could shine in. The world still existed outside this dreadful place. Anders walked up behind her. Once more he put his hands on her shoulders. She whirled around. “Don’t!” Emily Bowen-Quartermaine ordered. “Don’t touch me. You don’t know me. You have no right.” Emily’s face was bright with the intensity of her words. She turned back to the window. “Emily, you are alone,” Anders intoned behind her. “You can’t afford to alienate me.” “I can’t afford to alienate you?” Emily asked not moving. “Until Lucky comes back, I really don’t care what happens.” “Yes, you do, Emily. You’re a prisoner here, every bit as much as Lucky.” “What’s happening to him, Anders. I have to know,” Emily cried anxiously. Now she turned back to face her captor. “He’ll be fine, Emily. My father won’t hurt him.” “I don’t understand,” Emily went on in frustration. She brushed past Anders, stopping at the table, then slowly making her way to the bed. Anders watched her every movement, his expectations for the next few minutes getting higher and higher. He had impressed his father. Now he was going to impress Emily. He came to sit on the bed with her. Her lovely eyes took on a glazed look. “Anders, what’s happening?” She asked softly. “I feel so strange, so light, so free. Am I?” “Are you what, Emily?” Anders returned, his voice carefully neutral. “Free? I’m here. I know I’m here, but I could dance. I could…” Emily smiled as Anders took her in his arms. He was safe. Yes, he had slapped her, but it was okay now. Faison was gone. She was safe. She leaned her head against his chest, her head dizzy, her world suddenly filled with bright colors, and wild ideas. Anders hands were delicious as he picked her up, and laid her gently on the bed. She didn’t want him to go away. He moved from the bed. “Anders!” Emily’s voice called seductively. “Don’t leave me.” Anders came back to the bed. He had taken off his pants, and shirt, he climbed into bed with Emily. He was a gentleman, he told himself. He wouldn’t seduce her in her current state, but he could enjoy her touch on his bare skin. Ever so carefully, Anders pulled Emily to him, his arms encircling her slender body. He closed his eyes, imagining how it would feel to slip his hands beneath her thin gown, to stroke her soft skin, so kiss her, tasting her passion, tasting her vulnerability. Imagination gave him hope for the future, a future with this beautiful young woman. Emily, her own imagination soaring in high gear, snuggled next to Anders’ broad chest. The flowers around her were so pretty, the music. Did he hear the music? “I feel so good,” She breathed mystically. “I can’t believe how good I feel. I’d forgotten. Oh, Lucky. Lucky, hold me. Hold me. Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go.” The man couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop himself. His breath came in deep rapid cries of anticipation. He pulled the blankets over himself, over Emily, his Emily. Anders was certain if he let her fly forever, no one would ever take her away. That was exactly what he planned to do. * * * * * In the hallway outside their bedroom, Celine stared at Stefan in disbelief. Her heart hammered within. “Stefan, you can’t be serious!” Celine retorted, angered, and frightened by her husband’s words. If he guessed…if her cover was blown, her life would be as good as over, if not by Stefan’s hand, then by Helena’s. “I don’t like being made a fool of, Celine,” came the dangerously low reply. Celine refused to look away from Stefan. “You are the one who punished me, Stef. I take your punishments, don’t I? Do I ever fight back? Do I? I love you!” Stefan’s hand suddenly reached out, grabbing Celine’s wrist. He squeezed tightly, his eyes locked on hers. Celine didn’t move. “You enjoy being punished, Wife,” Stefan spat out. “Maybe you enjoy it too much.” “I don’t,” Celine protested. “But I love you. I need you. Since the day we met in Greece, you have been my world. Please, Stef. Please don’t leave me angry.” “Nikolas may not be my son in fact, but he is in my heart. Transgress there, Douchenka, and there will be no hope for us. You will find yourself divorced and back in Greece, so fast, your head will spin.” “I’m sorry, Stef. Truly. It’s just I need you, so.” Celine’s free hand went around Stefan, stroking his backside beneath his black pinstrip jacket. She buried her face in his chest. Stefan let her wrist go, but grabbed her thick hair, pulling her head roughly backwards. He looked into her upturned eyes that waited so expectantly. The deviousness, the mystery he had witnessed so briefly was gone. All he could see now was her pleading. But he remembered what he had forgotten when he fell head over heels in love with Celine. He remembered that all women were treacherous, all women, his mother, Lasha, Katherine, even his sister, Alexis. All the women in his life had betrayed him at one point or another. “You really should get dressed, Celine,” He warned her. “You’ll catch your death out here.” Planting a kiss on her rosy lips, he slapped her backside so that she jumped away. “Remember, Celine. I will not be tampered with, nor will I allow you to hurt Nikolas. I am The Cassidine. Don’t forget.” “Or what?” Celine dared once more, her voice sharp, and piercing. Stefan smiled, the sadistic cruel smile of his ancestors. He put his hand on her slender neck, pushing her body against the wall with his own. Celine could barely contain her delight at the emotional torture Stefan inflicted with his horrific gaze, his hold on her. She shivered with delightful, yet frightening anticipation. Using the wall for support, Stefan was able to lift his wife just enough so that her feet were barely touching the floor. His hand crushed her neck against the wall. She gasped in pain. “Or I will dispose of you in ways that only I can imagine. I may love you, Celine. You are my wife. But Nikolas comes first, always.” Stefan dropped his grip. Celine fell to the floor. She lay on the floor holding her neck as Stefan walked away. She took in deep refreshing breaths. Slowly, standing up, Celine made her way back to the bedroom she shared with her husband. On the bedside table, there was a picture of Nikolas that had been taken recently. Sitting down on the bed, she drew the blankets over her. She stared at the picture of the young man. Her face went from stormy anger to smug complacence. Laying down, she pulled the sheets over her, relishing Stefan’s scent, his terrifying strength, even his devotion to Nikolas. At the same time, the woman plotted the demise of both Stefan and Nikolas Cassidine. The more torturous, the better, the slower, the better. Celine could feel the evil smoldering within. Her intentions went far more deeply than Stefan could ever imagine. Her laughter erupted in the room. If there were ghosts in the room, they would have fled at the sound of her distorted mirth. “Oh, Stef,” She said out loud. “You have no idea who you are playing with. Lucky for you, I enjoy you. For now. Lucky you.” And her laughter went on and on till her hysteria gave way to fatigue, and fatigue gave way to sleep which only encouraged her to dream of ways to eliminate all the Cassidines. All of them when the time was right. * * * * * The haunting melody filled Alexis’ mind. Where was Stefan? Oh, God, where was he? He would know. He would understand. Stefan! “Natasha?” His voice reached her. Whose voice was it? A strong hand touched her face. She pulled backwards, hitting her head on the closet door. “Natasha!” Luke’s voice cried anxiously. “What is it? What’s wrong? Would someone shut that stupid music off?” Gia quickly turned the music box off. But the sound echoed off the walls. Alexis put her hands over her ears. “Make it stop!” She begged Luke, her brown eyes pleading with him. “Please, make it stop.” “Natasha,” Luke said carefully. “The music is gone. Listen. It’s quiet. Only me, and Nikolas and Gia. Come on, Alexis. Listen to me. Can you hear me?” Alexis merely stared at Luke as if he were the one who were losing it. She stayed glued to the door. Gia rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Where’s the doctor, Papa Smurf,” she taunted, “I think he’s going to have two patients now.” “Shut up, Gia,” Nikolas said. “Alexis is fine.” I hope, he added to himself as he sat down on the sofa, his shoulder killing him. He leaned his head back. Gia was instantly at his side while Luke tried to reach Alexis. Her eyes had a distant far away look about them. Tears fell unchecked down her cheeks. She obviously was very distressed. Worried, Luke tried to get her to sit down, but she wouldn’t move. “Natasha, you’re scaring the h*ll out of me,” Luke warned her. “Talk to me, Darlin. I’m here. Please, for the love of Mike.” “What Mike?” Gia asked. “She freaked. She heard the music and freaked.” “Gia!” Nikolas hissed. “Leave them alone.” “Oh, fine. I can’t take you to the hospital. I can’t help Alexis. Why don’t I just go home?” came the thwarted reply. “NO!” Luke and Nikolas both yelled. “Whether you like it or not, Sassy Sue, you’re part of this mess now. You don’t go anywhere without an escort,” Luke snapped. “Now shut up like the Prince said. The doctor will be here shortly. In fact, why don’t you take the Prince upstairs to the bedroom. I’m sure Alexis won’t mind, and he looks like he could use the rest. Doc said to put an ice pak on that wound too. You can make one by…” “I know how to make an ice pak,” Gia snapped, tossing her head. She disappeared into the kitchen to get some ice. “Luke, how is she?” Nikolas asked starting to get up again. “Be still, Prince. You look like you’re going to faint. I don’t want you to end up on the floor.” “Gee, Thanks,” Nikolas returned dryly. The conversation was starting to get through to Alexis, especially with the music being off. The music. That music! Helena’s music. “Luke?” Alexis voice whispered. Luke turned his attention back to his lady. Gently he took her hands in his. He drew her away from the door, back towards the sofa. Alexis felt dizzy. Her legs buckled. Luke scooped her up in his arms, and set her softly on the sofa. Gia came back in to the room. She’d been able to find a real ice pak in the refrigerator. Luke looked from her to Nikolas. “On second thought, use the bedroom down here. It’s probably safer.” “Why?” Gia asked. “Then I can keep my eye on both of you.” “What the H*ll does that mean?” Nikolas demanded. “You two children need protection. That’s what that means,” Luke told Nikolas. “If something happens to you, Nikolas, Lucky will never forgive me. As for you Sassy Sue, if something happened to you, well I’m not sure who would care, but a life is a life.” “The name is Gia,” Gia hissed as she helped Nikolas walk into the back bedroom. Luke just smirked. Nikolas shook his head. Did the man never learn when to shut his mouth? Well it had taken a while to teach Lucky to be less uncouth. Maybe Luke would learn…but Nikolas doubted it. Gia slammed the door behind her and Nikolas as they disappeared into the bedroom. Alexis screamed. Luke pulled her into his arms. “Whoa!” He cried holding his lady love close. “Natasha, calm down. Tell me you’re okay. Tell me that music isn’t going to send you to the loony bin.” Inside Alexis could hear Luke’s voice, his practical, blunt voice. Luke didn’t mince words. He held her safely. But all Alexis could do was hear that music, and see the darkness surrounding her. “Natasha!” Luke yelled into her ear. Alexis jumped. Her head came to rest back on Luke’s chest. Her voice was barely a whisper. Luke’s hand stroked her hair as she spoke, his eyes riveted to the music box, to what should have been so beautiful, but was so shattering. “It was in the bedroom where the music was on. A dark, solitary, dirty bedroom in the attic, with the rats, and the dust, and an old iron bed. Helena threw me in there when I was bad. I didn’t mean to be bad, but I was. I was always bad.” “Shhh,” Luke crooned. “You’re not bad, Alexis. You’re never bad.” Alexis went on as though she hadn’t heard Luke. Her body trembled beneath Luke’s touch. He was almost afraid to breathe, because she was so fragile. “There were ghosts in that room. They yelled at me with the music, every time. I could have left the room. I tried once. Helena knew. She punished me.” Alexis shivered further. Luke took the blanket Nikolas had been using and put it around Alexis. But the cold didn’t come from the outside. “I never left the room after that, not until she let me. I was just a little girl. Oh, God. Where’s Stefan. He can rescue me. Luke, please, please, please don’t put me in that room. I’ll be good. Honest.” “Alexis,” Luke said patiently. “Stefan will come. I’ll call him. Okay. Do you want me to call him now?” “No!” Alexis cried suddenly. Luke watched in amazement as Alexis picked up the music box. She turned it on, listening to the haunting cords, the sounds that brought her such pain. Taking the ornament, she walked over to the closet door, and opened it. Then she went inside, and shut the door. Luke was stunned. He went to the door and knocked on it. “Leave me alone!” came the high pitched cry, the cry of Little Alexis. “Leave me alone, Helena!” “Natasha?” Luke spoke, just loud enough for her to hear, not wanting to frighten her, knowing he was out of his league. “Oh God, it’s Stavros,”Alexis screamed. “Stavros, No!” Luke stared at the door. He looked towards the bedroom where Nikolas and Gia waited. Then he looked upward. “You couldn’t give us a little help down here could you?” He asked. “If not for me, then for them? It’s getting a little more twisted than I’m comfortable with.” Then he said to himself. “Where the H*ll is that doctor?” * * * * * Faison flipped the light switch as Lucky seemed to sink into unconsciousness. Then he opened the door to the room. Two guards outside jumped to attention. “What are you waiting for? Get in here.” The two men, both non-descript, wearing the same police uniforms as the other guards, came into the room. They stood like soldiars in front of Faison. “You know what to do. Move it!” “Yes, Sir!” the guards said in unison. On the floor, Lucky distantly heard Faison. His heart palpated in pure terror as he realized the darkness was not going to bring him peace today. His arms were roughly grabbed by the two guards, his body dragged across the room. His head hit the floor with a thud that sent spiraling pain shooting through Lucky’s brain. He wanted to move, to get out of the way, to get away from what was happening, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. Only his head shook back and forth as he moaned. “Nooooo!” A soft eerie sound that made Faison chuckle as he waited. Before he realized it, cold, unyielding steel had been applied to the boy's wrists and feet. Lucky’s shirt was torn off him. He was only wearing his jeans. One of the guards picked Lucky up about the waist. The chains were attached by the other guard to thick steel hooks in the wall, more than capable of holding on to hundreds of pounds, much less Lucky’s frail frame. Lucky sagged, his stomach against the wall, his arms spread slightly upward, his legs unable to support him. The chains on his feet were also attached to hooks in the wall, not that it was necessary. There was no strength in them. Lucky was essentially hanging from the wall. “Son of a ****!” Lucky swore, but only to himself. There was no voice in him. His head lolled forward. Faison pulled Lucky’s head backwards. Lucky’s eyes popped open in fear. “So, you are awake. Just as I hoped. What a wonderful opportunity to teach you who you will trust in the future, who you will look to for guidance, who you will learn to obey without question.” Lucky tried to shake his head, but couldn’t Faison held him so tightly. Just as quickly, Faison let go, and Lucky fell forward again. Only this time his eyes were open. He stared down at the ground, trying to raise his head, trying not to let Faison have the upper hand. He would never trust the man, never give into him. Never. “Listen close, Lucky. The lesson begins!” Faison warned evilly. Faison took the bucket one of the guards brought into the room. He lifted it and threw the contents at Lucky’s back. “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Lucky screamed in shock. The icy cold water sprayed hard freezing icicles that stabbed him, taking away some of the numbness in his body, but making him tremble in immobilized horror. Drips of freezing water soaked his jeans, his hair and back. He was drenched in frost. Faison leaned into Lucky, whispering demonically in his ear. “Lesson #1. Who do you trust?” Lucky didn’t respond. He braced himself, waiting, trying frantically to stand, to move, to do anything to defend himself. His hands tried to claw the wall, but didn’t reach it. His legs were numb beneath him. Nothing. There was nothing. Oh, God, what was he going to do? How could he save himself? How could he save Emily? “I see. Haven’t learned your lesson yet, hmmm?” came the threat. “We’re alone now, you see. My men are gone. It’s just you and me. Now the fun begins, Lucky. Now, you will know who is truly in control.” Lucky stared at the wooden floor, his body shivering, his breathing becoming rapid and ragged. It was coming. Faison wasn’t finished. He wasn’t…the hiss of a snap in the air made Lucky’s eyes widen. No! He wouldn’t! He wouldn’t…! Another snap in the air. “Here it comes, Lucky!” Faison cried exaltantly. Faison raised his arm. He swung the fine horse whip backwards, then flung it at Lucky’s back. The pain inflicted was of a delicate torture, sharp, yet not cutting to the skin. Lucky moaned. “Not enough?” Faison asked. He came closer. This time, he pulled the whip as far back as he could and hit it with full force across the bare, chilled back. He got his desired response. Lucky screamed...again, and again...and again... his cries a release from the horror of the fierce fire that consumed his brain. The lashes rained down on Lucky Spencer until his cries were silenced, and Faison had vented his rage to his satisfaction. Faison panted as he finished. His fingers touched the welts on Lucky's back as the body hung from the wall in mute testimony. The crazed Dutchman ripped at one of the welts, drawing blood. Faison smiled as he spoke to nothing, but spoke in triumphent madness. ''Lesson #1 completed.'' |