| Subject: Chapter 315 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 315) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, November 19, 07:07:53am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Chapter 307 - Part 1 (16 and above)" on Monday, October 22, 07:10:11am
It was with this hope that he made his way toward the door, feeling truly out of place for the first time. Although he paused for a moment, pondering, he finally decided to ring the bell. Entering a house with two armed bodyguards unannounced--no matter how long-awaited his return might be--could be anything but a good idea.
The wait he suffered through seemed eternal--every second stretching out unbearably, the closer he got to seeing her again. When it finally seemed clear that no one was home, he dug into his wallet, searching for the key he had left there. Then, he was finally able to open the door to the place he had, so long before, been forced to leave.
It was as he did so, however, that he knew something was wrong; he couldn't even have said what was off. Still, there was some indefinable air of panic to the place, one which had nothing to do with the simple lack of people there to greet him; he entered cautiously, leaving the door almost shut. But he wasn't certain that he wanted to understand it any more than this.
Such reticence wouldn't help him, of course, his gaze circling, looking for specifics. The most obvious fact was the unaccustomed untidiness of the living room, far more objects out of place than was normal. While nothing was seriously disarrayed, it didn't look at all like the usual, careful cleaning which both Annie and Rosa were so good at; he moved further in. Even the cushions on the couch were slightly off; he turned, worrying. But then he saw one of the first sights which made him start to panic more fully.
It was a small detail, really, the open drawer of a table, a few letters and photos left on top; he wanted to smile but couldn't quite manage it. Nikita had apparently found out about Lisa, then; the fear set in even further. He just hoped that she hadn't decided to leave him, when she discovered that he had only told her half the truth about the woman's disappearance. It would be far too terrible to come home only to discover that.
It wasn't that there was anything scandalous to hide here, his aid to the woman entirely pure-hearted. Their very brief affair had been over long before her marriage. It was only in the interests of keeping her safe that he and Rene had helped her stage her own death. But none of that might matter, if Nikita had been hurt.
The woman had been living in Vancouver for years, then--with a different name and hair color, admittedly, but with a far happier life. The only guilt involved with the incident was that he had hidden some of the details from his wife. But he had also done his best to hint to her to find them out on her own.
This had been his way around his long-ago promise to Lisa, the only one he could find. Still, the slightly unattended room, the empty feeling of the house around him, made him start to panic--and it was only a second later that he began to realize why. The whole place had the same sort of air that it had had that other, soul-wrenching time--when he had come in only to discover his former lover dead in the swimming pool; his heart started thumping heavily, as he called his wife's name--however little good that seemed likely to do him. "Nikita." There was no answer. "Nikita!" He could only hope that--unlike his lost love--he could somehow conjure his dear wife back here, alive and well.
This prayer was nearly suffocating him, the situation all too terribly familiar. As a result, the room was spinning slightly before him, as he hobbled his way awkwardly down the hall toward their bedroom--the cast and cane the only things which kept him from running. But, even as he went, the dreadful irony of the situation weighed on him, making him nearly give up anything like hope. Here they had always worried that he might be the one never to return, the one whom fate would destroy. But now he was home, alive and mostly well--and he very much feared that it might be his beautiful Nikita who was lost to him for good.
He stumbled hurriedly into their bedroom, the terror beating inside of his skull, drowning out both sense and sanity. Still, once he arrived there, even all minor hope started to die. On the bed was a spot of what looked a bit like blood, a letter near it; he rushed awkwardly over, snatching the paper, reading it in a fury. But what he saw there made him very nearly go insane.
There was a very small part of his mind which was analyzing the situation--detached in some calm sort of madness from the scene before him. It was always like this, it seemed--whatever the one, worst fear which you had failed to entertain inevitably proving to be true. Here he had been so terribly confident, convinced that his wife was suffering from nothing worse than the anxiety of silence, and, instead, she had known--had been told that he was probably dead. His gaze moved back to that spot of blood or fluid, and his heart nearly started screaming, terrified for her. A moment later, he started back quickly toward the front door, only one certainty remaining. Nothing in life had any meaning without her. The only purpose which existed was her love.
There were a million, terrible possibilities rushing through his mind at that moment, all of them making him grow madder by the second. While part of his thoughts focused on her news that Jones had thought about sending Jamie over to "talk" to her--feared where that spot on the bed might have come from--another part knew exactly what it was. That was where her water had broken, where their child had made the first announcement of its arrival. He clumped more heavily down the hall. But, if she believed him to be dead, while she was giving birth . . .
He couldn't even finish the thought, the horror too immense--the truth too obvious. So many times, he and his Nikita had discussed it, had talked over their unwillingness to continue without the other one near them. In an act as overwhelming as childbirth, as well--especially for a first-time mother--the will to live, to give birth to a healthy child, was vital. True, it might not guarantee a successful birth--but, without it, there seemed to be little chance at all.
He was just making his way out of the house in a fury--to where, he had no real idea, his leg in no shape for driving--when the front door opened, revealing the woman who had become his grandmother-in-law. His eyes were nearly in flames, once he reached her, no part of his thoughts left over to hold anything like clarity or calm; his free hand grabbed one of her fragile arms perilously tightly, his growl menacing. "Where is she?" But then there were only his highly-charged breaths to count the seconds until her answer.
It was a few moments in coming, the woman more than a little surprised at his presence. "My God--Michael!" She reached out to touch his face with the hand of her free arm--although his grip alone should have told her that he was real. "You're alive," she stated, clearly in shock. But none of this told him what he needed at all.
He wasn't in control of himself then, his hand probably doing damage to his longtime ally. "*Where is she*?" he ground out furiously. If he didn't get an answer in about another second, there was no telling at all what he might do.
It was fortunate, then, that Adrian was still so mentally sharp--coming back to herself rapidly. Once she did, she calmed her look, trying to convey the feeling to him, as well. "She's alright, Michael. She and your child are both alive."
There was something about this statement, about the look of sadness on the woman's face when she had entered the house, which still made him fear. It was only when her body shifted slightly that he noticed what he was doing to her, letting her go. But still he stared at her, willing her to tell him the rest. He wasn't going to be at all sane, unless he and Nikita could be reunited safely.
This hope had yet to be accomplished, Michael's wife not due home immediately. Adrian just smiled calmingly at him, patting his arm gently. "I'll take you to her." Her touch tried to be soothing. But nothing which happened could console him, until he was with a healthy Nikita again.
The older woman had originally arrived to gather the new mother's suitcase--which had been utterly forgotten in their horrified rush to the hospital. Still, this could wait. Her eyes trailed to the phone for a second, pondering simply calling to alleviate everyone's fears, but decided against it, ushering Michael out toward her waiting car. When she had left, Nikita hadn't been awake. Besides, with all the terrors of the day, it would be much better if the couple could be reunited face-to-face. That was probably the only way that either of them would survive.
[End of Part 315]
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