| Subject: Chapter 218 - Part 1 (16 and above) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Monday, November 28, 06:48:05am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
Extra warning: There are some fairly bad words here, as well as some unpleasant discussions. I'll rate it 16 and above, just to be safe.
Dreams in the Dark (218/?)
by Katherine Gilbert
The evening stumbled on, in the most terrible of ways. The scene of death and terror currently taking place in the bedroom of the endangered couple's house wasn't the only such confrontation the night was witness to. But it was very much to another man's surprise that he was facing down an old enemy--and, like so many other nemeses that evening, this was also the first time they had met.
Their lack of previous introduction did nothing to cease the antagonism between the pair; Mr. Jones's eyes narrowed, glaring, as his unexpected guest was ushered into his office. The very fact that Adrian could find him was enough to irritate him--but that she would actually dare to come see him on such a night . . .
Her look was even, her gaze quite manly in its professional calm--a fact which made him dislike her all the more. "I assume you're going to invite me to sit down," she uttered pointedly, as he scowled all the more--hating her. That she would quietly come talk to him while two men threatened her grandchild proved what an incompetent woman she was; his look narrowed further. He had been right to loathe her from the start.
He still did, only nodded distantly toward a chair, refusing to be so polite as to actually invite her in. That she had clearly gained the whereabouts of his house from one of his rivals went unaddressed, his annoyance aimed elsewhere. Once she had settled herself, obviously hiding as many creaks and pains as his own, he growled out a start to the conversation. "Why are you here?" He would be damned if he was going to make this any more civil than it had to be.
Her look met his, utterly even, seeming not to notice the more deadly events of the night at all. "I would think that would be patently obvious." He bristled at her tone, but she didn't notice. "If my information is correct, you currently have an employee and a son out threatening my grandchild and her husband." Her gaze moved in. "You couldn't really expect me just to sit at home, while that happened."
He *had* expected that, actually, which only irritated him all the more. He decided to return the favor--never taking up the issue of who had convinced the two men to their current, deadly actions, Madeline's role in the proceedings unimportant now. "Have you come to sacrifice yourself, as well?"
It was an empty threat--her connections too good; the fact that she was there and still alive proved that. She faced him with her usual, eternal calm. "I'm dying, anyway--as I imagine you are." His look became more fierce, though she didn't seem to notice. "A bullet now would only shorten my life by a few months, at most."
There was a snort, his look powerful in its hatred. "I should have killed you years ago."
"I imagine you thought about it." Her insightful gaze cut in. "But then you'd have had to explain it to Bobbie, wouldn't you?"
All of this had the expected effect--although it was impossible to tell from the woman's calm demeanor whether it was the one she wanted. He changed topics, still growling. "What is it you want?"
Lord. She would have laughed--had the situation not been so utterly desperate, had it not been for hours. She had heard about her grandchild's disappearance soon after Michael had dashed off the lot, had known her plans. It had been her intention for some months, really--was the only way she could see to help. She was too damn old to take up marksmanship, couldn't hope to hobble after the pair to look after them--and she imagined that they were quite capable of that on their own. Still, coming to talk to this man any earlier than the dreadful date in question--whenever it might occur--had been impossible. The moment had to be right; she felt a thump in her heart, nothing showing on her face. She could only pray that she was now in time.
Neither of them truly knew the answer to this fear, but Jones was nothing if not an excellent bluff. He continued, admitting her silence as an answer. "It's entirely out of my hands." He almost smiled. "We'll just have to leave them to Mr. Hillinger's mercy."
This was a dubious quality, at the best of times--and they both knew it; Adrian didn't play along, switching topics, as her more maternal look sank in. "So this is what you call love?" Her head was slightly tilted, gaze probing. "This is how you repay Bobbie for the child she gave you?"
This was the last thing Jones could take--the evening already wearing quite thin. It was bad enough simply waiting for an outcome, wondering whether Michael would be man enough to protect the girl, wondering what he might do if he wasn't. But to have this appalling woman here--to see her arrogant assumption that she was worthy of questioning *him*--was simply too much; he was glowering. How dare she come and challenge him now?
His voice was low, angry, the look unforgiving. "*You* come to talk to *me* about love? You actually believe that you're qualified to discuss it?" She gave him no immediate answer, her demeanor still utterly unruffled, enraging him all the more. "You let that fool of a husband of yours interfere with your own child!" His look burned. "How *dare* you come talk to me about 'love.'"
She understood his accusations--felt them far too strongly--but she also too well comprehended where his real anger lay. She spared him nothing. "Is that disgust about Roberta's lack of virginity I hear--from a man who supplies most of the whores in this city?" Her head shook, look still so refined. "Or are you simply angry that someone got to her before you?"
These were shocking words for a mother to say--but she had no intention of ever discussing her very true rage, pain, and guilt over all that had happened to her daughter with a man such as this. Instead, she gained the reaction she had expected from her questions--Jones shaking in fury before her, a second before he opened a drawer to reach for his gun. She was already shrugging, as he took it out. "Are you under the impression that I'm capable of being frightened?" There was nearly a snort. "Or are you just trying to ignore the fact that your daughter might soon be killed?"
He wavered for just a second, Adrian seeing through him far too clearly--as little as he could consciously admit it. Still, he was glowering, the gun in his hand focused on her. "I should kill you."
"You've wanted to for many years." Her head tilted slightly, eyes looking into him much too deeply. "But that wouldn't have made Bobbie fear you any less, would it?"
It was this idea which made Jones pause, his finger on the trigger--eyes on both Adrian and the very distant past. He seemed to have frozen, the words almost coming from nowhere. "Bobbie loved me."
"No, she feared you." The woman shrugged, seemingly unconcerned. "And desired you, probably." Her eyes were suddenly quite dismissive. "Some women are foolish enough to fall for anything which resembles the power they'll never have themselves."
This was a truthful theory, if an unsettling one--but one Jones was constitutionally incapable of understanding. Still, something in his unwanted guest's eyes made him follow along. "Are you actually suggesting that she was with me out of fear?" He might very well have pulled the trigger, had she said "yes."
Fortunately, she didn't--her head shaking, but her eyes were still too insightful. "She was with you out of ignorance." That unsettling look moved further in. "She ran away from you out of fear."
This news nearly made the man's hand react on its own, but he managed to pull himself back, laying the gun aside with a conscious effort; it wasn't like he didn't have the upper hand, wherever the weapon might lie. There was no use in being a fool.
He was rallying, anyway, now, a smile on his lips. "You're mistaken, you know. It was you and your fool of a husband she couldn't stand to be around a moment longer." His look cut in. "It was me she came to for the money to get away."
"Oh, but that's where you're wrong." Adrian nearly smiled--would have, had the situation been much less grave; she had leaned back in her chair, making herself comfortable. "You see, she talked to me the night she confronted you. I even gave her the gun. While she certainly wanted to be far away from George, it was *you* who truly terrified her." The woman's eyes seemed almost sad. "The second Nikita was born, she knew she couldn't trust you anymore. If she had, you might have taken her little girl away."
This wasn't a theory the man could recognize, his bemusement quite evident. Still, he needed to know more--the woman's psychological approach drawing him in against his will. "What do you mean?" It had never occurred to him that his line of work might in any way terrify his mistress.
"You never have thought about this, have you?" That almost-smile returned to Adrian's lips. "You really think she was comfortable in the situation you forced her into."
"I never . . ." Jones began angrily, before the woman shook her head, cutting him off. Neither of them had time left for such outrage.
"You didn't force her to be your lover, I know. That was her own foolish choice." Her look moved in. "But what do you believe went through her mind, once she knew you were the father of her child? How do you think she felt, knowing that she was always expendable?"
He was about to interrupt again, but she wouldn't let him, moving her point on. "I'll explain it, if I have to. She knew what you were, understood what you could do to her, if you were angry enough--or even if you simply tired of her." Her gaze was far too intense. "And what would you then do with the child? She's nearly a witness to the fact that Roberta was your lover; she could be used against you, in one way or another, should anyone find out." The look moved even further in. "And what if you simply decided that you wanted to keep the girl yourself? What hope is there for any child of a man in your line of work?" There was a sigh, her eyes so sad, as she tried not to imagine what this man's son could well be doing with Nikita now. "How could she ever hope to keep her soul?"
This was all quite true but was the most that Jones could stand, the tone of his threatening, "Adrian . . ." enough to stop most people dead in their tracks. But the woman was made of far sterner stuff than that, had stared down a life in Hell for too many years to be intimidated now. A mere murderer, drug pusher, extortionist, and pimp couldn't hope to faze her anymore.
He got nowhere, then, her words moving on. "You don't understand any of it, do you? You don't even know how the child got her name."
He was about to stop her once again, knew quite well about the origins of "Nikita." It had been the name of a minor character Bobbie had been slated to portray in a film Jones had been bankrolling, no one much in Hollywood--or, at least, in the decision-making roles at lily white, ultra-American Premier--quite aware that it was never a title for a woman. When they had learned the fact, Bobbie's whole role had been dropped, lost somewhere on the cutting room floor. But it was the name the couple had used as a code for her in any letters or messages they exchanged. It had seemed only fitting to the man that such an affectionate term should be passed onto their daughter--whatever the lingering oddity about gender.
Adrian saw his mental wranglings, knew how wrong he was. She moved right into his thoughts. "She ended up on the cutting room floor that time, her character entirely dead, as far as the film went." Adrian nearly smiled her ironic little smile. "It was what she feared from you, as well. She gave the name to her daughter to remind herself never to trust any man who knew how to simply excise the people he didn't want from the world."
This was news to the businessman--and not pleasant news, at that. But his opponent's eyes were steady, her thoughts roaming in the time he needed to process it. All of these admissions were facts only two people other than her daughter had known--her own grandchild still utterly unaware of her name's origins. Besides herself, only Pavel had come to understand the truth, if just marginally--having once disrupted a note between the pair. Still, such general ignorance was probably for the best. The child herself was far better off not understanding how very ugly the word had been to her own mother.
These thoughts passed by Jones unnoticed, the truth of the woman's insights sinking in far more deeply than he would have liked. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't deny them, remembered seeing something of this fear in his mistress's eyes in the time around their daughter's birth; his look returned to his despicable guest. But that didn't mean that she was off the hook quite yet.
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