| Subject: Chapter 242 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 242) |
Author:
KatherineG.
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Date Posted: Wednesday, June 28, 07:15:57am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark" on Monday, May 01, 06:55:47am
It was the pitch of the shriek which broke them off--the sound far different than the screams for more--the entire crowd silencing suddenly, their attention riveted to its source; the dead quiet which followed for half a second, as the screaming woman drew her breath, seemed to last for days. "She's dead! There's a dead body!" she yelled a moment later, before taking off down a side alley. And that was when the sea of humanity--as well as the police and bodyguards who looked over the event--made it impossible not to follow.
The always-endangered pair did, then, hustled through the building by those behind them--even though, moments before, the only ones to follow had been two of their friends, and then only distantly. A few seconds later, they were pushed through the lobby and out a side door, where they came face-to-face with a gruesome sight; at least half the crowd shoved in the alley's side to peer at it as well, only marginally held back by the police before them. Somehow, the announcer too managed it, the cord on his microphone far longer than anyone caught unawares would have anticipated. Or, at least, more so than they would have imagined, had anyone's mind been capable of focusing anywhere but at the terrible sight on the ground.
It was this which drew the pair themselves to a halt--Nikita giving a low gasp of horror, several other women screaming; a moment later, she hid her head on her husband's shoulder, the vision before her all-too-familiar--in so many ways. The name she had uttered in shock had gone unheard by everyone but her husband: "Sondra." But very few truly cared just now.
It was impossible to overcome the horror of the moment. Although her husband cradled her head gently, his gaze still focused with a loathsome sort of understanding at the sight, their situation was made much too clear a moment later--Madeline's whispered, "Play along," brushing by them both, as she moved toward the girl's form. "The poor child. She's dead." She took off her fur coat to cover her before turning--her look meeting in a deadly sort of triumph with Michael's. "Is there a detective here?"
There was a full-body shudder from Nikita, as this gruesome charade continued, but she couldn't allow herself to hold her husband back--seeing the role he had been cast in. Although, from her dual experience with seeing the *very* dead--both Hillinger and her mother--she knew all-too-well that the stand-in's life was over, this moment not simply the publicity bid it seemed, she knew what the tutor was turning it around to be. Michael's "I am"--and the crowd's "oohs" in response--allowed her to meet eyes with the older woman at last. The only thing she didn't know was whether this hideous destruction of a poor child's life had been her plan all along.
From the half-smile Madeline gave a second later, she was afraid to think about the answer--but the scene moved on, nonetheless, Premier's stars forced into their roles, despite themselves. The tutor goaded Michael on, as he forced himself to kneel. "Can you tell a cause of death?"
This was a particularly ruthless question, forcing the poor man to lift the temporary shroud the misbegotten girl's body now wore. As soon as he did, some inner catch hooked just slightly to Sondra's shirt--giving him, and a very few people near him, all too clear a view of how she was killed. Or, at least, what had happened to her since.
It was a difficult revelation to take, the sight fortunately limited to only a few--and most of them, all the sane ones, wished fervently that they had never had even that. While Nikita had turned away as much as possible, Madeline watched the scene with pleasure. Even the formidable Kate had turned away to hide against her pale husband's shoulder. This was a revelation only the psychotic could love.
The crowd, by this point, were standing on tip-toe, necks craning to see over each other's shoulders and heads. Only the work of a very determined police force kept them back. Nikita's eyes moved to them for half a second, mostly trying not to focus on the scene before her--horrified at what she found. They looked so excited, so interested, that clearly the only thing missing was some good, buttered popcorn to munch, as the morbid details were explained to them. Even the veteran red-carpet-watchers had rarely seen anything so fascinating as this.
Michael could also feel their excitement, their bloodlust for a really good show. His hand was shaking slightly, as he lowered the coat, but the reaction was more adrenaline and wrath than anything like fear--every second of this morbid charade *very* well planned; his eyes raised to Bauer, who smiled, standing near the girl's feet--realization pounding through his soul. This was what these hideous souls had planned for his beloved; this was the fate the producer would still enjoy seeing. "She was stabbed," he projected for the crowd, knowing the appearance he had to give, the announcer keeping a radio public--as well as those further back on the street--riveted to every new detail. Although that pronouncement was undoubtedly the understatement of the year.
Nikita, fortunately, had missed the accidental unveiling--but the terrible scent of death wafted over toward her for a second, nonetheless, as the girl's shroud fell again; her hand covered her mouth, trying valiantly not to be ill--missing Madeline's half-nod to the announcer, his voice booming out over them all. "And the rest, Ladies and Gentlemen, you'll witness when you come to see, *Shadows in the Night*!"
It was at this point that Nikita's eyes closed tightly, feeling herself gag--the sick minds which had developed this, who could ever have thought up murder and mutilation as playacting, finally overwhelming her. She was fortunate that the invited crowd was moving back inside--even more so that Kate intervened, grabbing her shoulders to guide her quickly toward the restroom. Once there, she had to run past a very confused attendant to attempt to be ill in as neat and ladylike a manner possible. It definitely wasn't the night to be caught wearing white.
This could very well have been part of the tutor's plan, the evening just beginning--so many appearances yet to keep. Worse yet, she would now have to sit through the entirety of the dark, dreadful movie they had made--would get to see herself die at the end; another round of illness caught her. Dear Lord. If only there were any way that she could survive this now.
There might be, of course, her friends and husband already having sprung into action, doing their damnedest to see that as much as possible of this evening fell into place. Kate was liberally bribing the attendant and running cold cloths for Nikita; Helmut was doing his best to stand by Michael and discard the, now slightly bloodstained, handkerchief the actor had found to wipe his hands after his unfortunate encounter with touching the girl's corpse. As for Michael himself, he was doing his best to clean up quickly and surreptitiously, trying to get back to his wife's side. They were all valiant efforts to see the couple through. It would only have made it slightly better, if this hadn't been such a very obvious message to them all.
Still, the one who seemed to be sending it wouldn't let them go, catching the actor, as he emerged from the men's room. The crowd around them was chatting animatedly, the spectacle unusual enough to draw comment even from such a jaded group as this. While publicity was a fine art here, *this* was still new. And it was taking the discussion of every last spectator to decide whether it were a move they approved of.
The fate of Premier's supposed publicity coup, the interested conversation it caused, completely covered over the whispering smiles of the tutor, as she caught her current prey. "Keep up the charade, Michael. No one likes the one who ruins the evening." Her false smile deepened. "That goes for your lovely wife, too."
As little as he wanted to, he understood her message, could too easily see the results of either of their failure. He only prayed that Nikita was up to it--because their fate, once again, rested on their ability to pretend.
He had only nodded at her warning, trying to move away--his disgust and horror far too strong to wish to be around this woman for even a second longer. But his escape wasn't successful, the tutor catching him again, her voice still quiet. "Too bad you won't be around to look after her in the future." Their eyes met, her point far too clear. "I'm sure she needs your . . . guidance."
As much as the poor man wanted to get away, needed to be near his wife, this inherent threat was far too much for him, at the moment; his voice caught the tutor, before she had any chance to leave. "Madeline." When she smiled, he turned back to her, moving close--his eyes suddenly very dark. "I'm about to be trained to use every weapon imaginable. If anything happens to her, while I'm gone, if anything goes wrong with our child, . . ." The dangerous look deepened, voice dropping beyond confidential. "I *will* see that you die."
He kept up the gaze for a lengthy few seconds, before turning toward his search for his wife. The look alone would have silenced most enemies--its grim truthfulness devoid of anything like bravado or wishful thinking. But his current opponent just smiled, her words aimed like knives as usual, just as he moved away. "We'll see." She didn't appear to be anything like worried.
He knew this, could feel it, all the long way back to his beloved--the entire evening freezing over his soul, the terrors having grown a millionfold. But he had meant his threat, understood an inner truth--one which had always frightened him. If forced, he *could* kill--would probably have to, in the months to come; his look was grim, before he made himself better reflect his gaudy surroundings. And any harm that came to his wife would definitely push the issue--Madeline forgetting one thing. There was nothing more dangerous on this planet than a man with nothing left to lose.
His current nemesis knew this but had no fears--always confident of her abilities and plans. Even if Michael thought he could harm her, she knew best. He was--for all his airs--a creature of habit. And he would never endanger the lifestyle he had long ago become accustomed to.
He already had, of course--in so many ways--but she wasn't seeing this now. Her new ally moved closer, smiling even more contentedly than she was, speaking under his breath. "That was a success."
She looked to the producer, who was resplendent--in the seediest of ways--in his white tuxedo, but her answer was equally quiet. "Don't ever leave a mess like that again, Mr. Bauer. There's only so many mistakes I'll allow." True, it had worked to their advantage this time, but she refused to be the cleaning woman for any more of his errors.
This thought was clear in her gaze, but the man only smiled--eternally confident. "I thought you said you didn't need her anymore." The little, corn-fed bitch hadn't been all that interesting to begin with--and familiarity with women *always* bred contempt. Now that their original plan to substitute the girl's body for Nikita's had fallen through, he had nearly worried that he would have to hang onto her for some reason. It had almost been a relief when she had died, when he had gotten a little too rough with her. It wasn't like she was a loss.
Madeline saw his thoughts, was bored beyond words by them--utterly uninterested in the ways of men. Still, it wasn't like she would miss the girl--or like the stand-in would have stood much chance of a future, had the man's little accident not happened. She was well aware of Bauer's illness, knew the girl would have died from it sooner or later. This way, she supposed, she had been of *some* use. It was probably more beneficial than dying in the lingering insanity Bobbie had endured.
It wasn't that the tutor actually cared about the girl--or Nikita's mother; no one but herself and those she could use had any place at all in her world view. Still, that this error had happened at the studio irritated her slightly--for all the use she had made of it. She gave the man only one more, brief, glance--her words still private. "Just see that I get the items you promised." She almost smiled at the thought, walking away with her plans of the future. It wasn't like she had any intention of letting Nikita's pregnancy continue.
These thoughts warmed her cold blood, her attempts on the woman's child today only marginal, secondary to her main plans. Still, as she walked through the hum of the crowd, the discussion of the well-choreographed play they had just presented, she felt her future triumph growing. Soon, Michael would be temporarily sidelined. That was all it would take to destroy the actress at last.
[End of Part 242]
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