| Subject: Chatper 216 - Part 2 (16 and above) (end of chapter 216) |
Author:
KatherineG.
|
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
Date Posted: Wednesday, November 16, 07:04:37am
In reply to:
KatherineG.
's message, "Dreams in the Dark (203 > )" on Monday, October 03, 07:35:40am
He tried to settle himself on this image, tried not to fear, as he walked through the doors to the Wardrobe department. It took him a moment to find someone around, but he was still basically smiling, when he ran into a small conference between Angie and Rene. It was only as the pair looked up at him, a little surprised--his beloved nowhere in sight--that that inner feeling of anxiety started to deepen; he forced on his casualness. "I came to get Nikita."
This made the pair before him stare at each other--and the look they gave wasn't encouraging, everyone in the room just beginning to process the situation. After all, if Michael were here, then Nikita was . . .
It was Rene who spoke. "She hasn't been here." He saw the other man's eyes widen just slightly, the truth beginning to hit them all. "We didn't need her today."
There was part of the actor which simply wanted to start running, but some sense of denial was also kicking in--of deja vu, as well. He had had something like this feeling the day he had lost Simone--this terrible sort of inner premonition that something was going horribly wrong. He just wasn't ready yet to face that it was happening all over again.
"Claire came to get her," he argued, hoping desperately that he could force some other answer from his old friend. Perhaps someone else in the department had been assigned to take care of his wife?
This was terribly unlikely, as both these men knew--Rene clearly being apprized of any such meeting. Still, the designer answered carefully, his head shaking. His own fear had now grown stark, but he tried to be cautious; Michael's horror could only be overcome at its own pace. "Claire didn't come in today."
There was one more, terrible moment of denial--Michael's stillness belying his growing sense of desperation. Still, he told himself that he was determined not to jump to conclusions, needed the facts. "You didn't send anyone after Nikita?" Rene and Angie shook their heads, some small measure of the terror he felt reflected in their gazes. Then, the truth sank in, his eyes closing. "Christ." And he was nearly running in the other direction.
His mind was in a million places at once just then; he had no idea where to begin. Still, by instinct, he went toward his wife's dressing room, a terrible thought occurring to him. What if this were Madeline's way of decoying him away from the studio? What if she were trying to isolate Nikita in her dressing room, while her husband raced home--planned on bringing the body back to him later? They had certainly moved poor Simone after her death, were more than capable of it; the fear ran deeper, as he started to run. He had to be certain of where the demented tutor's plans were taking him, before he made any final moves.
It was with this intention that he rounded another corner, seeing his beloved walking away from him, up in the distance. He stopped dead for a second, the relief nearly making him faint--but then a terrible sort of inner pause took hold. Yes, she was wearing the same dress she had been awhile ago, had her usual sort of walk--but something about it was wrong. He couldn't put his finger on it, couldn't begin to say what it might be, but some inner sense of her was off. He didn't *feel* her--her soul entwining with his own, somewhere deep inside him. And that lack of connection alone set off the greatest fear he had felt the entire day.
He was just starting to follow her, as she headed toward her dressing room, was about to reach her, when the man who had gone after her earlier caught up to him. "Michael!" Peter screamed, in a way which was far too loud and disturbed for any usual studio greeting; the actor stopped dead, his hands clenching. But he could only fear greatly what he would hear.
Peter didn't leave him wondering, catching up to him quickly. "Nikita already left. I saw her getting into your car with Fain."
Christ. There were a hundred inner reactions to this, only one of them emerging--the actor grabbing the man's shirt, forgetting for a moment his need to follow his wife. "You left her?!"
The growing violence of the situation was obvious, but that wasn't what Peter was avoiding. He knew that Michael would have guided Sasha back to her dressing room before coming to look for Kitty, knew his part of the deal--and wasn't asking for forgiveness for failing; he just needed the man to understand the seriousness of their situation. It was only in such knowledge that there was any hope for the couple at all.
Susan's guardian wasn't pulling away from the actor, then, took almost no notice of his threats. He was holding up a script in his hand, explaining the last hour's occurrences as quickly as he could--needing to get the man to go home *now*. "Madeline caught me, as I was following Kitty, gave me Sasha's next script." He held it up, as the actor slowly let him go--his eyes widening. "I only went with her, because I saw that Claire was close to Wardrobe. I didn't think . . ."
Michael heard only part of this explanation, his eyes widening on the script in the man's hand. "That's Susan's next film?"
The other man nodded, wondering if the actor had gone mad from distress; a movie was a damn stupid thing to be focusing on at a time like this. The conversation with the tutor had obviously only been a distraction; his look narrowed. Why in God's name would Michael even care about it now?
Peter understood none of this, only watched, as the actor's gaze suddenly firmed, focusing in a burning sort of despair toward the end of a studio aisle--at a woman who was about to turn a corner, a woman Peter only just noticed, one who looked much like the missing actress; the roughened rage of the distressed man's voice nearly made his younger companion startle. "Abby!"
The distant woman did show this exact reaction--stalling completely before turning back slowly toward them, revealing her face; her absolute dissimilarity to the actress in question was now clear. He heard the poor man beside him curse. This, it appeared, was finally the moment all of them had feared.
It was--and it was also, without compare, the worst moment of the man's life to that moment, all of it coming back to him in a flash. Simone's torment, her death, his own forced trip to see Jones, his mistakes with Elena, the abuse he had suffered because of his native language and culture in his childhood country--none of them could compare. His eyes opened in horror. This was by far the most torturous part of all.
He started running then, knocking by Peter, as he did so--the script for *Love Shadows* falling from the man's hand, as he went. It was only when the younger man called after him, catching up, that the actor stopped momentarily--his confidant holding out his keys, his voice emphatic. "Take my car. You know what it looks like." Michael's eyes widened for a second, realizing that he hadn't even processed before now that he had no other car to take--Roger having driven his precious Nikita toward her doom in his own. He nodded once, before he started to run in earnest, Peter's whisper barely heard behind him. "Good luck." He would need it, if any of them hoped to see her alive again.
Michael knew this, felt it in the depths of his soul with a sort of torment he couldn't have begun to voice. It was only the appearance of Madeline which truly set off his rage. The woman was coming toward him, all her usual, businesslike stoicism intact, clearly ready to discuss some minor detail; he pushed past her violently, knocking her into a soundstage wall. He didn't bother to look back, done with her. The most ruthless treatment couldn't hope to knock any sense into her--but he had no time for her now. If he had any hope of saving his beloved--of saving himself--he had be fast. There were no second chances in this town.
Madeline too was well aware of this fact, only smiled dimly, once she managed to shake off the callous shove the man had given her. She had been thrown against the wall fairly hard--but she had had worse. Any woman looking for power knew that the price probably included a few hard knocks along the way.
She dusted herself off unconcernedly, then, as she got back to her feet, smiling dangerously at Peter's glare, before staring off in the direction in which the actor had fled. But she had no concerns, her allies quite reliable--in certain ways. Soon, Nikita would be either dead or otherwise disposed of--and Michael would be far too late to have any impact on her fate at all.
[End of Chapter 216]
[
Next Thread |
Previous Thread |
Next Message |
Previous Message
]
| |
Feedback: 
