Angelique Rising (21 page)

             
"Whatever it is, Ange, you know I'm right here. Not going anywhere."

             
She smiled at him. Yes, she knew that. And loved him for it.

             
"Robert told you about me waking up in a hospital when I was eleven, I know that."

             
"Is that where this all starts? When you lost your memory?"

             
"Yes and no. I was confused. There was a man standing over me, you've heard his name. Father Wadzniak."

             
"The priest you got the restraining order against."

             
"You did do your homework, Wyatt. Yes, him. Well, he was a priest and y'know... in that kind of a situation you just automatically sort of trust a priest."

             
"What did you say to him?"

             
"It's not what I said, it's what I did. I had certain...
talents
and I let him see."

             
"Talents I've seen?"

             
"No."

             
"Give me a hint, Ange."

             
"In the telekinetic family. Let's just say back then you'd never have wanted to play a game of pool with me. You would have lost."

             
"And now?" he prompted, amazed he'd struck this fertile stratum of honesty.

             
"No, not now. I've... grown out of a lot of things. But the priest, he saw. And he thought I could do magic. A lot of Catholics believe in magic."

             
"Well what's so awful about that?"

             
"They believe magic comes from only one place, Wyatt."

             
"Where?"

             
"Think horns, pitchfork and tail."

             
"He thought you were
possessed?"

             
"By the big D himself. I'd been clinically dead you see, and they'd called the priest in, but then... I was brought back. So he figured that while I'd been dead--"

             
"You got
possessed.
What did he do to you?"

             
"He took me. To his church. Or rather the basement of his church. Or rather the sub-basement of his church. A through-a-trapdoor root cellar kind of thing. And he kept me there. He performed exorcisms on me. Oh he never hurt me physically, just the mumbo-jumbo. It was his chance to take on the devil himself, like throwing red meat to a Rottweiler. But he didn't believe in wasting money, when he'd leave he'd turn off the light, leave me in the dark. Lotsa spiders in that place, lotsa other scary crawly things too and they came out in the dark, in my hair, in my--"

             
"YOU WERE ELEVEN!"

             
"Yeah well, not the best of times. I fought back the only way I could. I stopped eating. But even then he didn't carry me out until I was nearly in a coma. And he didn't bring me to a hospital --that would have raised a few questions seeing as how he'd gotten himself made my legal guardian-- he brought me to a convent."

             
"Why a convent?"

             
"Because in the Catholic church, Wyatt, nuns are supposed to do what priests tell them to. He counted on that. Told them to fix me up and he would take me back. But he didn't think, nuns are women. And women are mostly hard wired to protect children. The nuns took one look at the shape I was in and by the time they were finished with him he was saying his masses standing in the mud under a tarp in Indonesia --a Moslem country! And the nuns let me stay with them. They took care of me for two years, until I was thirteen."

             
"What happened when you were thirteen?"

             
"He came back. Took him two years to do it but he did. And I... I sorta didn't react too well to that."

             
"What did you do?"

             
"Let's just say that after, the nuns held a private meeting in which they voted whether to give me all the cash they had so I could run --which meant they'd pretty much be living on bread and water for the next six months-- and the vote was unanimous."

             
"And that's when you became a runaway," Wyatt said.

             
"Yes. But he pursued me. He had the legal papers so he could get the authorities to help him."

             
"And that's why you accepted Ira Silverberg's offer when it came along. To get this priest off your back."

             
"I was desperate, Wyatt. I wanted a life. I wanted to stop running. I didn't want to end up in that root cellar again. So yes, I cut that deal with Ira, if he'd get me legally freed from Wadzniak, make sure Wadzniak couldn't come near me, I'd help him in his Singapore deal. I didn't know anything about you, I'm sorry you got hurt."

             
"But what's this got to do with where you were going that morning? Or this check?"

             
"I was going out to the convent, Wyatt. To visit the nuns. They're having a tough time. The convent is on a large piece of land, pastoral land. Very valuable land. They don't own it, it was willed to the Catholic Church over a hundred years ago but with the provision that the nuns could live there as long as they could support themselves. And they have, they make cheese and wine. But they haven't been able to keep up, technologically I mean, and the place is falling down and the operation is falling apart and they are going to lose the convent and it's their
home.
Mother Superior has lived there for the last fifty years, it's all they know, they don't have anywhere else to go really. The Church won't help them, it
wants
them to fail, 'cause then the Church gets the land and can sell it to developers."

             
Wyatt sat back in his chair and stared at her.

             
"That's where you want the five million to go, isn't it? To these nuns."

             
"I've never been in a position I could repay them, Wyatt. Now I am. Would you be angry?"

             
How could he possibly tell her he'd be angry? That he had a wife who hadn't married him for his money, that had kept telling the jeweler
smaller,
that the first moment she got her hands on some serious cash she wanted to use it to save a bunch of nuns from eviction? That didn't make him angry, that made him want to sweep her into his arms and tell her how much he loved her and tell her
anything
, I will give you
anything
. But he kept a stern look to his face, he was after all a pretty shrewd businessman who didn't let opportunity get away from him when presented. And she'd presented it. Big time. Bottom line was these nuns lived with her for two years --he'd find the answer there, he knew it. He'd find out what Angelique
was.

             
"I want to see this place first," he said. "Check it out. And I want to bring Johnson with us."

             
"Why?"

             
"Angelique, Johnson is the staunchest Catholic around, re-found his religion years ago after he left his employment at the time, just before I hired him. If anyone can handle priests, nuns, and millions of dollars, it'll be Johnson."

             
And I don't care a rat's ass about the five million, all I want is an intro to this Mother Superior and see how grateful she can be information-wise to the man who can save her convent.

             
"The three of us will drive out there," Wyatt said.

             
"When?" she asked.

             
"First thing tomorrow morning," he answered.

             
Progress, he smiled in contented deliberation, he was making
progress
.

*****

              Later that night Lexa heard a loud click and then a whirring noise from the door as it swung open. Standing there was Malcolm Cochran carrying a large tray, behind him Donald. Cochran walked into the room and the door swung shut behind him, in Donald's face.

             
"I trust you have been familiarizing yourself with your accommodations, Lexa?" Malcolm said smoothly and patiently. It was a danger sign.

             
Despite being scared stiff Lexa willed herself to composure.

             
"Why are you doing this Mr. Cochran?"

             
"You may call me Malcolm, Lexa." He set the tray down on the table, removing two things from it and walking away to the bathroom. Lexa recognized her birth control pills and her box of tampons in his hand. He'd been through her luggage! He returned, ignoring her question.

             
"I want you to fully appreciate your situation. Come eat, you never know when your next meal might be coming," he taunted holding her stare with his fierce and confident black eyes.

             
No way was she going to touch anything he wanted her to eat. And she certainly wasn't going to sit down and "dine" with this --
monster.
That's what he was.
Monster.

             
"What do you want?" she asked cautiously struggling to keep her voice from cracking.

             
"Directly to the point, Lexa, I like that. What I want, is your consent." He was sitting down at the table, spreading dishes of food before himself and the empty chair.

             
She almost asked the monster if she consented, would he let her go? But she knew her question was useless, whatever he was going to do he would not honestly tell her. But maybe she could guess, from his expression.

             
"You're going to kill me," she quavered.

             
"Oh Lexa, what would be the point of that, after all the trouble I've gone to to get you here? Be sensible. Try the salad, it has your favorite vinaigrette dressing. And if you're good I'll even let you have one of your very dry martinis you enjoy in the evening so much."

             
She knew he was playing with her, letting her know how thorough he'd been, how much he knew about her.

             
"You want me to
consent
to have sex with you."

             
"As legions of men at my Performance Center have coveted," he laughed fixing her with a mocking gaze, "but I applaud your selectiveness. Now come and
sit down
.
"

             
She didn't move. She would have run to the bathroom but she already knew the door had no lock. She had searched for a weapon and come up with nothing. In a small closet she'd found a few new clothes her size but mostly it contained wrinkled, obviously worn clothes of various sizes, but all too big for her. In the bathroom she'd found drawerfuls of various cosmetics (many used), hairbrushes, open boxes of feminine needs, a new tube of toothpaste and toothbrush, and an old scratched blow-dryer, but other than those things, nothing.

             
"Don't anger me, Lexa. Sit down." His tone was threatening, abrupt, despotic.

             
Almost tottering under the impact, Lexa moved carefully to the table and sat, distraughtly trying to think of something that would convince the monster to let her go.

             
"Good. Now eat."

             
No, this she would not do. The food was probably drugged, poisoned, something.

             
"Let me explain some things to you. Housekeeping formalities." He pointed to a polished wooden panel embedded in the wall by the door. "You will receive what I give you through that slot. You will return all dirtied dishes and laundry back through it. I expect you to maintain your living area in a cleanly condition,
always
clean sheets on the bed. Do you understand?"

             
"Don't do this," she whispered despairingly.

             
"Eat," he commanded in a calmly menacing voice.

             
She knew that was it. The first of his orders to her. And the first time she said no... she knew what was to happen. But he wanted consent. As long as she didn't give it, she wouldn't be raped. No, the monster would instead hit her, beat her. Which was preferable? Doing what the monster wanted, or being beaten. She chose the latter, looking at the table for any utensil she could use in defense. The "silverware" she saw, was flimsy plastic picnic stuff. He saw her make her decision and he was aroused by it, he did indeed like that fight in the beginning. He stood and she instantly stood too, backing away from him. Never breaking eye contact with her, slowly and deliberately he took off his belt, then his tie.