Angelique Rising (22 page)

             
It went on for eternity which for Lexa was two hours. The tie he used to tie one of her wrists to the bed's brass headboard, he used her own underwear to tie the other. The belt he used primarily as a whip across her legs, she felt its bite deeply. Her mouth he used for himself, almost suffocating her with his penetration. He untied her before he left her, in uncontrollable tremors, gasping for air on the bed.

             
"You do not disappoint, Lexa," Malcolm said collecting his clothes and pressing his hand to a small square of black glass in the wall. "Sleep well, I will see you tomorrow. Remember what I said about clean sheets." The door swung open and he left.

             
Lexa rolled over and vomited. She prayed she would pass out. She didn't. Gradually she managed to get up for the simple reason that she needed the bathroom. She no longer cared that she was sure there were cameras everywhere, that he would watch her most intimate activities. Disorientated, she staggered to the bathroom, the light snapping on automatically when she entered. Dimly she wondered if that was to provide more lighting for the cameras. She stared blindly at herself in the mirror.

             
Her eye was bright purple, where he had punched her. Her mouth was swollen, her bottom lip torn, it would have a scab soon she knew. She was naked. Bright pink lash marks were across her legs and buttocks and there was a bleeding laceration from her right nipple. There was vomit across her stomach. The worse thing though was his voice, his word, emblazoned in her mind, the word he'd kept repeating to her as he'd pressed his body against hers, his erection rubbing against her legs.

             
Open
, he'd kept saying at her.
Open.

             
And she knew eventually she would.

             
Eventually she'd open her legs for the monster.

             
That's when the tears came, racking her, wave after wave. And from his study, watching her progress on his monitors, the monster laughed in his conquest (
job well done
), went to his bedroom, showered, and went to bed stifling a yawn. Malcolm didn't really like late nights.

             
Lexa showered too, slowly, trying to wash the monster's smell from her, but discovered that both the soap and the shampoo she found in the shower had his piquant aroma. She wondered if he thought he was doing a nicety for his victims, providing them with his favorite scent but she doubted it. He probably just enjoyed knowing his victims, as they tried to wash him from their bodies, were forced to cover themselves with his smell. She brushed her teeth six times, searching for mouthwash but finding none. She would have used shampoo or soap but it contained his scent. She stumbled back to the bedroom wrapped in peach colored towels, collapsing on the sofa, she went no where near the bed, it had more than just his scent on it.

             
She forced herself to think. Would anybody come for her? She had no family (she was in contact with anyway) but she had many friends. But she'd explained to them all she'd be gone an indeterminate length of time. They would phone her, not get through. They would probably chalk that up to her not adjusting her phone to take international calls yet. And
he
had her phone. He would listen to her voicemails. Read her emails and texts. He could answer the more urgent ones and they would appear to be coming from her. No, no alarm would be raised for her.

             
She was on her own. Nothing was going to stop her slide into Hell.

             
And then through the mist of terror for some reason she remembered the pretty little actress that had been running around the Center all abuzz when out of the blue she'd gotten an incredible opportunity to go to Hollywood, and had left. Lexa remembered because she'd listened to the girl's friends months later criticizing her for having left and never returning, no messages of any type, she'd just written them all off, forgotten them.

             
And that was when Lexa realized she wasn't the first woman to be locked in the room, and who those clothes and cosmetics had been used by before her. And all of her predecessors would have searched for a way out and since no wisp of anything amiss at the Cochran mansion had ever made the gossip rounds at the Center obviously none of them had been successful. If she was going to get out it would have to be through the door.

             
Just before dawn Lexa collapsed into an exhausted sleep, her dreams hideous and ravaged.

Chapter Eight

             
It was early the next morning when Johnson pulled the car up to the front of the great stone convent building with Wyatt and Angelique in the back. Angelique was bubbling with excitement, Wyatt with controlled intensity. In its heyday the building before them had obviously been quite impressive but now it had a shabby quality to it. Several of the statues of various saints, and the Virgin Mary, were damaged, though all looked clean and cared for. But the drive up to the convent, well, all Johnson could describe that as being, was
lush
.

             
Acres of forest, hills, woodland, meadows, streams, he wished Cory was with him, they would have a ball exploring the place. And then the car had passed the vineyards, neat row upon row of mature grape vines, this vineyard was
old
. The pastures, they looked pristine, fertile, herds of cows many with calves meandering about the brilliant green grassland.

             
This place was worth millions.

             
A developer got his hands on this, well, one heck of a profit would be made, Johnson saw that clearly enough. And Angelique didn't want that. Mrs. Cochran wanted the nuns' home preserved. Angelique had saved Cory. So this convent was damn well gonna get preserved, those nuns weren't going anywhere, Johnson would see to that. Which was exactly the reason his boss had set up a bank account with five million dollars in it --more if needed-- and told Johnson to do whatever had to be done. Why Mr. Cochran was actually driving out to the place with the Missus, well, Johnson had his suspicion about that. And his intense curiosity. Whatever Wyatt found out about her from the nuns, Johnson was fervently hoping Wyatt would share. And whatever
he
found out about Angelique, well it would depend on what it was.

             
"That's her," Angelique pointed gleefully to a woman coming down the steps happily, the look of welcome on her face deep and real. "That's Mother Superior."

             
A woman paused at the bottom of the steps into the convent. She was wearing the black habit of a nun (and Johnson had to desperately squelch a zillion blasphemous foul mouthed 'overfed-penguin' schoolboy jokes from his youth that suddenly exploded forth in his mind), though not a full habit, and what she had was covered with a large apron that reached her knees. She had broad shoulders and a thick waist and though they really couldn't be seen too easily, Johnson suspected just as thick legs. Her face was lined and brown like a walnut, baring to the world it had been weathered by a thousand storms, but contrasting on it was an endearingly dancing smile as the nun's gaze fastened on Angelique.

             
Staring at that smile, Wyatt knew, yes,
there is history here.

             
And Angelique was in the old woman's arms.

             
"Too long, May-May," the nun crooned in Angelique's ear, "too long."

             
Angelique stepped back, grinning in unholy anticipation.

             
"I've been busy," she said eagerly, "Mother Superior Rosemond, I'd like you to meet my
husband
, Wyatt Cochran, and his assistant, Mr. Johnson."

             
The nun's eyes widened, gaping at Wyatt and her mouth opened, her wrinkled face caught unaware.

             
"Husband," she repeated and Wyatt knew there were volumes of meaning in the way she said it, that no person should be able to fit that much dark, deep significance into one word, but somehow she did. He just didn't know what the implication
was.

             
"Mother Superior," Wyatt nodded as he saw that Johnson had snapped his posture upright and had his best manners firmly entrenched on his face.

             
"Mr. Cochran," she said, reaching out and shaking his hand firmly and Wyatt knew from the way her eyes sparkled at him that this was a woman with whom he could do business. And was eager to get to it. "Mr. Johnson. Welcome."

             
She had not let go of Angelique who had made no attempt to extract herself from the Mother Superior's greeting.

             
"Come inside," she motioned them, stepping back, "we'll have some port wine cheese, May-May's favorite."

             
The nun settled them around a table in a large airy room overlooking a huge rolling vineyard as other nuns came in with trays of cheese and tea, each of them biting their lips when they spotted Angelique, stifling smiles (in one case, giggles), and all of them looking like they were giving Angelique conspiratorial messages of
I'll talk to you later
.

             
"So, Mr. Cochran--"

             
"Please call me Wyatt." [Johnson inhaled sharply at the interruption.]

             
"--Wyatt. You have married our beloved May-May. And brought her to visit us. How wonderful." She cocked her eyebrow in an expression that Wyatt clearly saw meant
and you dearly want some explanation, don't you?

             
"Yes, Mother Superior, but it's a bit more than that. Angelique has come into some money --five million dollars to be precise-- and she wishes to use it for the betterment of your convent." And I'm the person who can approve it. Or not.

             
They all heard a loud clang from out in the hallway. Someone had dropped a tray.

             
And the Mother Superior was momentarily dumbstruck.

             
"Five million dollars?" she murmured to Angelique.

             
"It's a long story, Mother Superior, but Wyatt says the money is mine and I can do what I want with it, and Johnson has agreed to manage it so none of the priests rip you off--"

             
"Angelique
.
"

             
"Okay, so they don't
help you spend it
and I thought maybe it could save the convent."

             
"Mother Superior?" Johnson asked, his voice oozing deference. "I'm not sure what your situation is here, but would five million dollars be sufficient?"

             
This time they heard several audible gasps, one oh my, and a few shushes from the hallway.

             
"Obviously," the nun's face quirked up in a smile, an overbearing inherent kindness shining from her eyes, a woman defined by an unpretentious solid piety. "You wish to do this, Angelique?"

             
"Yes, but Wyatt has to give his approval too."

             
The nun looked at Wyatt suppressing a smile as her face softened.

             
"Perhaps you should show Mr. Johnson around, May-May. So he can get an idea of what our situation is."
And I, my reluctant little seraph, can open up negotiations with your husband which are not necessary because I will tell him everything and do my penance later, anything to help your blessed protector protect you --praise God you've found him at last-- and do his duty against all who seek to devour you.

             
Wyatt watched Johnson and Angelique leave, then heard the animated excited voices of nuns surrounding her, and then the whole quiet commotion moving away, and gone.

             
"They are very fond of her," Wyatt said to Mother Superior Rosemond.

             
"Oh yes. As, I'm sure, are you." She was smirking. And it was a
naughty
smirk. From a nun!

             
"She told me what you all did for her, rescuing her from that Wadzniak."

             
"Wyatt, that was a tragedy. A tragedy of ignorance. The Father didn't know what she
was
. Not until much later. You've no idea the regret he has."

             
"What she
was?"

             
"Surely you have noticed Angelique is unusual."

             
"She calls them 'talents.' The things she can do."

             
The mother superior burst out laughing.

             
"I'm guessing you know far more about Angelique's 'talents' than we do."