Angelique Rising (31 page)

             
"I'll call you in the morning," she said, "and you know I love you too."

             
"That I do, Mrs. Cochran, that I do."

             
It would have been fine if Tinka hadn't called Angelique a few minutes later to warn her that Maureen had forwarded the video to Wyatt. And it would have been fine if Angelique hadn't told her, yes, they'd had an argument over it and she was at the houseboat cooling off. It also would have been fine if Tinka hadn't told her father what Maureen had done and the harm it had caused but she did and that was how Malcolm Cochran learned that Angelique was alone in her houseboat and opportunity had finally presented itself.

             
It was just after sunset when they came for her. Entry was easy, when she didn't answer her doorbell Donald just picked the lock, something he'd made a career out of before his employment with Malcolm. Indeed, this skill had been the only notable thing he possessed and was the basis of his happy coexistence and employment with Malcolm Cochran who'd found himself in need of it in order to install hidden cameras in the homes of potential candidates for his secure chamber. Malcolm and Donald crept up the houseboat's stairs and discovered Angelique in her clothes on her bed where she had cried herself and her smarting bottom to sleep.

             
Even asleep Angelique heard the faint squeak from the stairs, but squeaks were common in a houseboat, there was after all a great river running underneath the thing. Still, an uneasy gloom washed over her in her dreams and she struggled to awake. Opening her eyes she saw two figures above her in the twilight, one an enormously massive man and the other Malcolm Cochran.

             
Malcolm was staring at her with a ferocity of hunger focused like a laser beam. She screamed as the behemoth fell upon her, feeling her panties torn down, expecting rape, but instead felt a sharp jab in her rear end. A fiery shockwave ripped through her, she struggled, she fought, she cried out, but the giant simply held her down to the bed.

             
"Relax, Angelique," Malcolm said in the conciliatory voice of one who knows he is completely in charge, "just relax. Nobody's going to hurt you." Her struggles were becoming even less effective, more like twitches and jerks. "I've just given you a little muscle relaxant, it'll wear off soon." Malcolm signaled the man on top of her who Angelique now recognized as Malcolm's driver to get off of her. He did and Angelique tried again to rise, to run, but she simply convulsed and contracted like a drunken ragdoll.

             
"Okay, I think we're ready now," Malcolm said staring down at her with a smile she knew he thought was reassuring but in reality looked like a polite boa constrictor about to feed. "Stop trying to move, Angelique, you'll only hurt yourself. We wouldn't want that," he added with a hint of cold persuasion, so sure of himself he didn't bother to suppress the arrogance.

             
Malcolm's driver scooped her up in his arms and her head flopped backwards. Malcolm lifted it up and rested it against the man's shoulder.

             
"Careful going down those stairs Donald, I don't want her damaged for tonight," Malcolm said like this was an everyday event for him. And in a moment of deepest dread Angelique thought
maybe it is.
As she was carried down the stairs she heard him above, still in her bedroom, like he was collecting things or maybe straightening things.

             
The Goliath of a man had her by her front door as he paused, waiting for Malcolm. He leaned down to her.

             
"I can't
wait
,
"
he sniggered into her ear.

             
"Here," Malcolm said and suddenly a blanket was thrown over her, she could see nothing, but she felt it. She was carried out from the houseboat, into a car, she felt Malcolm there and heard the car start up and drive away. The blanket was removed and she saw that she was laying lengthwise across the backseat of a car, her head in Malcolm's lap who was stroking her hair.

             
"You have such marvelous hair," he permitted himself some shivering anticipation reveling in the resplendence of his new possession, "if it doesn't get in my way, perhaps you'll keep it." His touch on her hair was loathsome, agony, fire. Again she tried to move, only succeeding in jolting her body about.

             
"Stop," he said sharply, "or I'll give you another shot." She tried to speak, to ask
why,
but her throat would make no noise. "Just rest, Angelique, we'll be home soon."

             
The ride in the car, positioned on Malcolm's lap (and her cheek felt in revulsion what was under there) was interminable but at last it ended. Malcolm was on his cell phone.

             
"Margret, we're here. Where's Tinka?" Angelique heard. "Good. We're coming in through the back door, meet us there. We'll take the service staircase up. If you hear her coming you
stop
her."

             
Angelique was being carried, smuggled it seemed to her, into a house. Once again she was being transported in Donald's arms, directly past a dour looking middle aged woman who she heard whisper something to Malcolm but all she caught was "Tinka" and "pool." Angelique was carried up staircases and into a room painted lavender where she was deposited on a large bed. Malcolm arranged her arms and legs in a restful pretty position which she immediately jerked out of. He took her shoes off and covered her with the blanket he'd used before and she recognized it --it was from her own bed.

             
"Sleep, Angelique, you'll feel better shortly. I'll be back then." The light clicked off.

             
She could not move her head to see where they went, but she heard a door close and then total silence. She knew where she must be --the home of Malcolm Cochran. And from the whirring noise the door had made when it closed, she knew she was in some pretty deep shit.

             
It was less than an hour before she was able to stagger from the bed, promptly falling onto her face but still able to awkwardly get up. She lurched to the door finding the no-doorknob thing. She backed up, heading to the window, when she heard a clicking and whirring noise and turning, saw Malcolm Cochran entering the room, the door closing behind him. For him to have arrived so quickly upon her recovery she knew he must have been watching on a camera.

             
"OPEN THE GODAMN DOOR MALCOLM!" she slurred in rage, her mouth feeling still anaesthetized.

             
"Sit down, Angelique," he said unperturbed.

             
"Open the door!"

             
"I will not tell you again. You left Wyatt today."

             
"What? Is that what this is all about? It's none of your business! You've kidnapped me, Malcolm! Friggin'
kidnapped. Now open the door!"

             
"You will sit down and listen to what I have to say before you have any hope of exiting through that door."

             
He was
nuts.
But she did it. She sat down (collapsed more like) well away from him on a chair next to a table and folded her arms crossly.

             
"Okay,
what?
Say what you have to say you freaking
loon."

             
"You left Wyatt today. I mean that. You left him. For good. You are not going back."

             
"That's not for you to say, Malcolm."

             
"Ah but it is, Angelique. You see you are
mine
.
"

             
"WHAT?"

             
"You came to my Performance Center. To
me.
It was only your age that kept you from me, an unfortunate circumstance now rectified. My nephew is your past, he is done."

             
"What are you talking about, Wyatt is my
husband
.
"

             
"Perhaps at some point in the future I will rectify that too. It matters not. I am who I am, Angelique, and you came into my world and you are mine now. To do with as I please.
That
is your reality now, and I want you to understand it quickly. Though I would prefer --and I assure you it would be far easier for you-- if you consented."

             
"You're
crazy
.
"

             
"I am being extraordinarily patient with you, Angelique, as is not my norm. Usually by this time you would be sprawled on the carpet. Has Wyatt told you nothing about me, about my tastes?"

             
Her face fell.

             
"Ah, I see you are finally beginning to cotton on," he said with an ironic smile.

             
"Me? You want me for... that stuff?"

             
"And I shall have you."

             
"Never, Malcolm, never! I'd rather die than be... with you."

             
"You will soon learn that 'never' is a woefully short period of time, Angelique. I will let you get acclimated, fully recuperated. I will be back again later, we will have a late supper and I will explain some housekeeping responsibilities to you. And some of your other obligations as well." He stood and walked to the door, she followed right behind him. He simply grabbed her as the door opened and shoved her back, closing the door behind him.

             
Angelique hacked at the door and screamed but only for a short while, she knew it would have no effect. And her mind raced, churning the possibilities, terror swelling up in her uncontrollably.

             
Malcolm is a sexual sadist. True sexual sadists are actually quite rare but Malcolm is one. He got his jollies by hiring prostitutes and doing some pretty unpleasant things with them.

             
God oh God.

             
She needed a weapon. Turning, she ransacked the suite, discovering all its contents, none of them useful, coming to the same conclusion Lexa had --she was by far not the first victim Malcolm had imprisoned in the bedroom. She did the chair-thrown-at-the-window thing, and Malcolm, watching below on his monitors, smiled. That window had cost him a million bucks. Worth every penny. Finally she did the only thing she could, which was to sit down again (which got her a wince) though Malcolm was disappointed she wasn't crying her head off, that was the best. He forced himself to wait a bit longer though not his normal length of time --this was
Angelique.
He had a supper tray prepared and he summoned Donald to guard the entranceway when he went in.

             
"Angelique," he said to her once again, his voice calm and mocking as he walked to the table placing the tray upon it. "Come."

             
She was glaring at him, he expected that. He even liked it. She moved soundlessly to the opposite side of the room and remained poised.

             
"I thought we might like to watch some video while we eat, give you a better idea of things," he said, his expression cold-blooded, puerile. Malcolm pulled a remote control from his pocket and pointed it at the flat screen over the fireplace mantel that he usually used for showing his guests consent videos so they would know what he wanted from theirs. The screen flickered on and there he was --with Lexa. Doing the things he liked to do. He turned the volume up so Angelique could hear Lexa's screams vividly. He watched the blood drain from her face and her jaw drop open.

             
"Stop it! Stop it!"
she shouted. He ignored her. In desperation Angelique launched herself at the flat screen to put her fist through it. As her fist connected, her antique "river ice" diamond smashed the glass, exploding it in a spider web craze, enraging Malcolm. He lunged at her, punching her in the face sending her sprawling in just the way he had done to Lexa (and all the others).
That cowed 'em fast enough.

             
"Get...
up
,
"
he ordered, his voice sharpened.

             
Angelique rolled onto her back peering up at him, feeling something warm trickling down from her lips. She reached up and then looked at her hand. Blood. She didn't know if he had done that or the exploding flat screen had. For a moment she wasn't going to get up for the simple reason he had told her to, but she saw his shoes, all black and shiny by her face and knew one of them would be sent into her ribs (or worse, her head) soon if she didn't move. Still, she took her time in getting leadenly to her feet trying to come up with a solution. She came up with nothing. Bottom line was, he was bigger than her and obviously very, very much stronger. She remembered the power she'd had with Wyatt, the glorious power. But that seemed to be gone, there was nothing there, like it had been only a little light that had been dwarfed, swallowed up, snuffed out the moment she'd entered this room.