Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan (49 page)

Dee didn't want to, but she had to ask, "Who was the messenger?"

He paused for a moment, the muscles in his forearms tightening before he stood to pull on his leggings.  "It was the boy.  Christophe," he said over his shoulder.

Dee looked down at her lap.  Bit her lip.  She asked, "Was he... all right?" wondering how she could worry about Christophe when her own safety was so tenuous.  Perhaps as Josh had said, it was the mother love.  Long Shadow would never believe that.

He turned to her.  She saw his feet but couldn't bring herself to look up.

"He had a bruise on his cheek.  Welts on his back."

Dee closed her eyes.  Put her hand over her mouth to still any words that might escape.

"He'd come from Belle," Long Shadow added, and Dee needed no other explanation. 

Remembering Skye's experience with Belle and her riding crop, Dee felt sickened - more so when she recalled her empathy with Belle and her desire to experience the torturer's high for herself. 

"Poor Christophe," she said, then pressed her lips together to stop her grief emerging. 

"I know you care for the boy," Long Shadow said stiffly from the doorway, "but I will not help him.  Your life is all that's important to me."

She nodded, tried to pull herself together.  "I understand."  Then looked up at him bravely.  "What are our chances?" she asked.  "Realistically?"            

Long Shadow relented and came back to her side, crouching again to kiss her face as two tears she couldn't contain slid down her cheeks.  "DeMartande is a monster," he conceded, "with more corpses in his life than you've had students.  But I have a plan - "

"
Students
?" she cut over him, so stunned her body contracting on itself to escape his touch.  His hand on her shoulder fell away.  "How do you know I've had students?" she demanded, then she waited for him to say it was a guess or a mistake, but he was looking away and his silence was like the shedding of a mask.  "Who are you?" she whispered.  Was there no-one she could trust?  It had to be a dream.  A bad dream.   

His continued silence scoured any sense of peace she’d had, eating the comforting cotton wool of her denial like acid.  Finally he said, "I know who you are, Wendee Williams, and I will not let you die."  His face was close to hers, his eyes burning determination into her soul but it was too late.  She was past reassurance.

Still she asked,  "Who are you?"

"A man who loves you more than life.  More than honour," he said simply, and he stood to look down at her.  "You must trust me."

Dee knew she was a long way from trust but she nodded blankly.  If DeMartande was a monster she had no choice.  Her eyes followed Long Shadow as he walked to the doorway.

"I think you should try to sleep.  We have a long night ahead of us," he said, then he was gone.

Dee sat staring at the closed door-flap for a long time, realizing that the fantasy was over.  Reality jarred, and her sudden re-entry into it muddled her mind.  She tried to think, to discern the exact point when she'd stepped over the edge.  Had it been when Billy had first come to her?  Or when he'd died?  Her purchase of Roc's services?  The night in the Crocodile Club when she'd fallen under Pietre's control?  Her first coupling with Xavion?

All of these things had flowed naturally, one into the other as though fate had decreed them.  She couldn't pick one out as the catalyst.  But somehow they’d taken her from the security of her career and her marriage into obsession, depravity and almost certain death.  She wanted to go back.  To understand, but her thoughts kept jumping around - Billy - Christophe - Roc - Skye – Long Shadow. 

Her mind felt unhinged so she lay back on the fur and closed her eyes.  A moment later she reached for the thin cotton sheet and covered herself with it.  The air around her was balmy but she shivered, missing Long Shadow's body.  There was nothing more she could do.  Long Shadow had told her to sleep and her brain was so scrambled no coherent thought would come into focus so after a time, mercifully she did.  But it was a troubled sleep full of murmurs and twitching.  She ran, fell, got up and ran again, but still monsters chased her, monsters with luminous green eyes. 

It seemed as though she would never find safety.  Never be able to rest.  She looked everywhere for Long Shadow but he'd gone back to his people.  The dark woods frightened her with their malevolent shadows and she was about to cry out when a dull sting in her arm penetrated the foggy layers of sleep. 

She made a noise, a sigh, and was finally able to relax into a deeper oblivion.

                                    
Chapter Twenty-Nine

"Yes, it is lonely here," Long Shadow said as he stepped over a fallen branch, careful to keep himself between Christophe and his first view of the camp.  "But I have much to keep me busy.  The wind that affected your equipment caused other damage."

Behind Long Shadow the boy's footsteps dragged, and mournfulness drifted off him like a scent.  Cruel grief.  And pointless.  Within minutes he would discover his Wendee was alive.  He would be overjoyed and would fall into her arms.  Long Shadow also knew, with a certainty that tore through his heart, that she would welcome him.

He had to decide.  They were almost beyond visual range of the binoculars that may be following their trail.  Would he let Wendee make love to the boy, distracting him until nightfall when they could make their escape.  Or should he create an 'accident' for Christophe.  Long Shadow leant towards the latter solution but insecurity stayed his hand.  If he hurt her precious Christophe, would she still trust him, still go with him?

Torn between his duty to save her and a raging jealousy that would brook little reason, he was ill prepared for the sight that met his eyes when they reached the open glade.

Forgetting Christophe, he simply stopped, his training providing the only reaction - an instinctive snatch for the holstered gun that wasn't there.  His hand fell to his side again.

"What is it?"  Christophe came up behind him and Long Shadow was too slow to block his view.  "Tore the door flap off?  Wind must have been strong." 

"Yes... it was," Long Shadow started forward again, scanning the area as they approached his lodge.  But even before they reached it he knew it would be empty. 

A quick glance inside confirmed his fears.  She was gone, but not only that, the floor around where she'd lain appeared damp.  For a suspended moment Long Shadow simply stared, his heart slamming against his ribs, his unblinking eyes, disbelieving.

Then common sense kicked in.  There was no scent of blood, no reason to believe she was dead. 

She had been taken though.  There were tell-tale signs, and he would have to search for clues.  But carefully, without arousing Christophe's curiosity.

"Looks like you'll be busy with that," Christophe said from behind him.  "I'll start with the outside cameras."  Long Shadow stepped back out to find the boy wincing as he shouldered out of his heavy knapsack, his twisting T-Shirt revealing fresh bruises around his throat.  "Where are they again?" he asked, tossing the ragged fringe out of his eyes.

"These three closest to the clearing." 

Long Shadow pointed out the trees, searching the woods for a sign of which way she'd been taken.  There was nothing obvious.

"OK."  Christophe crouched to open his bag.  Then with his hand inside, looked up and said, "It's a pity you never got to meet Wendee."

Long Shadow had been turning away, impatient to search his lodge.  He forced himself to turn back.  "There'll be other Wendees," he said casually.  "DeMartande won't waste this set-up."

"No.  I guess not."  Christophe frowned and was quiet for a moment.  "I guess that's why I have to fix this stuff." 

Long Shadow nodded, his fingers tightened on the entrance.

"You're probably right," Christophe said.  "There'll be other Wendees."  He looked down and was still for a moment, then said in a much quieter voice, "But not like her.  She was special.  I can't believe she's dead." 

Long Shadow heard the tears in his voice and could bear the conversation no longer.  He stepped into his lodge and stood staring at the place she'd lain, not knowing whether he wanted to kill Christophe or cry with him.  Laboured breaths strained his tight chest as he fought to control his emotions.

Gradually, he did.

She was alive.  He wouldn't let himself think otherwise - wouldn't accept the possibility until he saw a body. 

So, being alive, he'd be able to find her.  To rescue her.  He was trained for that.  He could do that.

At least he knew who hadn't taken her.  After listening to Belle's swagger, Long Shadow was convinced she believed Wendee dead. 

Christophe, who'd been brought out of the caves to alleviate Belle's boredom, had been receiving instruction with Long Shadow at the time of the abduction.

Xavion's men were still locked in the caves because Belle 'wasn't sure who among them might have helped Xavion kill Wendee'.  Or at least that's what she intended to tell DeMartande.