FicWad

Part 2

Ivan Nikol looked down where he had Cathrine cuffed and blindfolded. She lay on a worn out futon mat. Her handcuffs wrapped around a pipe that was floor to ceiling length and provided water for the rest of the house. He had purchased the house three weeks ago when he had started to flesh out his plans to save his Lady-deity.

How lovely her creation, the Cathrine-angel, was in the dim light of his empty, cinder block cellar. Only a trunk rested on the opposite side of the room with the supplies he needed to break the Cathrine-angel. He had paid cash for everything three towns away.

“Cathrine,” Nikol whispered as he took his place beside her. His hand ran over her clothed breast down towards her stomach. He smiled and then said, “You are my special gift from on high. We are going to have such special times together.”

She stirred a little as he began kissing her jaw line. He sat up and knelt by her side. He thought he could wait until she woke up, but the pain in his groin was too intense. He raised up her skirt and under crinoline. He parted her legs slowly and ran his palms over her muscular, inner thighs.

He glanced over to make sure the shackles and shocker were handy, in case she decided to be disobedient. Her moan brought him around. He took off her purple panties and unhooked her pink stocking from the garter belt.

Nikol couldn’t wait one minute longer to finish undressing her. He lowered his trousers and guided himself into her warmth. He gasp out loud and stilled himself after the first, dry thrust. He came almost instantly.

“You’re so tight and dry,” he murmured, licking her throat. She tasted like her tart apricot soap. He smelled her hair as he fought to control his raging desire. Sawdust and apricots were what angels smelled like to him. He began to thrust inside of her again as she slowly began to move.

*

Cathrine could only feel the weight of something on top of her at first. Nothing but pitch black surrounded her as she tried to move her hands. A burning between her legs brought her to full consciousness. A scream escaped her as she realized she was helpless against the assault. The man withdrew, but she kept screaming until a fist hit her left cheek. He choked her.

“No! Bad girl! Be good or else I’ll just hit you until you decide to be good!”

“Let me go,” she screamed, while she squirmed under his bulk. He backhanded her three good times.

“No talking! Are you going to be good?” the man barked in her ear. Cathrine nodded; she was too stunned to do anything. Her face throbbed horribly. “That’s my good girl,” he murmured in her ear and stroked her hot face gently. She felt him raise up a little and plunge back inside. She whimpered and bit her lip, afraid if she did anything further he might decide to take her life.

She began to shake in revulsion as he said her name over and over like a mantra. He groaned suddenly and collapsed on her after pulling out.

“You're so amazing,” he murmured. He stroked her hair like a child with a puppy for several long minutes of terror. Terror began to melt away into anger.

A vicious scream cut loose from her as she bucked him off. She kicked out blindly. Her foot connected with his stomach once before he subdued her. He flipped her over while she kicked, screamed, and bit. She felt her exposed backside get slapped soundly. Suddenly, electricity filled her reducing her muscles to jelly.

“Who are you?” she choked out through gritted teeth.

“You can call me your servant. I’m here to make you happy,” the man answered, caressing her rump lovingly.

“I’m not happy. Please let me go,” she mumbled into the mildewed mattress below her.

“You only think that now. After a while you’ll cherish me as much as I do you. It’ll take some time because you’ve been deceived by an evil so great it knows no bounds. I’ll break the spell over you, my dear Cathrine-angel. I’ll be the one who controls your desires,” he said. She began to sob as the muscles in her back became one solid knot. “Don’t cry, Cathrine. You’re safe with me.”

She swallowed again as she felt him undo her costume and bra. He carefully unhooked one cuff at a time to finish divesting her of her clothing. She attempted to pull away, but he twisted her arm so hard she wished she could blackout.

Cathrine was quickly handcuffed again; her horror increased. She remained still as he sat beside her and smeared something warm and rose smelling on her back. He began to massage her deftly. Her mind swirled with this contradiction as the last of the chloroform faded away.

“Why are you doing this?” she asked. She calmed her breathing down and put a damper on her fear and outrage so she could figure this out with a clear head.

“My silly Cathrine-angel! You know how much I love you,” he said, brushing aside her hair. Her abductor placed tiny kisses on her nape. Her flesh crawled as he trailed a line of tiny kisses down her spine to the small of her back. “You are my gift for being such a good and upstanding man.”

He flipped her over and spread her legs apart. His hot breath made the back of her knees tingle. She drew her legs up and lashed out with a scream. She felt her bare foot contact solidly with his face, sending the man off of her. She stilled herself as no sound came from the direction she kicked the man.

She sat up and yanked at the handcuffs. She continued in spite of the cuts forming. She lowered her head to remove the blind fold, giving up on the cuffs for a minute. Her head jerked back painfully hard before she could remove it. The blows to her head were intense as he hissed out the words ‘bad girl’ over and over. He yanked her ankles hard forcing her to lie on her back again.

“I see the warlock’s treachery runs deep!” the man screamed. He cuffed her right ankle to the wall beside her and gripped her left thigh.

“Let me go!” she screamed back.

“Don’t worry, because I will save you,” he said. He gave three jabs to her left side.

“Don’t ever fight me like that again, Cathrine. No one knows you’re here. If I’m hurt, who will see to your needs? It only takes a person three days with no water to die. It turns me on when you struggle against me, but if you take it too far, you’ll just be killing yourself.” He kissed her mouth and thrust his tongue inside. He tasted of stale beer and popcorn.

“Please let me go. I didn’t mean it,” she said after he lifted up from her. The man was at the circus. She could tell by the concessions he must have consumed.

“No!” A slap came out of nowhere. “Just you remember to be nice when I get home tonight. You better pray I come home to feed you. Maybe you’ll show a little gratitude when that concept sinks in and you learn to accept my gifts graciously.” Fear hit the pit of her stomach as she realized he was leaving her tied in a room for some unknown length of time.

“When will you be back?” she asked. Cathrine realized she couldn’t reach the blindfold with her right ankle latched up.

“Oh my darling angel! That’s more like the Cathrine that’s mine,” the man said, approaching again. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead. He then played tenderly with her hair and sighed. “Don’t worry, angel. I’ll be home. Just be aware that this is not a game.”

She felt him get up and then heard some clothing rustle. She figured he was getting dressed. Next she heard echoing footsteps. A rusty squeak and slam was followed by jingling keys and bolts being driven home. To her it sound like death.

*

“No, Sir. I didn’t have a chance to come back after fire watch because my relief came down with the flu,” Trowa said into the telephone.

“Well , do you know where she could have gotten to in this town?” the ringmaster’s gruff voice came over the speaker.

“No, Sir. I’m the only person she knows here, but I haven’t seen her. Have you checked with everyone at the circus?” Trowa asked.

“Why do you think I’m calling you?” the voice raged at Trowa.

“Her trailer was unlocked?” Trowa asked, remaining cool.

“Yes. What of it?” the ringmaster snapped.

“Call the police and have them investigate,” Trowa replied, quelling his own fears starting to bubble up. It wasn’t like Cathrine to run off and not tell anyone. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Sure, kid. I’ll make the call,” the ringmaster said. Trowa hung up the phone and looked around the lounge.

He was grateful no one had paid attention. He walked out of the lounge and headed towards Lady Une’s office. He knocked and waited for the harsh buzzer. He entered and gave her a salute. She returned it and nodded towards a seat in front of her desk.

“I need to leave for a little while, Ma’am. My sister has disappeared and I want to make sure she’s okay,” he said, never one for preamble even in good situations. Her face registered a little dismay and then sympathy.

“Of course. Go. I hope she’s alright. Nickole is a little late, but he phoned me and said he was on his way,” Lady Une said.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Trowa said.

“Call me if you think it will extend beyond your shift,” she said. He saluted the woman and left the office with as much haste as he could.

*

Trowa sipped on his fifth cup of coffee and began to pace under the empty big top again. It was already noon, and no trace of Cathy could be found. They found no prints or evidence at all, except a dirty rag. The theory was that somebody slipped in while she was taking a shower and chloroformed her.

“Are you Miss Bloom’s brother?” a gruff voice asked.

Trowa turned to the two detectives. One was a slim, young, Chinese girl with long raven hair and green eyes. The other detective was huge and looked as old as the hills. He was bald with a long, gray goatee and thick glasses. “Well? Are you?” the man asked again. Trowa only nodded. “Good. Please tell us what you know about last night.”

“Any thoughts or feelings? No matter how small... we ask that you share them,” the girl finished with an understanding smile.

“I don’t know. This is a surprise,” Trowa admitted. He sat down. The girl joined him while the elderly man gazed down through his glasses. Trowa described everything about the performance and going back to the base.

“She have a boy who liked her?” the man asked. Trowa shook his head after he scratched everyone off the list he could think of.

“She owe money or do drugs?” the man asked. Trowa again shook his head. He had never seen Cathrine do anything remotely close to criminal except for some seldom marijuana.

“She suicidal or have a tenancy to run off?” the man asked. He shook his head again at the man and sighed in frustration at his own uselessness.

“The ringmaster said that he had no clue as well,” the prepubescent looking girl chimed in from his right. “All of clues indicates a long term stalker. Have you noticed one constant figure around?”

“I’ve been in the military lately, but I know for certain the ringmaster keeps a diary of anyone he has had to kick out. Have you checked that?” Trowa asked. The girl smiled brightly at the craggy, haggard face that loomed in front of them. Some sort of understanding passed between the pair. “He even takes down the ID,” Trowa offered.

“How wonderful. Thank you, Mister Barton,” the man said in a deep, gruff monotone.

“We’ll find the horrible person who took your sister,” the girl said before following the massive person gliding towards the red and white tent opening. She said, “If you think of anything, call us.” He looked at the card she pressed in his hand after watching her follow her oddly abrupt partner.

“Kulfe Kazanski and Wing Lin. Officials of the Earth Sphere Alliance?” Trowa read. He paled, looking down at his clothing, an OZ uniform. He hadn’t been able to change on the way over even if he would have thought about it. He hoped they would remain objective.

*

“What do you think about that Ozzie?” Wing asked. Kazanski looked down at the diminutive girl and shook his head.

“He doesn’t know anything,” he replied as they approached the ringmaster’s trailer. He knocked on the door. The ringmaster, who they had questioned intensely, had omitted the book. Neither detective liked potential suspects omitting details.

“Did you find her yet?” he asked.

“No,” the old man began. He moved his ponderous bulk into the trail and looked down at the black clad man. “Give us the trespasser records you keep.”

“The what?” the ringmaster asked, taking off his jacket.

“Mister Kazanski and I need the records you keep of all the people coming in and out of the circus who don’t belong. Mister Barton said that you keep detailed records of this,” the girl patiently explained.

“Oh yeah! That’s right! I could have the kidnapper's ID number!” he said. The ringmaster went over to his desk and lofted the book up. “This is it. I didn’t think about it, but if I saw the man, it’ll be in here.”

“How did you know it was a man?” Kazanski asked, taking the green spiral notebook.

“I don’t. I’m assuming that...”

“Do you owe a Shylock or are involved with drugs?” Kazanski asked.

“Of coarse not! How absurd,” the ringmaster groused up at the stony detective.

“I think you might be needed,” Kazanski said and stuffed the notebook under his arm and walked out of the trailer.

“What does he mean by that?” the ringmaster asked Wing.

“He means that we would prefer it if you came downtown with us. Otherwise we would have to hold you for suspicion,” the girl explained, holding her hand towards the door with a cold smile. It was more intimidating than her whole partner’s persona. The ringmaster was about to get angry, but he paled and left his trailer knowing it would only look worse if he protested.
*

Trowa glanced around the lounge. All the men were gathered around the television. He could hear the news report on the television. 'Circus performer missing! Detectives have one suspect in custody, but no solid leads.'

He drew a breath and walked in. Everyone turned towards him with strange looks he couldn’t identify. Sanders approached as the rest remained frozen.

“Um, sorry to hear about your sister, Barton. Have they found out anything?” he asked.

Trowa shook his head and took a chair Rothschild vacated for him. Deauville handed him a cup of coffee.

“He don’t want that, you cheap bastard. Get him some of that scotch you’ve been hoarding,” Saunders snapped. Deauville gave Saunders a death glare, but went back to the billet.

Minutes later a styrofoam cup was in his hand, half filled with the pungent liquor he despised. It stirred up a lot of bad memories. He remember the odor on the blond man’s breath and shivered slightly. No! That man was dead; that man who's name he now bore.

“I hope they find the son-of-a-bitch who did it,” Deauville said, taking a swig directly from his antique bottle. Trowa downed the liquor in several large gulps and looked at the television. He knew the ringmaster had nothing to do with Cathy’s disappearance, but he would wait patiently and let the detectives come around to their own findings. If he inserted himself, clues could be lost.

He wanted to jump up and scream at all of them to leave him alone and mind their own business, but he knew they were trying to be nice. He wished Quatre or Heero were here instead of these men who were his targets. He submitted to their kindness for a while and went towards his bunk. On the way he passed Nikol. He halted his salute for half a second seeing the man’s broken nose and bruised cheek.

“Barton, I heard. Sorry about your loss,” Nikol said, giving him a salute back. “I hope they find her.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Trowa said, eying him. It was strange to have the man be so personal.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Nikol said and gave him a generous smile. Trowa left, thinking Lady Une must be pampering him.

To be continued.