Part Three

Chapter 12

 

Gabrielle sat on a plastic drop sheet in the middle of her living room. She held a paintbrush in one hand and a licorice whip in the other. Her phone sat on the floor beside her. In her heart, she knew she was waiting for him to call. Stupid, because did they even have phones at Loindici Manor?

Her father hadn’t been in a car accident. His paint had been scraped at one of those car shows. A big deal to Daddy—big enough for him to call her sister (not her, because she’d warned him against using his phone south of the border) to get some insurance information, a policy number or something.

At least nobody was hurt. Gabrielle should have been pleased. The prospect of a fatal accident had persuaded Fidel to unmask himself and set her free.

Free…

How could she ever feel free after everything that had happened in that strange Victorian mansion? The weirdest part was that she didn’t feel indebted to Fidel for releasing her. She’d spend her first night home tossing and turning. All she could do was blame herself for the terrible things that had happened to her… and still she wanted to return to him.

No, not to him.

For him.

Fidel was a captive himself, and he didn’t seem to realize it. He didn’t seem to realize he needed to be rescued. And who else would take it upon themselves? Who else knew he was there?

Oh Fidel, her captive beast. Could it really be true that he’d been living in Mme de Villeneuve’s rehabilitation clinic since the eighties? He looked so young, so fit, so handsome—not a day over thirty-three. But how could Madame’s manor house have stunted his growth? What was it, some sort of Canadian Bermuda triangle?

Beep-beep.

Her phone chirped. She’d been so skittish since her stay at Loindici Manor that she hopped away from it, landing hard on her poor tender butt. It was stupid to be so scared about everything. Her phone was only telling her it required recharging. No big deal.

“Wait a minute.” She picked it up and looked at the screen, where it said low battery. When was the last time she’d charged it? No way it should have lasted all week. Maybe there was something in the soil at Loindici Manor, something that truly made time stand still.

This was all so strange…

Finishing her licorice, Gabrielle picked up the phone. She plugged it into the charger in the bathroom and tossed her paintbrush into a tub of soapy water. The water had grown milky from the roller she’d thrown in earlier. She was starting to regret the minty green colour she’d chosen for the walls. When she bought it, it seemed earthy and natural, like a misty morning in Ireland. Now it reminded her of the hallway Madame had led her down like a pony with her hands bound behind her back.

How humiliating. It felt like a dream, but the sort of dream that haunts both days and nights, even weeks, months, years after the fact.

Oh so cathartic, the act of squishing paint out of roller fuzz and running dish soap through it, getting it all sudsy and then squishing out the suds. Once she’d washed out the brushes, she left them to dry.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, the vaporous VOCs hit her like a cloud of noxious gas. She hadn’t really noticed the fumes while she was painting, but she noticed them now. They made her head spin. If the couch hadn’t been covered in plastic, she’d have flopped down on it. She settled for the floor.

Lying on her back, staring at the popcorn ceiling, she wondered what the beast was doing right now. Servicing Madame’s other patients, perhaps? Or maybe not. He’d said there would be trouble in store for him if he aided her escape, and he’d set her free anyway. Maybe Madame was torturing him in unspeakable ways.

Everything he did, he did under the misguided belief that it was for good. Madame had him spellbound. It wasn’t fair that Gabrielle was free and Fidel wasn’t. The so-called beast was as much a victim of Madame’s bad medicine as she’d been.

She had to go back for him.

Under cover of darkness, Gabrielle retraced her steps. She felt conspicuous, wearing dark jeans and a black hoodie on such a warm night, and maneuvering through the sleepy residential streets when nobody else was out. Her cuts and bruises pained her badly, but she was a ninja now. And she was on a mission.

A ghostly glow surrounded Loindici Manor. As she peeked over the gate, her blood ran cold. Who knows how many thugs Mme de Villeneuve had under her command? And there was Gabrielle without so much as a plastic fork to defend herself.

Love drove people to do stupid things. If she hadn’t already realized she’d fallen for Fidel, she certainly would have realized it as she crept across the lawn. How did it stay so lush and alive? Did Madame have gardeners on the payroll? Or was it just magic?

Weaving her way between ghostly white statues, Gabrielle gazed up at the darkened house. Why were no lights on? It was late, but not that late—especially for addicts in recovery. Which room had been hers, she wondered? The first one had been underground. No windows. But the second was up there somewhere, overlooking the sculpture garden. Had Madame filled Gabrielle’s abandoned bed with another unfortunate patient? For some reason that idea jabbed her like a knife. Made no sense. She didn’t want to be there, yet she felt a pang of jealousy at the idea that someone might have taken her place.

Ducking behind one of the bluish-white statues, Gabrielle let out a deep sigh. How was she supposed to find the beast? It’s not like she knew her way around the labyrinthine manor house. Could she break in without being seen? Could she get out without being caught?

“Help us!”

Gabrielle leapt to her feet like her shoes were on springs. Her heart stopped beating, and when it started up again it was so erratic she thought it might jump out of her chest and run into the ravine just like Suzanne had done.

“Who said that?” Gabrielle asked, peering into the treeline. “Who’s there?”

“Please. Help.”

Two distinct voices—one male, one female.

“Where are you?” Gabrielle asked, pressing her back right up against the nearest statue. “Don’t hurt me.”

“Help us.”

As she searched the nearby ravine for faces between trees, the statue behind her seemed to change in consistency. She felt as though she were pressed not against cold hard marble, but a warm living being.

“Please…”

It was then that she realized the voices weren’t coming from the forest. The source was all around her. As she looked up into the faces of the statues, they came alive one by one. Their eyes were no longer empty spheres. They held human emotion.

Gabrielle screamed. “Oh my god!” She wanted to flee, but her feet were iron to the magnetic earth. “Who are you?”

The statue before her wore a Victorian nurse’s uniform with a sweet little bonnet and puffy sleeves and an apron. Her face and clothing and hands remained marble white, but there was such human sadness in her expression that Gabrielle believed her when she said, “We are trapped here, Gabrielle.”

“How do you know my name?”

The voices surrounded her. Though they hadn’t moved from their pedestals, she didn’t trust them to stay put. Especially when one of the frighteningly large men who’d captured her at the start of the week said, “You must destroy her.”

He stood immobilized like the rest, but Gabrielle could now see the emotion he’d lacked the first time they’d met. Was he in pain? Could statues feel pain?

“Destroy her,” another nurse said.

“Madame, you mean? Destroy Mme de Villeneuve?”

“Yes,” the statues replied, like a collective groan.

“Destroy her how? You mean kill her?”

Before the statues could respond, a crack of lightning burst across the sky. As Gabrielle scrambled to take cover, thunder rumbled through the land. It shook the terrain with such rabid force she worried the earth would open up and eat her alive.

“Oh my goodness,” she said, more to herself than to the statues. “What do I do? What do I do?”

Another crack of lightning. Another rumble of thunder. The sky opened up. It had been a perfectly pleasant day, and suddenly the weather decided to take a foul turn.

“Perfect timing.” Gabrielle clung to the nurse’s marble skirt as a torrent of rain crashed down on her head. In moments, her hair was soaked to the scalp. Her jeans clung to her thighs and her hoodie was so thoroughly waterlogged it stretched almost to her knees. The fabric was too heavy. Unzipping the hoodie, she slipped it down her arms and held it over her head to block the storm.

“Go inside,” the young nurse shouted over another rumble of thunder. “Godspeed, Gabrielle.”

“Wait.” Her feet led her toward the nearest door. “Wait, I don’t know what I’m doing. I just came here to save Fidel. I can’t destroy anybody.”

The wind picked up, knocking Gabrielle into the statue in front of her. She reacted just quickly enough to block her face with her hands, but her wet T-shirt smashed into the marble, sending a sharp pang through her nipples. The statue howled like he could feel the crash too, but beyond the garden another sound rang out which drew Gabrielle’s attention: a door had opened. She could see the dim light shining from inside. No, wait, it hadn’t just opened—it had blown off its hinges. Imagine that! A huge, heavy door taken by the wind.

“It is far too dangerous out here,” the Victorian nurse shouted over the bluster. “You must go inside. The wind is leading you to your fate, Gabrielle. You must destroy our keeper.”

Fear burned a hole in Gabrielle’s heart, but she couldn’t stand a moment longer under this killing rain. Every drop hit her like a ball of hail. She had no idea where she was headed, but she took cover inside the manor house. The place smelled familiarly woody. Darkness ensconced her. At least she’d found her way out of the rain.

Could the statues feel that horrible hail falling on their faces?

If it wasn’t enough that she needed to somehow save Fidel, she now felt duty-bound to rescue those poor people out there. She didn’t know how she would do it, but she had to try. So, setting her hands against the warped wall, she moved deeper into the manor until she spotted a bright light shining from under an unlikely door. It looked like one of those swinging restaurant doors, except it didn’t have a port hole to look through.

The air changed in consistency and scent. Woodiness gave way to a wonderful aroma of sautéed onions and roasted garlic. This must be where those luscious foods came from during her date with the beast.

The lights were on. She could hear the clattering of metal bowls and dishes. Curiosity got the best of her. Edging the swing door open just a touch, she peeked inside.

The kitchen was full of monkeys in tiny chefs’ hats and little white coats.

One monkey-cook looked up from the eggs he’d been whisking and howled.

“No, no, no… shhh!”

Dropping his whisk and bowl on the counter, the monkey pointed and screeched, drawing the attention of every other cook in the kitchen.

“No, please!” Gabrielle begged. “I’m a friend. I’m nice. Don’t hurt me!”

Whether or not the monkey chefs understood, they reacted in what Gabrielle could only interpret as anger. Dropping their cooking utensils, they swung collectively from their worktops. When they raced toward the door, Gabrielle took off like a shot. She had no idea where she was going, but in the dark what difference did it make?

All she could hear was the sound of her heart racing and the wet squelch of her running shoes. A stitch cut across her side like a knife as she raced down the corridor, away from the hordes of screeching monkeys.

“Please don’t hurt me,” she panted. “Don’t hurt… don’t hurt me…”

When she came to a fork in the road, she suddenly knew where she was. This was the entryway she’d been dragged through en route to Madame’s office. Dim lights shone from that direction as moonlight illuminated the stained glass at the top of the staircase. Her feet led her to the library where she’d planned to spend her days relaxing. How stupid she’d been. She felt like such an idiot.

Ducking into the library, she heaved its heavy door shut and snapped the lock. Monkeys couldn’t open a locked door, could they? Not if it was a heavy mahogany door like this one. So much for saving Fidel. Looked like she’d have to save herself.

Bang bang! “Eee! Eee! Ooo! Eee!”

What were they doing, throwing themselves at it?

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” she cried out. “Go away. Leave me alone.”

Madame’s tiny henchmen battered the door so violently Gabrielle had to do something about it. What if they got inside? They’d rip her face off, tear her limb from limb.

She needed something heavy. One of those gorgeous leather chairs? No, not heavy enough. How about that writing desk beside the door? Yes, perfect. All she had to do was push it to the side. If she threw all her strength into it, surely she could…

“Gabrielle?”

Her blood froze as the monkey screams retreated down the hall.

“Gabrielle, is that you?”

“Fidel?” Her whole body trembled as her sopping shoes led her to the door. “I came back to save you. I’m not doing the best job. Is it safe to come out?”

“They’re gone,” he assured her. “Open the door. We’ll run away together. I’m ready to go.”

When his words reached Gabrielle through the thick wooden door, a wave of relief washed over her. Too good to be true, and yet that was Fidel. Though he’d only spoken to her on the occasion of her release, the confident tenor of his voice hadn’t left her mind.

“Wait a sec,” she said. “I’ll open the door.”

The lock made a raspy metallic sound when she slid it to the side, then unlatched the bar.

“Hurry up!” he cried.

“I know. I am. I’m sorry.”

Heaving the door open, she met the beast face to face.

“I’m so glad to see you,” she said, starting to launch herself into his arms before remembering her clothes were soaked through. “I’d hug you but the rain got me first.”

He didn’t move or speak or even laugh. She read fear in his eyes as he looked down at her wet clothes, never quite meeting her gaze. She looked down at his, too, except that he wasn’t wearing any. His bare skin blazed with red streaks and purple welts. He held both hands behind his back.

“Fidel, what happened to you? Did Madame do this?”

His lips pursed tightly. When he opened his mouth, all that came out was, “I’m sorry.”

“For what? It’s not your fault.”

Rather than stepping out of the way, Fidel entered the library. Mme de Villeneuve followed him inside.

The collar! How could she not have noticed the collar?

“I’m really sorry,” he said, choking the words out just before Madame struck him in the gut with her elbow.

The last thing Gabrielle saw before she blacked didn’t make any sense. It looked like Madame was holding lightning in the palm of her hand. When she pressed it to Gabrielle’s chest, the end approached like a star bursting into oblivion.