What The Cat Dragged In Ch. 31

"I'm listening, honey."

She took a deep breath and tried to find the right words. "He doesn't tell me when he's going to leave. I always know though because he gets so tense. Not the same kind of tense he would get when he would leave other times. This is more like he hates where he's going and what he's going to do when he gets there. When he comes back, he won't even look at me for hours. I know it's all my fault. If it weren't for me he wouldn't feel like he had to keep Stan around-"

"Kelly, that's not true."

"But you haven't seen him."

"I don't have to."

Kelly sighed. "I don't understand."

"The things Victor does - the things I used to do – " He took a deep breath. "When you have no ties, it's easier because you don't have anyone to shield. When you do, you learn to build walls around certain areas of your life. You keep the two halves as far apart as you can because you know that they can't exist together. Like night and day, it's one or the other. Victor knows how to live with the job when he's alone. He's only starting to figure out how to protect you from it."

"I thought he had to hide it all the time, from everyone." Kelly's voice was soft.

"It's different. Those other people don't really matter to him, do they?"

A little shrug. "No."

"A few growls and a well-placed menacing look makes it's easy to keep them away. You matter to him. He's finding it harder to hide the parts of himself he needs to and share the parts of himself that he wants to."

Kelly decided to risk another question. "Was that hard for you too? Keeping the two parts of your lives separate?"

"There were times when I couldn't see your grandmother. I had leave, I could have gone, but I knew that if she looked me in the eye, she would have known. I couldn't expose her to that."

"So you stayed away."

"And got out as soon as I could."

"Victor's never been like this before though."

"I'm not asking for specifics, but he had to travel then?"

Her eyebrows drew together. "Well, yeah. What's that got to do with it?"

"He went through it. You just weren't around to see it." His voice was reasonable, calm.

Kelly felt some of the tension uncoiling in her chest. "I'm like mom, aren't I? Every little thing sends me over the edge."

He gave a soft laugh. "You're young and you've coped with more in the last few months than most people ever will in a lifetime. The fact that we can have this conversation means you're nowhere near the edge."

She smiled. "Thanks." Her voice was soft. "For listening and for what you said. I know you don't talk about that part of your life."

"Anything for my favorite granddaughter."

*~*~*~*~*~*

Kelly and Victor lay face to face in bed, their limbs were tangled in sheets and blankets and in each other. The intense passion of a few moments before had morphed into an equally intense closeness. They shared warmth, shared breath, shared that slice of time when time itself doesn't matter. His tongue teased over her lips. Her fingers twined with his. She closed her eyes and rested against his bicep. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled deeply. The silence stretched a little longer.

He tapped on the side of her head with one clawed finger. "What's goin' on in there frail?"

She looked up at him and smiled a little. "Just enjoying the moment." She moved a little closer to him.

"Nah." He teased her nipple with his thumb. It hardened under the light touch. He smirked. "Well, maybe some, but that ain't all."

"Grandpa called me today." She told him about Cody and the lawyer's suggestion that she come out of hiding.

He stayed silent while she spoke, but Kelly could feel the tension building in his muscles. He rolled over onto his back and brought her with him, holding her head against his shoulder. "No."

She lifted her head to look at him. "No? But if everything stays private-"

He pulled her head back down. "It won't, frail. Shit like this never does. 'Specially since Stan's fat ass was all over the fucking news talking about you bein' dead."

She was hovering between anger and tears. "But-"

"But nothing. You're not going to do it. Not this way."

Tension crept into her shoulders. "Without my identity I can't do anything. I can't even go to college. I can't travel anywhere-"

"I didn't say you were gonna hide forever. All's I said was that it wasn't gonna happen this way. There're too many ways for this to turn to shit." His fingers rubbed at the knot that had formed at the back of her neck.

"But they might not get Cody." Her voice was small. Arguing with Victor always bordered on frightening. This was too important to her to try and protect his feelings or herself. Tension fluttered through his chest and then dissipated.

His fingers worked through her hair. "Stan ain't the only one with influence. Judges like to give the impression that they're so fucking upstanding. They got problems too. More often than you'd like to think, they call me. They'll get Cody, but you ain't goin' anywhere near that fucking courtroom."

She arched against him, caught between relief and dread. "I don't want to hide the rest of my life." There was a soft determination in her voice. "Stan wanted me out of the world. If I hide, he gets what he wants."

He let the tips of his claws trail down her back. "I'm the one who got you dead. I'll get you back again."

She looked up at him. "How?"

His eyebrows drew together. "How? How the fuck should I know how? I get rid of people; I don't get 'em back." He smiled a little, his eyes on hers. "That don't mean I can't do it."

She kissed his shoulder. "If anyone can, it's you."

He chuckled. "You're only saying that because you want me to fuck you again." His mouth found hers.

Kelly's fingers drifted down over his belly, then lower. That wasn't why she'd said it, but it was as good a way as any to get lost for a few minutes.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Creed looked down at the sleeping frail. This was the twenty-eighth time he'd left her. Each time it was harder. Each time he hated Stan a little more. Each time he was amazed that he could hate Stan more than he already did. The frail shifted in bed and sighed in her sleep. He knew that if he watched her any longer he would get undressed and get back in bed with her.

His steps were silent on the stairs. Even after he got downstairs he didn't bother turning on the lights. He looked toward the elevator, then went back to the kitchen and got a beer out of the fridge. He turned on one of the pendant lights over the sink and leaned back against the counter, staring off into the dim room.

Things should have been heading toward normal. Joe had temporary custody of the kid, even without any extra intervention. If Stan didn't show, that had a good chance of being made permanent. The frail's exams were coming up, and he'd made reservations at the Cavinder. He hadn't told her yet. He figured he'd do that tomorrow. As usual, Stan was fucking that up too. He should have been thinking about a long weekend with the frail someplace where he could actually breathe. Instead, all he could think of was who was going to watch over the motherfucker while he was gone.

Creed took a long drink of the beer and glanced at the stack of books on the counter. He picked up the small one on top and opened it to the page she had marked. A little smile curled the corners of his lips as his eyes scanned the words. Creed leaned back against the counter and read through the short story from beginning to end. When he finished, he put the book inside his coat and walked toward the elevator. There was a little smile on his face and a new spring in his step.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Creed leaned on the wall and watched Stan struggle weakly against the cuffs holding him to the chair in the white room where Kelly had seen him last. Well, to be honest, it wasn't white anymore. It was splattered with Stan's blood and various other fluids. The scents blended, so did the colors on the walls and the floor. It was a room filled with nightmares made physical.

"Shut up." Creed said. His voice was laced with exhaustion.

Stan looked up. One of his eyes was swollen shut. The other was in almost the same state. His mangled nose sat at an odd angle. He was missing several teeth from the last talk they'd talked. Blood and spit was still dripping down his chin. The rest of him was just as damaged, but none of it was enough to kill him. Tremors ran through his body, but he was silent.

Creed walked slowly in front of him. "You ever read, Stan? I don't mean that religious shit, I mean classic stuff."

Stan mumbled something incomprehensible. It might have been an answer, it might not have been. Creed didn't really care.

He stopped and looked into the mangled face. "I'll take that as a no." He started moving again. "The frail reads a lot. Today, I was standing in my kitchen having a beer and trying to get myself to leave her again. I ever tell you how much I fucking hate that?"

Stan mumbled something incoherent that might have been an apology.

"Seems like lately no matter what I'm doin', I'm not really there. I'm thinking about you." The back of a fist caught Stan across the jaw. If the chair hadn't been bolted to the floor, it would have flipped over. Creed kept walking, kept his tone conversational, despite the whimpering cries from the direction of the chair. "And that got me thinking. Since I met the frail, you been right square in the middle of my fucking bed. She's been scared of you, pissed off at you, having nightmares about you, all kinds of shit like that. Now that she's finally starting to let you go, I can't seem to. What the fuck do you think that's all about?"

Stan hid his face and trembled. "Please please please..." He repeated it under his breath like a mantra.

Creed ignored it. "That's were reading comes in. So, while I'm standing there, drinking my beer and trying to make myself walk out the door, I started flipping through one of the frail's books and I found a certain little story by Edgar Allen Poe." He pulled it out of his coat and opened it.

Stan's trembling eased. The fear was still in his scent, but there was a note of curiosity there too.

Creed went on. "See there's this guy named Montresor and this other asshole named Fortunato. Fortunato has been pissing Montresor off for a long fucking time and he finally does something so fucking outrageous that Montresor can't take it anymore. Poe doesn't say what it was that Fortunato's did, but I figure it was something to do with Montresor's mate. So, Montresor decides he's gonna get his revenge." He lifted the book. " 'AT LENGTH I would be avenged; this was a point definitively settled -- but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved precluded the idea of risk. I must not only punish, but punish with impunity. A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its redresser.'" He looked up. "I got the 'punish with impunity' thing down. Where I got stuck is the retribution overtaking the redresser idea." Creed smiled, baring his fangs. "Old Edgar has a solution for that too." He closed the book and tucked it back inside his coat.

Stan let out a high-pitched whine. He started shaking his head and started babbling apologies and entreaties. The scent of his terror saturated the room.

"Oh shut the fuck up for once in your goddamn life." Creed walked over to the door and opened it. "See, Montresor figured out how to make Fortunato suffer a whole hell of a lot without taking himself away from his life. All he needed was a good story about some wine, some bricks and some mortar. Pretty fucking smart, huh?"

Confusion drew spicy ribbons through the heavy scent of fear. "Wh-what?"

Creed rolled his eyes. "You really are fucking stupid. Guess you'll have a little while to think about it though. Course, since this is the last time I'll ever see you, I won't know if you ever figured it out. Then again, I don't really give a shit."

Confusion and fear filled the small space. Creed smiled. "Bye Stan."

He shut the door behind himself turned off lights as he made his way down the twisting hallway. The further away he got, the freer he felt.

**Quote taken from "A Cask of Amontillado" by Edgar Allen Poe as posted on a free online literature website.