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Mar. 20th, 2006 10:31 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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vigorliAuthors:F inelinezz, Sindaliessien & Imogen
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): VigOrli, Orlando/Colin, Dominic/Elijah, Keira/Marton Csoakes. Others may appear later
Warnings: attempted rape, violence, torture scenes, angst. Special warnings will be give with chapters when needed.
Summary: Paradise regained? Try again.
Note: This is a RPS version of "Lost" and a plot bunny that wouldn't let go.
Feedback: It doesn't matter which one of us you send it to, and get bit we get is greatly appreicated!
N.B. If anyone's interested there is a character list & pictures for Adrift which can be found at my joural (imogen_lily). This link will take you there: http://imogen-lily.livejournal.com/32332.html
who were obviously more than just friends, and the caught words of their conversation, auguring quietly beside her, but the brief signing caught her eye. Both men could obviously speak, why they’d revert to sign language baffled her. She’d seen them in a scuffle a few minutes earlier and decided not to intervene. The tall, dark man looked as if he’d quieted everything down on his own, seemed he was good at intimidation.
She wasn’t sure what he’d said to Armani but he’d backed off, and she was willing to bet that the Irishman would have been happy to cause quite a scene, or pound the shit out of the guy. Personally she couldn’t see what the two men had done to offend Armani, how he’d noticed them squeezing hands and exchanging kisses when he was busy thundering orders down a phone and flicking imaginary lint off his suit baffled her. Right now she had bigger problems that pondering about gay men’s love lives or other people’s pointless objections to it.
Tentatively Eva put the phone back to her ear. Her mother hadn’t even drawn breath between her lecturers. How predictable.
“Oui mère, je suis toujours ici. Oui j'écoute. aucun je ne l'ai pas contacté en arrière pourtant... La conjecture bonne ce que, je suis *pas* vous, je ne le veux pas n'importe où près de moi, Gerard et j'est histoire, je ne s'inquiète pas quel papa le would've a indiqué... waune je suis désolés que je sois un embarras si foutu. Je ne m'inquiète pas... vous sais ce qui, l'oublient juste. Si vous voulez toujours une fille appelez-moi à Berlin”
Slamming the phone shut she let out a couple of deep breaths. Getting agitated wasn’t going to help. She’d never got along with her mother and, frankly, Marianne Green wasn’t an easy woman to get along with, not that anyone besides her daughter would admit that to her face. Behind her back though, it was a very different matter. Why her mother couldn’t stop pressuring her to back Gerard?
The fact that he was the second cousin of Marquis Dominique de Villiepin, who just happened to be the prime minister, was, of course, of no relevance. Her mother was nothing if not socially orientated and never forgot to remind her daughter of her ‘pedigree’ at every opportunity, it made her feel like a pure-bred dog. To think she’d actually been nervous when she introduced Gerard to her mother!
To her utter surprise he’d managed to completely charm Marianne; something which had impressed Eva at the time since the majority of her other boyfriends (which had been few and far between) had been systematically chewed up and spat out for not meeting Marianne’s imposing standards, i.e. they didn’t come with the title ‘Sir’ or ‘Viscount’. It had always been the same… ‘You’re great Eva, but your mother….’
Gerard had been different, in many ways. He wasn’t the rebel or the human rights protestor she was usually attracted to. He was smooth, charming and had a bank account that rivalled her and her mother’s combined trust funds. Not an easy task. He was also difficult to intimidate and had laughed at Eva’s nervousness over introducing her to Marianne, calling her a ‘silly little girl’. It wasn’t until later she realized how patronising he was being.
By the end of the afternoon, Gerard and her mother had Eva’s entire future planned out, down to how many kids, and what universities they would go to and it had only gotten worse. Between them, Gerard and Marianne had taken over her life, and when she objected she’d been subjected to her mother bemoaning and Gerard’s harsh reprimands. After all they were only trying to help… didn’t they deserve some gratitude? She wasn’t sure why she’d stuck with Gerard so long, maybe because it was easier than being on her own….it kept her mother’s harassment to a minimum…. but after that afternoon, there was no way she was going back to him, no matter what her mother, or Gerard demanded.
If her mother was so hot on Gerard, she should marry him. Why should she care about her only child’s happiness when connections were at stake? She sometimes wondered if, when Papa died, he didn’t take the last vestige of her mother’s sanity with him. Her mother had already been nearly impossible to live with before his death.
Resisting the ease her nerve with nicotine, she bit her nails for a moment. Right now she just wanted to get to Australia and finish this ridiculous charade of ‘international relations’, although she must admit, Saffan Erikkson was a pleasant, congenial man, and they were rare in her business. She’d worked with him twice before and both times had been the best work she’d done, at least in her opinion. There was no one who could get inside and twist international politics like Erikkson. If he wasn’t a happily married man with three of *the* most adorable children, she’d have made moves on him herself, but she could never bring herself to condone infidelity. Besides she had too much respect for Saffan to ever attempt it.
Of course, Erikkson’s views on civil liberties were considered rather radical and had certainly ruffled a few feathers among the senior members; something which she found endlessly amusing. Erikkson was treading on very thin ice with his mandates and he knew that. She’d gotten the feeling after talking to his aide that something was wrong and could only presume he’d been threatened at one point. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time. She could still remember one minister having a narrow escape from a car bomb in 1997. It was imprinted on her mind. What kind of people killed to send a message?
~*~*~*~*~
Miranda pushed her hair back from her face and pressed her hand to her throbbing temple. The cacophony of the address system, the voices of the people milling around her, the bright lights in the terminal and the screaming of the planes as they took off and landed all compounded the headache that was driving silver spikes into her brain. The argument between the two men and an up-tight creep in an Armani suit drove the spikes in further and she was grateful when the big dark haired man stopped the ruckus. Closing her eyes Miranda sighed, longing for the quiet of the airplane so she could relax.
Her other hand was gently stroking the back of her tired and cranky daughter, Daisy, who was half-sitting, half-laying in the seat beside her. Daisy was whiny, tired and irritable, wanting to sleep, but unable too. The seat was too small and too uncomfortable. Every time the little girl closed her eyes, the noises of the airport dragged her back from the edge of slumber. She just wanted to be at home, in her own bed, in her own house, in her own country. She missed her room, she missed her bike. She missed her friends, and she missed her dog, Rusty. She missed her daddy.
"Mummy!" Daisy whined loudly, the sound driving the silver spikes further into Miranda's head. "I have to go to the toilet…..I want to wee, and I'm thirsty, I want a drink!"
"Daisy, please," Miranda said tiredly, trying to be patient with her only child, but failing. "You went to the toilet ten minutes ago, so you can’t possibly want to wee. You had a drink half an hour ago, You can't be thirsty. The plane will be boarding soon and you can have a drink on the plane."
"I do want to go to the toilet!” Daisy said mutinously, her voice rising. "And I DO want a drink. I want a drink NOW, not on the plane and....."
"Daisy, I said no! Now stop it. I've got a bloody awful headache and your whining is making it worse. Just knock it off!” Miranda said sternly; then sighed, guilt washing over her.
She shouldn't take her exhaustion out on Daisy. She wasn't even seven yet and she had been dragged all over creation in the last two months. The poor kid had been through so much, travelled so far, had lost so much, and none of it was Daisy's fault. It was her fault. Hers and Frank’s.
She still couldn't believe she had been so stupid, so naïve. David, then Karl, had tried to warn her and she hadn’t listened. She had been so in love with Frank and had become so caught up with the money, the lifestyle and the gifts that Frank lavished on her and Daisy; that she couldn’t see straight. She should have realised that Frank wasn't an ordinary businessman. All the mysterious phone calls in the middle of the night, all the shady looking people who came calling at odd hours, should have warned her.
But she had been deliberately obtuse, not wanting to believe the inner voice that told her Frank was up to no good. It had taken the death of a close friend to finally make her sit up and see what was going on in her life...in her home. And when the blinders were finally taken off, the truth about her husband nearly choked her.
So she had done the only thing she could think of. She had taken Daisy and fled.
Pushing the guilt aside she would cope with that when she and Daisy were safe. Miranda turned in her seat and cringed inwardly at her daughter's sagging form. Daisy's eyes were filled with tears and her lower lip quivered. Her head drooped. The long curly hair, red like her father's, hid her face from Miranda. A small sob, muffled by the hair, made Miranda feel even more guilty.
"Please don't cry, Chuckilious. I'm sorry. Everything will be all right. Just be good for a little while longer and then it will all be all right, I promise, " she said, softening her tone and using her daughter’s old nickname, placing a small kiss on the bright curls. Daisy smiled slightly at the name It meant her mummy wasn’t really mad with her after all.
"I'm sorry too, mummy. I didn't mean to make your headache worserer. I didn't mean to be naughty. I'll be good. I promise." she said, a sob in her voice. "I'm very sorry mummy"
Miranda sighed and hugged her daughter closer and gently stroked her hair. She opened her mouth to reassure the tired, miserable little girl, but the announcement over the address system stopped the words. At last, their flight was boarding. This time Daisy and she were going to disappear for good and Frank could look as much as he wanted. He would never find them again.
***********
Kate impatiently flicked through the magazine, not really reading it. Every couple of minutes she'd glance at the entrance to the waiting area for international passengers. So far so good. Lifting her head, she noticed the good looking man opposite her give her the once over. Smiling slightly at him, Kate returned her attention to the magazine He looked okay, and if his hand-made Armani suit and Vershai loafers was any indication, he was pretty well off, but he could forget it. She just wasn’t interested, no matter how good looking the guy was.
She glanced at the leather Gucci carry-on at her feet, the long strap wound tightly around her arm, and gave a satisfied smile. Treat her like that, would they? Pass her over for Partnership. Well, fuck them! They thought they could use her and discard her! Well, if that was what they thought, they would soon be thinking again.. She stewed inwardly as she replayed the Chairman's last words to her as he got up from the bed he had just fucked her on, and pulled up his pants.
"Katie, sweetheart, you really didn't think I was going to recommend you for Partnership to the Board, did you? I mean, you’re good at your job, you make a great Head of Department, but Partner.....No baby, no way. You're great in the sack, and you can suck a man's brains out though his cock, but no. And don’t just take my word for it. You see Katie, we know what you’re up to. You think you can use that hot little body of yours to get a Partnership, but fucking the Chairman’s brains out is not the way to achieve it. And if you’re thinking about using one of the other Partners to put you up, then go ahead and try it, but there is no way that you will ever make Partner."
That had annoyed her. In fact it had royally pissed her off. How dare he! He had just spent the last hour fucking her, and she'd had to employ all her skills to get him off, and then the ungrateful bastard puts her down!. So what if she had used her body and her carefully cultivated 'talents' in bed to get what she wanted, to work her way up the corporate ladder? With each new position, she had used her brains to keep it, until she could use her body to go a step higher. And just as it seemed she had reached the pinnacle of her desires, that fat asshole, with his sagging gut and miniscule cock, had pulled the rug out from under her.
She had been livid when the Chairman had told her she would never get her ultimate dream, but what had galled Kate the most was the pat on the head as he'd walked past her on the way out. The condescending prick….and his calm assurance that he'd see her the same time next Thursday- just like she was a dog waiting for her master to spare her some time.
That was when Kate had made her decision. She would execute her back up plan. If they thought they could do that to her, after she had let them get their greasy rocks off, after letting them paw and pant and fuck her through the mattress, then they were even more stupid then she had thought. Kate glanced at the bag at her feet again and smiled, then glanced at the gate to the departure lounge.
Mind you, it had been touch and go whether or not she would make it to the airport. She had almost underestimated her bosses, but thankfully she had gotten out just in time. Kate looked up as the announcement for boarding came over the address system. Grabbing her bag and the carry-on, Kate got up and walked over to the line waiting to board. She looked at her watch again. The police would just about be at her apartment by now, but surprise, surprise, she wouldn't be there. Think they could fuck her and then fuck her over! Well, she was having the last laugh, to the tune of twenty million dollars and a shitload of dirty laundry, which she would have no hesitation at all in using
Kate grinned mirthlessly as she moved forward ......Fuck 'em, fuck 'em all
***********
Gabe clung onto the hand of the man next to him and looked around. The man, Mr. Harkness, was a kind man and was taking time from a busy schedule to see him onto the plane. Gabe supposed, as executer of ‘The Will’, it was Mr. Harkness’ job. He was talking to the flight attendant who was going to look after Gabe on the plane. The boy sighed and held onto his backpack tighter, and looked around the terminal.
He spotted a little girl, about his age, standing in line waiting to go on board. She was holding her mummy's hand, and a raggedy stuffed dog was clutched to her chest. Gabe gave a half-hearted smile as the little girl looked at him. She was pretty and he liked the colour of her hair. Her mother tugged on the girl's arm and they moved forward, the movement breaking their eye contact..
Gabe sighed again and felt tears prick the backs of his eyes. He furiously blinked them back. He wouldn't cry. Mr Harkness said he shouldn't. He was a big boy, and big boys didn't cry. Especially not at airports and most especially when they were starting a new life. Big boys did not cry....at all.
But Gabe didn't feel like a big boy. He felt like a nearly seven-year old boy whose mum, dad and twin brother had been killed in a car accident, the same car accident that he had survived.
"No, he isn’t retarded in any way, and he can hear perfectly well, and he can speak, but the trauma of the accident and the d.e.a.t.h of his family has made him mute," Mr. Harkness said to the attendant. "The doctors all say its psychosomatic. He can talk, he just won't. The shock of his twin brother being k.i.l.l.e.d along with his mother and fater and all that. Anyway, we are hoping that he will grow out of it soon. He is going to have therapy when he gets to his new home."
Gabe sighed once more. Why do adults always spell out the words they think are going to upset you, or that they don't want you to hea? It's not like he couldn't spell. The car accident hadn't made him suddenly stupid, or retarded or anything. He just couldn’t talk The attendant looked at Gabe with *that* look, the one that said, 'oh you poor little thing' and Gabe quickly looked away. He hated that look, hated people feeling sorry for him, hated that he couldn't yell at them and tell them to stop looking at him like that. Gabe sighed again and looked up as he felt a tug on his arm. Mr. Harkness was handing him over to the attendant for the flight.
"Well, goodbye Gabriel, Mr. Harkness said, awkwardly leaning down to embrace the stiff, silent little boy. He paused for a moment and patted Gabe on the shoulder, seemingly lost how to handle the situation. "Have a good trip. Your guardian will meet you at the airport. Don't worry too much Gabe. Everything will be all right."
With a final pat on the back, Mr Harkness left, not even looking back at the broken hearted little boy who had been in his charge for the past six weeks.
The flight attendant, Wendy, gently pulled Gabe along next to her. He would be the last to board, sitting in a row of seats all on his own, near the flight attendants station, so she could keep an eye on him. Fancy losing all your family in one swoop and then not being able to talk on top of that. Well, she would take care of him until the plane landed, he could do with a bit of mothering by the look of him....the poor little man.
He saw the little girl just going on board with her mummy. Gabe hoped that the little girl would be able to come and talk to him on the flight, otherwise he would be very lonely. He didn't like Wendy too much. She had already patted him on the head four times, talking to him like he was dumb instead of just mute. A flash of bright curls and the little girl was gone, and Gabe felt alone once more. Tears gathered in his eyes as he wished once again that he had died in the car accident with his mum, his dad and his twin brother, Nicky. He wished for anything to take any the pain eating at him
Gabe closed his eyes and wished he was dead.
************
Christopher nodded to the young woman with the small girl standing in front of him the line. He smiled as the little girl yawned and looked around. She stopped, her attention caught by something. Christopher followed her line of sight and spied a small boy being handed over to a flight attendant. The boy gave the little girl a half-hearted smile, both of them staring at each other for a few minutes, then looked disappointed as the girl was pulled forward, breaking their eye contact.
Christopher turned as he felt a sharp dig in his back. A pair of odd coloured eyes, one brown, one blue, gave him the once over and dismissed him as unworthy of attention. Christopher frowned, as no apology for digging him in the back was forthcoming. He looked her over again, and smiled inwardly, as her disinterested gaze past over him once more. Taking an appraising look, Christopher classified her as an avaricious, cold hearted bitch; a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, a born courtesan who would stick a knife in your back while she was opening her legs...in fact, she reminded him of wife number three.
Christopher turned his attention to the other people in the line in front of him. He was a watcher, a observer of human nature. He had been all his life. He preferred to observe people rather than interact with them. His only weakness was the female of the species. He could never resist a beautiful woman, no matter how rotten she was inside. That was why he had been married five times, and each time it had ended badly. Shaking his head to rid himself of his sense of failure, he concentrated on the people around him.
There was a beautiful young man with eyes that could melt ice. An older man who had the look of a coiled snake, dangerous if attacked. There was a young couple that looked like brother and sister, obviously bickering with each other. Another man who looked like...a policeman....? Yes, a policeman of some sort. The young woman in front of him caught his attention. She looked ....afraid. She certainly looked like she was under a lot of pressure, and if he was any judge, she had been stressed and afraid for a while now. She looked like she was on her last reserves. Christopher wondered if she was on the run.....not from the law, he was sure of that, but from a husband perhaps...or a boyfriend. The little girl with her, obviously her daughter, she had the same fine features as the woman and she looked tired and cranky. Poor child. Airports weren’t the best places for children. Not that he objected to their presence, quite the contrary, but it couldn’t be fun for them to have to wait for hours like this.
The line shuffled forward, and Christopher withdrew his attention from the passengers around him. It was only a ploy to stop him thinking about what lay on the other side of the flight, something he was really not looking forward to.
***********
Christopher was so busy ruminating on his current dilemma, he missed the woman to his right that could have easily given the cold blond a run for her money.
Rosario tapped her foot impatiently. Airports, along with dentists, were her least favourite places. She could always guarantee she’d get a couple of guys giving her long looks, trying to remember where they’d seen her, beginning to drool, and sometimes smirk as the memory clicked, at least until their wives shot Rosario a hateful glance and pushed their husbands forward, that was. Actually, she preferred the dentist come to think of it.
The flight had already been delayed twice and she’d had to ring Carlos, letting him know that they’d be lucky to be setting off by 2.00 at this rate, due in no small part to the guy security had held back a while earlier. Naturally being from the East, he’d been checked three times while the other passengers hovered nervously near by. It really made her sick. If they really thought that a man who she’d bet $1000 sobbed uncontrollably every time he saw Bambi was dangerous, they were nuts. One look at the man should convince anyone that despite the size and build of the man, he was as soft as they came. Besides, if they’d actually listened to the guy speak they would’ve heard a Kiwi accent, hardly where terrorists were made was it? Of course, basic facts like that didn’t matter right now. People wanted to feel safe and any pathetic show of protection would be clung to for dear life.
It wasn’t as if she particularly minded people touching her. It came with the job after all, and in her line of work, porn stars didn’t have a whole lot of inhibitions left, however she didn’t appreciate people using their power to over-step their bounds, invade other’s body space, just because they could. That was why she’d been pretty pissed off with one of the more dopey security guards who’d tried to cop a feel of her, under the guise of 'security'. It was the same every time, someone always found some excuse to stop her. Right now it appeared a more through check of her luggage was needed, because of course she could be hiding an Uzi in her 2 inch purse.
She didn’t see how she’d manage to hide any weapons or anything up her ass, but apparently it was possible, at least if Mr Trigger Happy security guard explained, face devoid of any expression. She was just glad she didn’t have to deal with him on an everyday basis. He looked as if one smile would crack his face. She got the feeling he was a little too eager to use his gun even before such an occasion arose. The queue moved forward at a minuscule pace. She unconsciously tapped her foot again.
Her temper hadn’t improved when that horrible blond had shoved past her, a revoltingly high heeled boot stepping on her foot, but the Blondie-bird hadn’t even stopped to apologise….probably hadn’t even noticed stepping on her. Add to that the guy in the designer suit ranting about something on his phone- no wonder it was all giving her a headache. Taking a glance around her, she noticed a couple of kids, well not really kids but young people. God that made her feel old, surely twenty-ish people weren’t ‘young’. She wasn’t even thirty herself yet. OK she was only a year away, but still… She gazed at the two, slumped in seats, they appeared to be related by their looks and their constant surreptitious shoving and poking of each other, but neither actually talking.
She grinned when the girl, a scowl on her face as she firmly swatted the man over the head before stalking off, mobile phone clutched to her hand, muttering darkly under her breath. The man looked as he was used to her behaviour, rubbed his head and went back to his music. Rosario almost chuckled at that. She seemed like her kind of girl. She suddenly found herself missing Gayle and realised she hadn’t seen her sister since New Year. How had she let that happen? She and Gayle had always been so close. They still were, but it wasn’t the same being on different sides of the world. Funny how time slipped by when no one noticed.
Her attention was momentarily distracted by a couple of men, obviously a couple saying their goodbyes. She felt her heart clench as she thought of Carlos. God she missed him. She’d been secretly hoping his rather sudden desire to see her was to do with their future. She’d been with him for six years and he was the man she wanted to spend her life with, of that she had no doubt. She’d felt he’d meant to propose a couple of times before, but something always stopped him. Of course she could always propose herself, but somehow it wasn’t quite the same. For all her fierce independence and ranting about women’s lib, she wanted a bit of fairytale romance in her life. Not that she’d ever admit that to Carlos, or even to Gayle. They’d laugh their arses off. Grinning at the image of herself as a feminist Cinderella, she slowly moved through the queue.
******
Sean shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to look at the families and couples saying tender or tense goodbyes. It shouldn’t bother him,. He was used to travelling alone; used to being alone. No, that was a lie. He never got used to it. It never got easier, the being alone, the pretending. He desperately missed having a partner in his life, someone to confide in, to love and trust. Someone who needed him. But he didn’t have that…he didn’t have anybody.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. There was Ewan, but that was a cold comfort. If he hadn’t made that promise to Isabella, he’d have washed his hands of his wayward brother-in-law long ago. He still wasn’t quite sure why he bothered. Every time Ewan’s plaintive voice rang out over the phone, informing him of the latest disaster he’d ‘walked’ into, voice slurring, and begging Sean to believe he was the innocent party in this latest disaster, Sean told himself that it was the last time.
Each time, Sean would roll his eyes and resist the urge tell Ewan to fuck off and clean his own mess up. For all his promises of change, Ewan attracted trouble like a magnet, and every time Sean would bail him out, only to have the performance repeated at a later date. Ewan was the reason for his current trip and he was bloody sick of it, but a promise was a promise, and Sean, being a Yorkshire man through and through kept his word. It didn’t stop him wanting to beat the tar out of Ewan though.
He just wanted some sort of life for himself, to live for himself. Was that so selfish of him…..so wrong? People had always looked to him for guidance, to lead them, had expected him to protect them. But Sean had never desired to be a leader, had no desire for power. He was willing to stand up to defend what he believed in, to protect those who couldn’t defend themselves but he’d rather leave the politics to others, the one’s who wanted to make those kind of choices – who to punish, who to protect, who to help…certainly not him.
He’d noticed the earlier kafuffle surrounding a few men and had heard something which resembled ‘fag’ coming from one of the men’s lips. Nice to know people could still get away with intolerant homophobia under the guise of moralising. He was glad the tall bloke had sorted things out. He would’ve hated to be chucked off the fight for having to slug the arse who’d started everything. He’d quietly noticed the man, obviously someone had a rod up his arse about something, add to that he was jumpy, and seemed to be a complete control freak. These intuitions sent off warning bells. Sean had made a note not to end up next to him on the flight, yes definitely someone to avoid at all costs.
Most people would’ve also avoided the tall guy who broke up the fight, or the big dark guy who’d been stopped at the airport at least twice, but Sean knew people. He’d spent enough time travelling to know people and his gut gave him a vibe about them. He’d lay his money on the guy in the baseball cap, not the homophobe. He’d back up the man who was good at blending into the shadows, because if his experience had taught him anything, he was the one to watch and if anything happened on the pent flight, it would be him Sean would look to…although whether for protection or to blame, Sean couldn’t honestly say.
There were those that thrived on being ‘alphas’, enjoyed the thrill of being in control of all their surroundings, of other’s lives. He’d once been like that. He desired control – but not over others, that was something he’d never sought, but a control over his life. He’d believed he’d controlled his own destiny, but then after Isabelle and Molly….God it still hurt just to think her name. He’d given up any pretence of control. Unconsciously, he fiddled with the pendant buried beneath his shirt, caressing it gently, blinking away the tears that welled up in his eyes.
If he’d had control, he’d be able to help keep Ewan out of trouble. He’d still have his wife and daughter alive, but none of those things had worked out. Yes, leave the control to others, or those that thought they still had it, anyway.
Shaking himself from his unusually morbid thoughts he wondered where they had come from. He shouldn’t dwell on the past. It wasn’t good or healthy, and certainly not helpful. The past was just that, and all the wishing and hoping wouldn’t alter things. And in truth he still had a lot to be grateful for, despite his losses in life and his trials with Ewan. Ewan was, in part, the reason Sean had carried on, when it would have been so tempting to just give up. It was Ewan’s desperate need for someone to look out for him that had pulled Sean out of his grief. As he had immersed himself in Ewan’s care, it had given him something, an excuse not to give up.
And truth be known, underneath everything else, the kid had a good heart. He had tried so hard to help Sean after Bella’s death, giving him hope that things would get better, that Sean felt indebted to him. Sean sometimes forgot that Bella had practically brought up her brother, that she’d been the closest thing to a mother that Ewan had had. Growing up in foster care hadn’t exactly made their childhood easy. They only had each other to rely on, which was why Bella had always stood by him, and was why Sean still stood by him.
Ewan had it rough, rougher than most, and when free of booze, drugs and his various demons, he gave Sean hope that Ewan could make something of himself. It was for those rare moments of clarity that Sean still bothered, because underneath it all, he was family, and he cared about Ewan in his own exasperated way. They depended on each other. And one thing he’d learned was you didn’t abandon those you loved. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice the beautiful brunette sitting next to him, or the gruesome photos she was casually flicking through.
****
Unmindful of the blond man sitting next to her, Liv scribbled down some notes on the A4 pad, looking over the photos she’d been given only two days ago. It wasn’t a pretty sight and normally she wouldn’t have been looking at these in public, but the time scale she’d been given didn’t give the luxury of privacy, despite the gruesome nature of the photographs. So accustomed to the graphic nature of the leavings of one of man kinds baser traits, she didn’t even flinch as she looked carefully over each photo, examining the angles of the injuries, making notes of the abrasions, and cuts marring the man’s face. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before, and was almost clean in comparison.
Whoever had done this was good, no doubt a professional. He’d been quick as well, although she wagered part of the speed was a desire to get the job over with. This wasn’t a serial killer, or a person making a statement. No, whoever had done this to Francoise Milburn didn’t know the man, she would bet her pension on that. There was nothing personal about his death, no intimacy, no signature left by his killer. It had been quick, cold and dispassionate. The work of a professional. A hit man.
She thought about Bernard Hill’s repeated attempts at interviewing Milburn’s daughter after the attack, but the poor child had been so terrified that she’d practically descended into catatonia and not even Bernard with thirty-five years of psychiatrist expertise could get the child to open up. She could still remember Bernie’s deeply saddened expression as he comforted the child, sobbing in his arms. He’d asked himself what sort of person killed in front of a child.
Her heart went out to the poor child, to see her own father murdered before her eyes…she wondered at the gall of the killer. Whoever had done this had truly been desperate, or was getting sloppy. She wondered why the child had been left alive; that in itself was unusual. She’d had a couple of cases involving professional killers before and they weren’t partial to leaving behind witnesses, regardless of age. She could still remember the case of a triple homicide of a mother and her two children, aged three and seven. The flashbacks to the bodies she’d had to see and the photographs she had to study, still haunted her to this day. That had been the work of a depraved man and she didn’t know to this day how Ed Harris had escaped arrest. Of course his involvement had only been speculated at, but she’d know his butchery anywhere.
But this guy was clearly different. He was quick and clever. But why would a trained killer leave an eight-year old girl alive, someone who could testify. Perhaps he’d been a rookie and panicke. No, this was skilled ‘work’. It was obvious Milburn hadn’t suffered much, a few quick, methodical punches, designed to leave the maximum of bruising with the minimum of effort, then a quick shot the base of the neck. It was a relatively quick and painless way to go. This hadn’t been about revenge, at least not on the killer’s part. It had been a job, pure and simple, no emotional attachment to this, just a message left for someone.
‘Who was the message for? And why leave the child alive?’ the question drummed around in her brain but she could find no answer.
She wished desperately Joaquin were here. She missed him so much at times likes these. Just his presence reassured her and made her feel stronger. She drew strength from her cousin. People often said they seemed more like siblings, and had, on several occasions, been mistaken for lovers, which always made Joaquin snigger uncontrollably. He didn’t give a damn what people assumed about his and Liv’s relationship; something which Liv wholeheartedly embraced too. Why should people care what they were to each other? They loved each other and that was all that mattered. She could still remember his comforting words, his soothing touch, as he’d stroked her bruised face in the aftermath of her latest break up. As always, he’d been her rock as she’d uncontrollably sobbed into his shoulder, the cool, professional façade crumbling finally crumbling. It didn’t matter if she was weak around Joaquin. He never pushed her, tried to ‘improve’ or lecture her. Never abused her. She’d felt his arms tighten around her, comforted by his hand stroked her hair.
She hadn’t needed to see his face to know that every inch of it would be lined with dark fury. She knew if she’d seen it she would’ve shuddered. Despite his short stature, Joaquin could be truly intimidating when he wanted to and it frightened her to think he could hurt someone for her.
At times she worried that one day he would find one of her ex-lovers and kill them; that she’d pull back the sheet in the morgue to discover one of her ex-lovers on the slab. She also knew, if she searched her heart, she wouldn’t be sorry for their deaths if they did come about. She would only be sorry if it had been Joaquin who was the one who had killed them, because he would have done it for her.
It was funny how she could deal with death each day. She’d witnessed some horrific scenes, had seen the human nature at its worst. She had seen how vicious people could sink in the throes of jealousy, hatred….. even passion, but she still couldn’t pick out those faults in the living. Out of all her lovers, it was only Alicia - her only female lover…who’d won Joaquin’s approval and love, and even then she’d still broken Liv’s heart.
She didn’t regret a second of their relationship though. She carried their love treasured forever in her heart. Perhaps if Alicia hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have had this string of disastrous relationships. It was almost as if she was punishing herself for being alive, for not dying when her beautiful Alicia did. Joaquin said Alicia wouldn’t want her mourning the rest of her life, and he was right. She wouldn’t. She could still remember at the hospital, Alicia begging her, tears in her eyes to carry on living, to find someone else to love.
So why did she feel so fucking guilty. As a coroner she dealt with death every day. If nothing else could make her realise the fragility of life, that should. No one ever knew what lay ahead in life or when their time was up.
Pushing her thoughts away, she glanced up as the speaker announced the boarding of her plane. The blond man was already up and heading to the boarding gate. Sighing, Liv grabbed the file and made her way towards the plane. She just hoped the Coronial Enquiry wouldn’t last too long and the Millburn’s could bury the murdered man and they could, hopefully, begin to put their lives back together without Francoise. Putting their lives back together…God knows that was something she needed to do.
Not looking where she was going, she collided with a slim brunette man, who apologised profusely as he helped pick up the scattered photos. His eyes widened almost comically at the grim images he was presented with, and then he seemed to recover from his shock, handing back the photos, a small smile on his face which seemed to make his eyes instantly lighten up.
“Interesting line of work you’re in” he grinned. “I’m Orlando, by the way,” he offered after a brief pause. Liv found herself smiling back as he offered his hand in greeting, as they began to board the plane.
Yes, it appeared nothing in life was certain.
TBC…
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): VigOrli, Orlando/Colin, Dominic/Elijah, Keira/Marton Csoakes. Others may appear later
Warnings: attempted rape, violence, torture scenes, angst. Special warnings will be give with chapters when needed.
Summary: Paradise regained? Try again.
Note: This is a RPS version of "Lost" and a plot bunny that wouldn't let go.
Feedback: It doesn't matter which one of us you send it to, and get bit we get is greatly appreicated!
N.B. If anyone's interested there is a character list & pictures for Adrift which can be found at my joural (imogen_lily). This link will take you there: http://imogen-lily.livejournal.com/32332.html
who were obviously more than just friends, and the caught words of their conversation, auguring quietly beside her, but the brief signing caught her eye. Both men could obviously speak, why they’d revert to sign language baffled her. She’d seen them in a scuffle a few minutes earlier and decided not to intervene. The tall, dark man looked as if he’d quieted everything down on his own, seemed he was good at intimidation.
She wasn’t sure what he’d said to Armani but he’d backed off, and she was willing to bet that the Irishman would have been happy to cause quite a scene, or pound the shit out of the guy. Personally she couldn’t see what the two men had done to offend Armani, how he’d noticed them squeezing hands and exchanging kisses when he was busy thundering orders down a phone and flicking imaginary lint off his suit baffled her. Right now she had bigger problems that pondering about gay men’s love lives or other people’s pointless objections to it.
Tentatively Eva put the phone back to her ear. Her mother hadn’t even drawn breath between her lecturers. How predictable.
“Oui mère, je suis toujours ici. Oui j'écoute. aucun je ne l'ai pas contacté en arrière pourtant... La conjecture bonne ce que, je suis *pas* vous, je ne le veux pas n'importe où près de moi, Gerard et j'est histoire, je ne s'inquiète pas quel papa le would've a indiqué... waune je suis désolés que je sois un embarras si foutu. Je ne m'inquiète pas... vous sais ce qui, l'oublient juste. Si vous voulez toujours une fille appelez-moi à Berlin”
Slamming the phone shut she let out a couple of deep breaths. Getting agitated wasn’t going to help. She’d never got along with her mother and, frankly, Marianne Green wasn’t an easy woman to get along with, not that anyone besides her daughter would admit that to her face. Behind her back though, it was a very different matter. Why her mother couldn’t stop pressuring her to back Gerard?
The fact that he was the second cousin of Marquis Dominique de Villiepin, who just happened to be the prime minister, was, of course, of no relevance. Her mother was nothing if not socially orientated and never forgot to remind her daughter of her ‘pedigree’ at every opportunity, it made her feel like a pure-bred dog. To think she’d actually been nervous when she introduced Gerard to her mother!
To her utter surprise he’d managed to completely charm Marianne; something which had impressed Eva at the time since the majority of her other boyfriends (which had been few and far between) had been systematically chewed up and spat out for not meeting Marianne’s imposing standards, i.e. they didn’t come with the title ‘Sir’ or ‘Viscount’. It had always been the same… ‘You’re great Eva, but your mother….’
Gerard had been different, in many ways. He wasn’t the rebel or the human rights protestor she was usually attracted to. He was smooth, charming and had a bank account that rivalled her and her mother’s combined trust funds. Not an easy task. He was also difficult to intimidate and had laughed at Eva’s nervousness over introducing her to Marianne, calling her a ‘silly little girl’. It wasn’t until later she realized how patronising he was being.
By the end of the afternoon, Gerard and her mother had Eva’s entire future planned out, down to how many kids, and what universities they would go to and it had only gotten worse. Between them, Gerard and Marianne had taken over her life, and when she objected she’d been subjected to her mother bemoaning and Gerard’s harsh reprimands. After all they were only trying to help… didn’t they deserve some gratitude? She wasn’t sure why she’d stuck with Gerard so long, maybe because it was easier than being on her own….it kept her mother’s harassment to a minimum…. but after that afternoon, there was no way she was going back to him, no matter what her mother, or Gerard demanded.
If her mother was so hot on Gerard, she should marry him. Why should she care about her only child’s happiness when connections were at stake? She sometimes wondered if, when Papa died, he didn’t take the last vestige of her mother’s sanity with him. Her mother had already been nearly impossible to live with before his death.
Resisting the ease her nerve with nicotine, she bit her nails for a moment. Right now she just wanted to get to Australia and finish this ridiculous charade of ‘international relations’, although she must admit, Saffan Erikkson was a pleasant, congenial man, and they were rare in her business. She’d worked with him twice before and both times had been the best work she’d done, at least in her opinion. There was no one who could get inside and twist international politics like Erikkson. If he wasn’t a happily married man with three of *the* most adorable children, she’d have made moves on him herself, but she could never bring herself to condone infidelity. Besides she had too much respect for Saffan to ever attempt it.
Of course, Erikkson’s views on civil liberties were considered rather radical and had certainly ruffled a few feathers among the senior members; something which she found endlessly amusing. Erikkson was treading on very thin ice with his mandates and he knew that. She’d gotten the feeling after talking to his aide that something was wrong and could only presume he’d been threatened at one point. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time. She could still remember one minister having a narrow escape from a car bomb in 1997. It was imprinted on her mind. What kind of people killed to send a message?
~*~*~*~*~
Miranda pushed her hair back from her face and pressed her hand to her throbbing temple. The cacophony of the address system, the voices of the people milling around her, the bright lights in the terminal and the screaming of the planes as they took off and landed all compounded the headache that was driving silver spikes into her brain. The argument between the two men and an up-tight creep in an Armani suit drove the spikes in further and she was grateful when the big dark haired man stopped the ruckus. Closing her eyes Miranda sighed, longing for the quiet of the airplane so she could relax.
Her other hand was gently stroking the back of her tired and cranky daughter, Daisy, who was half-sitting, half-laying in the seat beside her. Daisy was whiny, tired and irritable, wanting to sleep, but unable too. The seat was too small and too uncomfortable. Every time the little girl closed her eyes, the noises of the airport dragged her back from the edge of slumber. She just wanted to be at home, in her own bed, in her own house, in her own country. She missed her room, she missed her bike. She missed her friends, and she missed her dog, Rusty. She missed her daddy.
"Mummy!" Daisy whined loudly, the sound driving the silver spikes further into Miranda's head. "I have to go to the toilet…..I want to wee, and I'm thirsty, I want a drink!"
"Daisy, please," Miranda said tiredly, trying to be patient with her only child, but failing. "You went to the toilet ten minutes ago, so you can’t possibly want to wee. You had a drink half an hour ago, You can't be thirsty. The plane will be boarding soon and you can have a drink on the plane."
"I do want to go to the toilet!” Daisy said mutinously, her voice rising. "And I DO want a drink. I want a drink NOW, not on the plane and....."
"Daisy, I said no! Now stop it. I've got a bloody awful headache and your whining is making it worse. Just knock it off!” Miranda said sternly; then sighed, guilt washing over her.
She shouldn't take her exhaustion out on Daisy. She wasn't even seven yet and she had been dragged all over creation in the last two months. The poor kid had been through so much, travelled so far, had lost so much, and none of it was Daisy's fault. It was her fault. Hers and Frank’s.
She still couldn't believe she had been so stupid, so naïve. David, then Karl, had tried to warn her and she hadn’t listened. She had been so in love with Frank and had become so caught up with the money, the lifestyle and the gifts that Frank lavished on her and Daisy; that she couldn’t see straight. She should have realised that Frank wasn't an ordinary businessman. All the mysterious phone calls in the middle of the night, all the shady looking people who came calling at odd hours, should have warned her.
But she had been deliberately obtuse, not wanting to believe the inner voice that told her Frank was up to no good. It had taken the death of a close friend to finally make her sit up and see what was going on in her life...in her home. And when the blinders were finally taken off, the truth about her husband nearly choked her.
So she had done the only thing she could think of. She had taken Daisy and fled.
Pushing the guilt aside she would cope with that when she and Daisy were safe. Miranda turned in her seat and cringed inwardly at her daughter's sagging form. Daisy's eyes were filled with tears and her lower lip quivered. Her head drooped. The long curly hair, red like her father's, hid her face from Miranda. A small sob, muffled by the hair, made Miranda feel even more guilty.
"Please don't cry, Chuckilious. I'm sorry. Everything will be all right. Just be good for a little while longer and then it will all be all right, I promise, " she said, softening her tone and using her daughter’s old nickname, placing a small kiss on the bright curls. Daisy smiled slightly at the name It meant her mummy wasn’t really mad with her after all.
"I'm sorry too, mummy. I didn't mean to make your headache worserer. I didn't mean to be naughty. I'll be good. I promise." she said, a sob in her voice. "I'm very sorry mummy"
Miranda sighed and hugged her daughter closer and gently stroked her hair. She opened her mouth to reassure the tired, miserable little girl, but the announcement over the address system stopped the words. At last, their flight was boarding. This time Daisy and she were going to disappear for good and Frank could look as much as he wanted. He would never find them again.
***********
Kate impatiently flicked through the magazine, not really reading it. Every couple of minutes she'd glance at the entrance to the waiting area for international passengers. So far so good. Lifting her head, she noticed the good looking man opposite her give her the once over. Smiling slightly at him, Kate returned her attention to the magazine He looked okay, and if his hand-made Armani suit and Vershai loafers was any indication, he was pretty well off, but he could forget it. She just wasn’t interested, no matter how good looking the guy was.
She glanced at the leather Gucci carry-on at her feet, the long strap wound tightly around her arm, and gave a satisfied smile. Treat her like that, would they? Pass her over for Partnership. Well, fuck them! They thought they could use her and discard her! Well, if that was what they thought, they would soon be thinking again.. She stewed inwardly as she replayed the Chairman's last words to her as he got up from the bed he had just fucked her on, and pulled up his pants.
"Katie, sweetheart, you really didn't think I was going to recommend you for Partnership to the Board, did you? I mean, you’re good at your job, you make a great Head of Department, but Partner.....No baby, no way. You're great in the sack, and you can suck a man's brains out though his cock, but no. And don’t just take my word for it. You see Katie, we know what you’re up to. You think you can use that hot little body of yours to get a Partnership, but fucking the Chairman’s brains out is not the way to achieve it. And if you’re thinking about using one of the other Partners to put you up, then go ahead and try it, but there is no way that you will ever make Partner."
That had annoyed her. In fact it had royally pissed her off. How dare he! He had just spent the last hour fucking her, and she'd had to employ all her skills to get him off, and then the ungrateful bastard puts her down!. So what if she had used her body and her carefully cultivated 'talents' in bed to get what she wanted, to work her way up the corporate ladder? With each new position, she had used her brains to keep it, until she could use her body to go a step higher. And just as it seemed she had reached the pinnacle of her desires, that fat asshole, with his sagging gut and miniscule cock, had pulled the rug out from under her.
She had been livid when the Chairman had told her she would never get her ultimate dream, but what had galled Kate the most was the pat on the head as he'd walked past her on the way out. The condescending prick….and his calm assurance that he'd see her the same time next Thursday- just like she was a dog waiting for her master to spare her some time.
That was when Kate had made her decision. She would execute her back up plan. If they thought they could do that to her, after she had let them get their greasy rocks off, after letting them paw and pant and fuck her through the mattress, then they were even more stupid then she had thought. Kate glanced at the bag at her feet again and smiled, then glanced at the gate to the departure lounge.
Mind you, it had been touch and go whether or not she would make it to the airport. She had almost underestimated her bosses, but thankfully she had gotten out just in time. Kate looked up as the announcement for boarding came over the address system. Grabbing her bag and the carry-on, Kate got up and walked over to the line waiting to board. She looked at her watch again. The police would just about be at her apartment by now, but surprise, surprise, she wouldn't be there. Think they could fuck her and then fuck her over! Well, she was having the last laugh, to the tune of twenty million dollars and a shitload of dirty laundry, which she would have no hesitation at all in using
Kate grinned mirthlessly as she moved forward ......Fuck 'em, fuck 'em all
***********
Gabe clung onto the hand of the man next to him and looked around. The man, Mr. Harkness, was a kind man and was taking time from a busy schedule to see him onto the plane. Gabe supposed, as executer of ‘The Will’, it was Mr. Harkness’ job. He was talking to the flight attendant who was going to look after Gabe on the plane. The boy sighed and held onto his backpack tighter, and looked around the terminal.
He spotted a little girl, about his age, standing in line waiting to go on board. She was holding her mummy's hand, and a raggedy stuffed dog was clutched to her chest. Gabe gave a half-hearted smile as the little girl looked at him. She was pretty and he liked the colour of her hair. Her mother tugged on the girl's arm and they moved forward, the movement breaking their eye contact..
Gabe sighed again and felt tears prick the backs of his eyes. He furiously blinked them back. He wouldn't cry. Mr Harkness said he shouldn't. He was a big boy, and big boys didn't cry. Especially not at airports and most especially when they were starting a new life. Big boys did not cry....at all.
But Gabe didn't feel like a big boy. He felt like a nearly seven-year old boy whose mum, dad and twin brother had been killed in a car accident, the same car accident that he had survived.
"No, he isn’t retarded in any way, and he can hear perfectly well, and he can speak, but the trauma of the accident and the d.e.a.t.h of his family has made him mute," Mr. Harkness said to the attendant. "The doctors all say its psychosomatic. He can talk, he just won't. The shock of his twin brother being k.i.l.l.e.d along with his mother and fater and all that. Anyway, we are hoping that he will grow out of it soon. He is going to have therapy when he gets to his new home."
Gabe sighed once more. Why do adults always spell out the words they think are going to upset you, or that they don't want you to hea? It's not like he couldn't spell. The car accident hadn't made him suddenly stupid, or retarded or anything. He just couldn’t talk The attendant looked at Gabe with *that* look, the one that said, 'oh you poor little thing' and Gabe quickly looked away. He hated that look, hated people feeling sorry for him, hated that he couldn't yell at them and tell them to stop looking at him like that. Gabe sighed again and looked up as he felt a tug on his arm. Mr. Harkness was handing him over to the attendant for the flight.
"Well, goodbye Gabriel, Mr. Harkness said, awkwardly leaning down to embrace the stiff, silent little boy. He paused for a moment and patted Gabe on the shoulder, seemingly lost how to handle the situation. "Have a good trip. Your guardian will meet you at the airport. Don't worry too much Gabe. Everything will be all right."
With a final pat on the back, Mr Harkness left, not even looking back at the broken hearted little boy who had been in his charge for the past six weeks.
The flight attendant, Wendy, gently pulled Gabe along next to her. He would be the last to board, sitting in a row of seats all on his own, near the flight attendants station, so she could keep an eye on him. Fancy losing all your family in one swoop and then not being able to talk on top of that. Well, she would take care of him until the plane landed, he could do with a bit of mothering by the look of him....the poor little man.
He saw the little girl just going on board with her mummy. Gabe hoped that the little girl would be able to come and talk to him on the flight, otherwise he would be very lonely. He didn't like Wendy too much. She had already patted him on the head four times, talking to him like he was dumb instead of just mute. A flash of bright curls and the little girl was gone, and Gabe felt alone once more. Tears gathered in his eyes as he wished once again that he had died in the car accident with his mum, his dad and his twin brother, Nicky. He wished for anything to take any the pain eating at him
Gabe closed his eyes and wished he was dead.
************
Christopher nodded to the young woman with the small girl standing in front of him the line. He smiled as the little girl yawned and looked around. She stopped, her attention caught by something. Christopher followed her line of sight and spied a small boy being handed over to a flight attendant. The boy gave the little girl a half-hearted smile, both of them staring at each other for a few minutes, then looked disappointed as the girl was pulled forward, breaking their eye contact.
Christopher turned as he felt a sharp dig in his back. A pair of odd coloured eyes, one brown, one blue, gave him the once over and dismissed him as unworthy of attention. Christopher frowned, as no apology for digging him in the back was forthcoming. He looked her over again, and smiled inwardly, as her disinterested gaze past over him once more. Taking an appraising look, Christopher classified her as an avaricious, cold hearted bitch; a woman who would stop at nothing to get what she wanted, a born courtesan who would stick a knife in your back while she was opening her legs...in fact, she reminded him of wife number three.
Christopher turned his attention to the other people in the line in front of him. He was a watcher, a observer of human nature. He had been all his life. He preferred to observe people rather than interact with them. His only weakness was the female of the species. He could never resist a beautiful woman, no matter how rotten she was inside. That was why he had been married five times, and each time it had ended badly. Shaking his head to rid himself of his sense of failure, he concentrated on the people around him.
There was a beautiful young man with eyes that could melt ice. An older man who had the look of a coiled snake, dangerous if attacked. There was a young couple that looked like brother and sister, obviously bickering with each other. Another man who looked like...a policeman....? Yes, a policeman of some sort. The young woman in front of him caught his attention. She looked ....afraid. She certainly looked like she was under a lot of pressure, and if he was any judge, she had been stressed and afraid for a while now. She looked like she was on her last reserves. Christopher wondered if she was on the run.....not from the law, he was sure of that, but from a husband perhaps...or a boyfriend. The little girl with her, obviously her daughter, she had the same fine features as the woman and she looked tired and cranky. Poor child. Airports weren’t the best places for children. Not that he objected to their presence, quite the contrary, but it couldn’t be fun for them to have to wait for hours like this.
The line shuffled forward, and Christopher withdrew his attention from the passengers around him. It was only a ploy to stop him thinking about what lay on the other side of the flight, something he was really not looking forward to.
***********
Christopher was so busy ruminating on his current dilemma, he missed the woman to his right that could have easily given the cold blond a run for her money.
Rosario tapped her foot impatiently. Airports, along with dentists, were her least favourite places. She could always guarantee she’d get a couple of guys giving her long looks, trying to remember where they’d seen her, beginning to drool, and sometimes smirk as the memory clicked, at least until their wives shot Rosario a hateful glance and pushed their husbands forward, that was. Actually, she preferred the dentist come to think of it.
The flight had already been delayed twice and she’d had to ring Carlos, letting him know that they’d be lucky to be setting off by 2.00 at this rate, due in no small part to the guy security had held back a while earlier. Naturally being from the East, he’d been checked three times while the other passengers hovered nervously near by. It really made her sick. If they really thought that a man who she’d bet $1000 sobbed uncontrollably every time he saw Bambi was dangerous, they were nuts. One look at the man should convince anyone that despite the size and build of the man, he was as soft as they came. Besides, if they’d actually listened to the guy speak they would’ve heard a Kiwi accent, hardly where terrorists were made was it? Of course, basic facts like that didn’t matter right now. People wanted to feel safe and any pathetic show of protection would be clung to for dear life.
It wasn’t as if she particularly minded people touching her. It came with the job after all, and in her line of work, porn stars didn’t have a whole lot of inhibitions left, however she didn’t appreciate people using their power to over-step their bounds, invade other’s body space, just because they could. That was why she’d been pretty pissed off with one of the more dopey security guards who’d tried to cop a feel of her, under the guise of 'security'. It was the same every time, someone always found some excuse to stop her. Right now it appeared a more through check of her luggage was needed, because of course she could be hiding an Uzi in her 2 inch purse.
She didn’t see how she’d manage to hide any weapons or anything up her ass, but apparently it was possible, at least if Mr Trigger Happy security guard explained, face devoid of any expression. She was just glad she didn’t have to deal with him on an everyday basis. He looked as if one smile would crack his face. She got the feeling he was a little too eager to use his gun even before such an occasion arose. The queue moved forward at a minuscule pace. She unconsciously tapped her foot again.
Her temper hadn’t improved when that horrible blond had shoved past her, a revoltingly high heeled boot stepping on her foot, but the Blondie-bird hadn’t even stopped to apologise….probably hadn’t even noticed stepping on her. Add to that the guy in the designer suit ranting about something on his phone- no wonder it was all giving her a headache. Taking a glance around her, she noticed a couple of kids, well not really kids but young people. God that made her feel old, surely twenty-ish people weren’t ‘young’. She wasn’t even thirty herself yet. OK she was only a year away, but still… She gazed at the two, slumped in seats, they appeared to be related by their looks and their constant surreptitious shoving and poking of each other, but neither actually talking.
She grinned when the girl, a scowl on her face as she firmly swatted the man over the head before stalking off, mobile phone clutched to her hand, muttering darkly under her breath. The man looked as he was used to her behaviour, rubbed his head and went back to his music. Rosario almost chuckled at that. She seemed like her kind of girl. She suddenly found herself missing Gayle and realised she hadn’t seen her sister since New Year. How had she let that happen? She and Gayle had always been so close. They still were, but it wasn’t the same being on different sides of the world. Funny how time slipped by when no one noticed.
Her attention was momentarily distracted by a couple of men, obviously a couple saying their goodbyes. She felt her heart clench as she thought of Carlos. God she missed him. She’d been secretly hoping his rather sudden desire to see her was to do with their future. She’d been with him for six years and he was the man she wanted to spend her life with, of that she had no doubt. She’d felt he’d meant to propose a couple of times before, but something always stopped him. Of course she could always propose herself, but somehow it wasn’t quite the same. For all her fierce independence and ranting about women’s lib, she wanted a bit of fairytale romance in her life. Not that she’d ever admit that to Carlos, or even to Gayle. They’d laugh their arses off. Grinning at the image of herself as a feminist Cinderella, she slowly moved through the queue.
******
Sean shoved his hands in his pockets, trying not to look at the families and couples saying tender or tense goodbyes. It shouldn’t bother him,. He was used to travelling alone; used to being alone. No, that was a lie. He never got used to it. It never got easier, the being alone, the pretending. He desperately missed having a partner in his life, someone to confide in, to love and trust. Someone who needed him. But he didn’t have that…he didn’t have anybody.
Well, that wasn’t strictly true. There was Ewan, but that was a cold comfort. If he hadn’t made that promise to Isabella, he’d have washed his hands of his wayward brother-in-law long ago. He still wasn’t quite sure why he bothered. Every time Ewan’s plaintive voice rang out over the phone, informing him of the latest disaster he’d ‘walked’ into, voice slurring, and begging Sean to believe he was the innocent party in this latest disaster, Sean told himself that it was the last time.
Each time, Sean would roll his eyes and resist the urge tell Ewan to fuck off and clean his own mess up. For all his promises of change, Ewan attracted trouble like a magnet, and every time Sean would bail him out, only to have the performance repeated at a later date. Ewan was the reason for his current trip and he was bloody sick of it, but a promise was a promise, and Sean, being a Yorkshire man through and through kept his word. It didn’t stop him wanting to beat the tar out of Ewan though.
He just wanted some sort of life for himself, to live for himself. Was that so selfish of him…..so wrong? People had always looked to him for guidance, to lead them, had expected him to protect them. But Sean had never desired to be a leader, had no desire for power. He was willing to stand up to defend what he believed in, to protect those who couldn’t defend themselves but he’d rather leave the politics to others, the one’s who wanted to make those kind of choices – who to punish, who to protect, who to help…certainly not him.
He’d noticed the earlier kafuffle surrounding a few men and had heard something which resembled ‘fag’ coming from one of the men’s lips. Nice to know people could still get away with intolerant homophobia under the guise of moralising. He was glad the tall bloke had sorted things out. He would’ve hated to be chucked off the fight for having to slug the arse who’d started everything. He’d quietly noticed the man, obviously someone had a rod up his arse about something, add to that he was jumpy, and seemed to be a complete control freak. These intuitions sent off warning bells. Sean had made a note not to end up next to him on the flight, yes definitely someone to avoid at all costs.
Most people would’ve also avoided the tall guy who broke up the fight, or the big dark guy who’d been stopped at the airport at least twice, but Sean knew people. He’d spent enough time travelling to know people and his gut gave him a vibe about them. He’d lay his money on the guy in the baseball cap, not the homophobe. He’d back up the man who was good at blending into the shadows, because if his experience had taught him anything, he was the one to watch and if anything happened on the pent flight, it would be him Sean would look to…although whether for protection or to blame, Sean couldn’t honestly say.
There were those that thrived on being ‘alphas’, enjoyed the thrill of being in control of all their surroundings, of other’s lives. He’d once been like that. He desired control – but not over others, that was something he’d never sought, but a control over his life. He’d believed he’d controlled his own destiny, but then after Isabelle and Molly….God it still hurt just to think her name. He’d given up any pretence of control. Unconsciously, he fiddled with the pendant buried beneath his shirt, caressing it gently, blinking away the tears that welled up in his eyes.
If he’d had control, he’d be able to help keep Ewan out of trouble. He’d still have his wife and daughter alive, but none of those things had worked out. Yes, leave the control to others, or those that thought they still had it, anyway.
Shaking himself from his unusually morbid thoughts he wondered where they had come from. He shouldn’t dwell on the past. It wasn’t good or healthy, and certainly not helpful. The past was just that, and all the wishing and hoping wouldn’t alter things. And in truth he still had a lot to be grateful for, despite his losses in life and his trials with Ewan. Ewan was, in part, the reason Sean had carried on, when it would have been so tempting to just give up. It was Ewan’s desperate need for someone to look out for him that had pulled Sean out of his grief. As he had immersed himself in Ewan’s care, it had given him something, an excuse not to give up.
And truth be known, underneath everything else, the kid had a good heart. He had tried so hard to help Sean after Bella’s death, giving him hope that things would get better, that Sean felt indebted to him. Sean sometimes forgot that Bella had practically brought up her brother, that she’d been the closest thing to a mother that Ewan had had. Growing up in foster care hadn’t exactly made their childhood easy. They only had each other to rely on, which was why Bella had always stood by him, and was why Sean still stood by him.
Ewan had it rough, rougher than most, and when free of booze, drugs and his various demons, he gave Sean hope that Ewan could make something of himself. It was for those rare moments of clarity that Sean still bothered, because underneath it all, he was family, and he cared about Ewan in his own exasperated way. They depended on each other. And one thing he’d learned was you didn’t abandon those you loved. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t even notice the beautiful brunette sitting next to him, or the gruesome photos she was casually flicking through.
****
Unmindful of the blond man sitting next to her, Liv scribbled down some notes on the A4 pad, looking over the photos she’d been given only two days ago. It wasn’t a pretty sight and normally she wouldn’t have been looking at these in public, but the time scale she’d been given didn’t give the luxury of privacy, despite the gruesome nature of the photographs. So accustomed to the graphic nature of the leavings of one of man kinds baser traits, she didn’t even flinch as she looked carefully over each photo, examining the angles of the injuries, making notes of the abrasions, and cuts marring the man’s face. It was nothing she hadn’t seen before, and was almost clean in comparison.
Whoever had done this was good, no doubt a professional. He’d been quick as well, although she wagered part of the speed was a desire to get the job over with. This wasn’t a serial killer, or a person making a statement. No, whoever had done this to Francoise Milburn didn’t know the man, she would bet her pension on that. There was nothing personal about his death, no intimacy, no signature left by his killer. It had been quick, cold and dispassionate. The work of a professional. A hit man.
She thought about Bernard Hill’s repeated attempts at interviewing Milburn’s daughter after the attack, but the poor child had been so terrified that she’d practically descended into catatonia and not even Bernard with thirty-five years of psychiatrist expertise could get the child to open up. She could still remember Bernie’s deeply saddened expression as he comforted the child, sobbing in his arms. He’d asked himself what sort of person killed in front of a child.
Her heart went out to the poor child, to see her own father murdered before her eyes…she wondered at the gall of the killer. Whoever had done this had truly been desperate, or was getting sloppy. She wondered why the child had been left alive; that in itself was unusual. She’d had a couple of cases involving professional killers before and they weren’t partial to leaving behind witnesses, regardless of age. She could still remember the case of a triple homicide of a mother and her two children, aged three and seven. The flashbacks to the bodies she’d had to see and the photographs she had to study, still haunted her to this day. That had been the work of a depraved man and she didn’t know to this day how Ed Harris had escaped arrest. Of course his involvement had only been speculated at, but she’d know his butchery anywhere.
But this guy was clearly different. He was quick and clever. But why would a trained killer leave an eight-year old girl alive, someone who could testify. Perhaps he’d been a rookie and panicke. No, this was skilled ‘work’. It was obvious Milburn hadn’t suffered much, a few quick, methodical punches, designed to leave the maximum of bruising with the minimum of effort, then a quick shot the base of the neck. It was a relatively quick and painless way to go. This hadn’t been about revenge, at least not on the killer’s part. It had been a job, pure and simple, no emotional attachment to this, just a message left for someone.
‘Who was the message for? And why leave the child alive?’ the question drummed around in her brain but she could find no answer.
She wished desperately Joaquin were here. She missed him so much at times likes these. Just his presence reassured her and made her feel stronger. She drew strength from her cousin. People often said they seemed more like siblings, and had, on several occasions, been mistaken for lovers, which always made Joaquin snigger uncontrollably. He didn’t give a damn what people assumed about his and Liv’s relationship; something which Liv wholeheartedly embraced too. Why should people care what they were to each other? They loved each other and that was all that mattered. She could still remember his comforting words, his soothing touch, as he’d stroked her bruised face in the aftermath of her latest break up. As always, he’d been her rock as she’d uncontrollably sobbed into his shoulder, the cool, professional façade crumbling finally crumbling. It didn’t matter if she was weak around Joaquin. He never pushed her, tried to ‘improve’ or lecture her. Never abused her. She’d felt his arms tighten around her, comforted by his hand stroked her hair.
She hadn’t needed to see his face to know that every inch of it would be lined with dark fury. She knew if she’d seen it she would’ve shuddered. Despite his short stature, Joaquin could be truly intimidating when he wanted to and it frightened her to think he could hurt someone for her.
At times she worried that one day he would find one of her ex-lovers and kill them; that she’d pull back the sheet in the morgue to discover one of her ex-lovers on the slab. She also knew, if she searched her heart, she wouldn’t be sorry for their deaths if they did come about. She would only be sorry if it had been Joaquin who was the one who had killed them, because he would have done it for her.
It was funny how she could deal with death each day. She’d witnessed some horrific scenes, had seen the human nature at its worst. She had seen how vicious people could sink in the throes of jealousy, hatred….. even passion, but she still couldn’t pick out those faults in the living. Out of all her lovers, it was only Alicia - her only female lover…who’d won Joaquin’s approval and love, and even then she’d still broken Liv’s heart.
She didn’t regret a second of their relationship though. She carried their love treasured forever in her heart. Perhaps if Alicia hadn’t died, she wouldn’t have had this string of disastrous relationships. It was almost as if she was punishing herself for being alive, for not dying when her beautiful Alicia did. Joaquin said Alicia wouldn’t want her mourning the rest of her life, and he was right. She wouldn’t. She could still remember at the hospital, Alicia begging her, tears in her eyes to carry on living, to find someone else to love.
So why did she feel so fucking guilty. As a coroner she dealt with death every day. If nothing else could make her realise the fragility of life, that should. No one ever knew what lay ahead in life or when their time was up.
Pushing her thoughts away, she glanced up as the speaker announced the boarding of her plane. The blond man was already up and heading to the boarding gate. Sighing, Liv grabbed the file and made her way towards the plane. She just hoped the Coronial Enquiry wouldn’t last too long and the Millburn’s could bury the murdered man and they could, hopefully, begin to put their lives back together without Francoise. Putting their lives back together…God knows that was something she needed to do.
Not looking where she was going, she collided with a slim brunette man, who apologised profusely as he helped pick up the scattered photos. His eyes widened almost comically at the grim images he was presented with, and then he seemed to recover from his shock, handing back the photos, a small smile on his face which seemed to make his eyes instantly lighten up.
“Interesting line of work you’re in” he grinned. “I’m Orlando, by the way,” he offered after a brief pause. Liv found herself smiling back as he offered his hand in greeting, as they began to board the plane.
Yes, it appeared nothing in life was certain.
TBC…
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Date: 2006-03-21 03:23 am (UTC)