The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold (33 page)

“Is it you talking to me, Rachel?” he asked softly, “Or is it guilt? Or religion? They’ve taught you all the wrong things. You know that, Rachel.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” she murmured, trying politely to move his arm from hers. “Maybe we should go back…”

“Rachel,” he said, and his voice took on another tone. “Have you been wasting my time?”

Wasting time.
She looked up at him, and saw Paul as he sat on the swimming rock, the day he had told her the story about the toys, his eyes hard.
“A smart man doesn’t waste his time.”

Michael’s eyes were not hard, but they weren’t loving, either. There was a coolness to them, a frankness. He wanted to know.

“I hope not,” she muttered.

“Have you just been playing me?”

“No!” she objected.

“Then why are you pulling back from me now?”

“Because—” she stumbled, searching for words.

“You don’t want to pull back, not deep inside, do you?” She couldn’t move his arms. “I know you, Rachel. I see it in your eyes. You want it as much as I do.”

His tone had dropped to a whisper as he lowered his head, but she raised her voice to a slightly above normal pitch.

“No, no—I don’t—Paul—Please!”

“
What did you say
?”

“I mean, Michael,” she whispered, her face red. But Michael was clutching her arms now, searching her eyes, boring into her. He no longer looked so nice.

“I meant, Michael,” she said faintly, again, and tried to disentangle herself. But she was trapped now, she realized. She wasn’t going to move unless he wanted her to.

He seemed to make a decision, and bent over her again. “Perhaps it’s better for you if you struggle,” he whispered, and she yelped and tried fruitlessly to move away from him. Then she heard an extra beat to the music—the sound of feet softly landing on the stone near her.

“Let her go,” a measured voice said.  

Rachel’s heart leapt. Michael twisted around to see who had spoken, and then Rachel had a clear view. A masked man in black stood there, his stance defiant and ready.

“Who are you?” Michael swore.

“Let her go,” Paul’s voice came calmly through the mask.

“Daddy’s hired bodyguard?”

“I said, let her go.”

“Get off of my property.”

Paul took a step forward and put a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “Not until—”

Michael turned suddenly and threw a roundhouse punch at Paul’s face, releasing Rachel’s arms. What happened next was almost too quick for Rachel to comprehend.  

She saw Paul step to the side while neatly grabbing Michael by the arm and the back of the skull, giving him a deft twist. Having missed Paul, Michael was thrown forward by the force of his own punch and landed head over heels onto the stone pavement. From Rachel’s viewpoint, Paul had barely moved, and yet Michael was sprawled on his back, smarting.

But he leapt back on his feet with surprising quickness, his face red. “Someone thinks they’re a ninja,” Michael panted. He rose into what Rachel could recognize as a karate stance, defensive but geared up to attack.

There was a pause, and then Michael came forward, a challenging expression on his face, throwing small, rapid punches at Paul without making any contact, daring Paul to respond. Paul retreated sideways, his palms open, his fingers spread out, his eyes fixed on the center of Michael’s body. It was clear he was waiting for Michael to stop feinting and make a real attack. Rachel wondered briefly why Paul didn’t try to punch Michael back—some of Michael’s blows were coming very close.

Then abruptly Michael leapt forward, his foot darting up at Paul’s face. Apparently expecting this, Paul merely stepped backwards, blocking the kick with a quick dab of his hands. Michael continued to drive forward with incredible energy, swiftly kicking with one leg then the other, while Paul continued to bat the kicks away with his hands and forearms, his face concentrated. Michael made a half-kick at Paul’s face, then swiftly bent his knee and kicked Paul in the chest. Surprised, Paul stumbled backwards, and Rachel caught her breath.  Viciously Michael leapt forward, driving down his leg to stomp on his opponent.

But Paul let himself fall, and something else happened that Rachel almost didn’t see. The next instant, Michael was on the ground again, his other leg caught between Paul’s legs. Somehow Paul had redirected the kick and thrown him off balance again.

Paul rolled over and got to his feet neatly, but didn’t attack Michael, even though the other man was still on the ground.
Why doesn’t he get him now?
Rachel wondered intensely, still trying to regain her composure. She had retreated to a safe distance but couldn’t take her eyes off the fight. “Get him, Paul,” she whispered. 

But Paul seemed to feel he didn’t have to expend energy in attacking. He merely kept his eyes on his opponent, and seemed to be waiting for something.  

Michael got to his feet like a tiger, his eyes flashing, breathing hard. Now he drove forward with a shout, kicking, punching and swinging in a deadly rhythm. But Paul did not retreat. Instead, he stayed close to his opponent, moving around him, tossing Michael’s fast-paced punches and kicks aside as though he were juggling Michael’s limbs. It barely seemed as if he were fighting, merely playing a complicated game where Michael provided the momentum. Around and around they went, Michael screaming and throwing punches and kicks, Paul merely sidestepping and tossing away his opponent’s punches. Rachel, bewildered, had just begun to think that Paul really was playing around when suddenly the tableau froze. Paul had caught one of Michael’s punches at the wrist and elbow and had twisted his arm over.

Now he immobilized his opponent by pressing steadily down on the back of Michael’s elbow, so that Michael grunted with the sudden pain, unable to move. His face twitched, and Paul, his expression intent, began slowly to force Michael to the ground.

But just as Rachel was sure that Paul had won, Michael suddenly lurched forward, yanked his trapped elbow up and jabbed Paul in the stomach while kicking him in the leg. Paul caught his breath and fell back, stunned, and Michael was free. 

With a snarl, Michael raced forward for the kill, and Rachel cried out.

Seeing him coming, Paul rolled backwards in one of his characteristic tumbles. In a flash, he had caught one of Michael’s arms, put a foot in Michael’s ribs, and thrown his opponent over his head. Michael landed flat on his back, his roar turning abruptly into an “oof!”

Both of them were winded, but Paul got to his feet first, a little more slowly than before. Once again, he did not attack Michael, but instead leaned forward, waiting, his hands on one of his knees, trying to catch his breath.

Michael rolled over, a mixture of rage and bewilderment on his face. Seeing Paul’s unprepared stance, he seized the moment. With surprising speed, he was on his feet and closing in on Paul before Rachel understood what was happening.

But Paul was not completely caught unawares, although he had no time to block the blow. He barely ducked Michael’s punch, and spun around, his arms swinging. As he twisted past Michael, one of his arms caught the man squarely in the eye. Michael fell to the ground like a stone. 

“Oops,” she heard Paul say.

The next thing Rachel knew, Paul was leaning over Michael, turning him over and examining him.

“I wish I hadn’t done it that way,” he was saying.

Rachel recovered, ran forward and seized Paul’s arm.

“Why not?” she exclaimed.

“I think I gave him a black eye. He’s not going to like that. Not at all.”

“Who cares? He’s a jerk!” She tugged him forward. “Come on! We have to find Prisca!”

It had all been a ploy on Michael’s part, she realized. He and Brandon had planned to split up the sisters so that he could have his way with Rachel. And where were Brandon and her younger sister now?

Her heart in her mouth, she raced around the veranda, around the house, searching and calling for Prisca. But there was no answer and no sign of them.

Paul was close on her heels. “What do you want me to do?”

“I’ve got to find the others. Follow me,” she said.

She hurried back to the front, where the party had been. When she and Paul reached the living room, the music was still playing, but the buffet area was deserted. Rachel’s heart tightened in her chest. “Oh no,” she prayed. “Please no.” 

Maybe Michael’s net had been stretched out even further than she had imagined. All her sisters—and Debbie, Linette, and Melanie, so innocent —

“They could have gone into another part of the house,” Paul was saying. “There are lights on all over the place.”

“But suppose they’re split up—” Rachel was thinking rapidly. She had to get all her sisters back here immediately, so she could get them home. Her eyes fell on a white plastic disk on the ceiling. “Is that a smoke alarm?” She pointed.

“Yes,” Paul said, catching her idea.

Quickly she seized a handful of paper napkins and thrust them in the flame of the candlesticks. The napkins caught fire quickly and Paul blew some of them out to create smoke. Rachel let the rest keep burning on the buffet and waved a handful of the smoldering mass under the smoke alarm. A shrill beeping pierced the air. 

“Paul,” she said. “Go outside and as soon as my sisters start coming out, get them down to the boat as fast as you can.”

“Right,” he said, and vanished into the shrubbery.

She lit more napkins and threw them on the table, then began shrieking, “Fire! Fire! The buffet’s on fire!”

She was answered by footsteps thundering up the stairs. A door exploded open and Todd, Craig, and Tammy burst into the room.

“The napkins are on fire! The candles—!” Rachel screamed, pointing. “What can we do?”

“I’ll take care of it,” Todd said, and he and Craig began trying to douse the fire.

She looked at Tammy and said abruptly, “Where are the other girls?”

“Downstairs. We were all playing pool.”

“Where’s Prisca?”

“I don’t know—I thought she was with you.”

“Get the others and get down to the boat, quick.”

Tammy dodged downstairs past other guys who were coming up, and shouted, “Everyone upstairs! Fire!”

Rachel seized the first girl who came up—Brittany—and said in her ear. “Get down to the boat, quick, and don’t stop.” Brittany obeyed, and Rachel sent Miriam, Debbie, Liddy, Becca, Cheryl, Melanie, Linette, and Taren down after her. By now the smoke was filling the room.

“Let the guys take care of the fire! Where’s Prisca?” Rachel shouted again, coughing and dragging Tammy to the door.

Just then Prisca and Brandon hurried into the room, exclaiming. Rachel herded Prisca out the French doors, and pulled along Tammy, who seemed to want to linger.

 “But the fire—” Tammy protested as she was yanked down the steps.

“—was an excellent diversion!” Prisca exclaimed, laughing. “Good thinking Rachel!”

“Where were you?” panted Rachel, her black skirt puffing around her as they hurried.

Prisca’s laughter was almost uproarious. “In the kitchen!—Not in a bedroom—thank God! I knew what Brandon was about so I told him I was starved and asked if I could make—an omelet,” Prisca gasped. “It worked! He believed me. Luckily—they had eggs there—and I was chopping onions—and talking his ear off—when the alarm went off.”

“Very good,” Rachel breathed as they reached the portico. “Now go!”

They sprinted across the stone pavement to the quay. Paul had Debbie and Melanie by the hands and was helping them run towards the boat. The others were getting in. They had escaped from Michael’s net. They were going to make it.

Looking back, she saw several guys leaping down the steps. She thought she recognized Michael in the lead, his face a sheet of angry incredulity, and she couldn’t help smiling despite her fear.

Quickly she leapt over the other scrambling girls and into the pilot’s seat. Luckily, she had left the key in the engine. “Hurry up, everyone!” she begged. The last person, Tammy, got in.

“Untie the boat you idiot!” Miriam screamed, and Rachel, about to turn on the ignition, realized she had forgotten.

“I’ll get it,” Paul said, and jumped out of the boat to the pier where the boat was tied.

He pulled at the rope, but it wasn’t coming loose, and the pursuers were nearing the end of the steps. “Michael tied it,” Debbie cried, and Rachel’s heart chilled.   

“Start the engine!” Paul yelled, and Rachel obeyed instantly, her foot hovering over the accelerator. Paul yanked, and a loop came loose. He swiftly untangled it and unwrapped it. The first of the guys was tearing across the portico towards him. He reached for Paul, but Paul merely shrugged him aside, and the guy fell splashing into the water.

Paul tossed the rope free into the boat. “Go!” he shouted, standing up and starting to jump as Rachel hit the accelerator.

But hands seized him around the waist as he leapt forward, and caught off balance, he twisted around, and fell.

It had happened so fast that it had an air of unreality. The girls stared back, dazed, as the dock receded rapidly behind them, and Paul, back on the quay, disappeared beneath a crowd of men.

“Paul!” Debbie screamed.

Her voice was drowned in a general wail. Rachel’s vision clouded, and she felt her hands trembling on the steering wheel. Viciously she forced her mind free and pushed hard on the gas.

We have to get help,
she thought.
And fast.

But the boat was still heavy and slow, and it seemed like she was caught in a limbo of immobility, surging towards a house that never got any closer. The effect was heightened by the fact that she was surrounded by weeping and commotion, including her own.

“Quiet!” she shouted at last, and the sisters subsided. She had rounded the bend towards their house, and the quay was out of sight.

“When we get to shore,” she said, “everyone needs to run upstairs as fast as you can, and get Dad, and the police, and get them back over to the island quick.”

“We tell them everything?” Cheryl asked, the weight of this sinking in quickly.

“We tell them everything,” Rachel said, abruptly wiping her eyes. “Like we should have done before,” she said. “Prisca! Come here!” Her younger sister put her head near hers. “Make sure you tell Dad everything. Make sure he knows.”