The Midnight Dancers: A Fairy Tale Retold (36 page)

At the boat, Rachel groped in the darkness, pulled out the emergency kit, cursing her shaky hands and grabbed the flares and the matches.  Then she flipped the alarm switch on the boat to “On.”

A loud zooming alarm started echoing over the water and the land. Rachel sprang into the woods, struck a match, and lit the flares one by one and threw them in the air as they exploded. Then she ran in the opposite direction, hoping the noise hid her approach, making her way up the steep wooded slope towards the cave.

Paul heard the noise of the alarm first. He stretched his numbed fingers and relaxed them, praying. Someone had come. The others heard it next, and were startled.

“That can’t be the police,” Craig said.

“I don’t think so,” Michael got to his feet, snapping the knife closed and putting it into his pocket. “If it is, tell them I drove the clown back to the shore hours ago. You got me? He’s gone.”

He moved to the back of the cave and clicked off the light. The cave transformed from dull gray into indigo light, and after a moment, Paul saw the men, changed into dark blue shadows, slip out of the hollow one by one. But Michael stopped by Paul and pulled out a handkerchief. Methodically he folded the cloth into a triangular half and stretched it across Paul’s mouth and knotted it at the back of the head. Then he thrust most of the cloth into Paul’s mouth with two fingers.

“Even if it is the police, they’ll never find anyone down here,” Michael murmured, tightening the ends of the gag as Paul choked and worked fruitlessly with his tongue to push the wad of cloth out. “Don’t think you’re going to get out of your nice helicopter ride.” He slid into the darkness.

With an exertion, Paul made himself slow his gulping and found that he could still take in air around the gag and through his nose, although it was difficult. Now that he couldn’t breathe so easily, he found it too hard to remain firm on his feet. Unwillingly his body sank down against the ropes, which squeezed him like vises. Shuddering, he felt pain coursing through him from all different directions. He was cold, drained, and desperately thirsty. But temporarily, at least, he had a respite. Until they returned.

 Rachel crouched in the bushes as the seven men ran by her, down the slope. As she had guessed, they had come from the direction of the cave.

As soon as she was sure they had all left, she crept stealthily upwards, until she reached the massive rock that hid the cave.  She moved swiftly through the bracken around to the entrance. There was a rank smell coming from the cave—of spilled beer, sweat, and worse things. Listening at the entrance, she heard someone’s labored breathing.

“Paul,” she called in a whisper.

She felt her way around the stone and looked into the cave.

There was a pool of moonlight, cut into odd shapes by the branches of the disfigured tree. Bound to its bare trunk was a mostly naked man, his head down, his chest heaving, his arms twisted back by ropes. Catching her breath in shock and repulsion, she barely recognized her friend. 

He was far from the skilled rescuer she had last seen, and even further from the splendid flute-playing god on the rock. The laughing, joking, persistent goodness that was Paul had been stretched, scarred, and humiliated.

Her stomach violently wrenched inside her, and part of her wanted to turn and run away. But if this was real, she couldn’t leave him. As if in a nightmare, she took a step forward, her stocking feet crunching on broken glass, and stretched out a wavering hand to touch him. She felt the smooth, damp skin of his shoulder, crossed by tiny red cuts.

With a gasp for air that was almost a sigh, he lifted his head heavily, his brow crowned with shame, and the amount of pain reflected in his eyes was almost too much for her to bear.

Hurriedly, she came up to him and put her hands around his neck to undo the gag, looking up as she felt for the knots so that she wouldn’t have to look him in the face. Her fingers pulled at the tight little knot obstinately, and at last it came loose. She worked the wad of cloth out of his mouth, damp with saliva.

“Rachel, don’t stay here. Go get help,” he said huskily after he got his breath. She could feel his intense shame.

“I’m not going to leave you,” she said fiercely, licking the tears that were falling into her mouth. She ran her fingers over his face, attempting to wipe some of the sweat away. As she did so, she brushed his lips with the tips of her fingers, and trembled at the deep feelings that welled up within her.

Quickly, she groped around him, naked or not, trying to find the knots. Finding one buried in his ribs, she began to pull at it.

“They’ll come back, and find you,” he whispered, attempting to get back on his feet.

She didn’t care. A loop came out, and she quickly pulled the knot apart. She started to pull the rope from his chest, but it caught again. Following it, she found another knot, and began to worry it.

“Rachel, please go.” His voice was a rasp.

“Not without you,” she answered stolidly.

“Rachel,
please
,” Paul insisted, his voice more urgent but quieter. “I hear something.”

“I’m never leaving you again,” she whispered intensely, curling her fingers through the rock-hard knot and pulling it, softening it, coaxing it loose. He was almost free.

Paul seemed to stiffen, listening. “Rachel,” he whispered. Then, he barked a warning, “Rachel!”

Too late, she felt fingers clamping around the back of her neck and pinching tight. She flailed and blackness swarmed over her vision and she sank down into murk.

twenty-one

Paul twisted towards Michael as Rachel dropped to the floor of the  cave. The blond man was almost laughing as he released her neck.

There still was not much margin left for Paul, but he threw himself forward against the loosened ropes and hit Michael hard with his shoulder, throwing the man off balance. Twisting himself back up, Paul waited until Michael predictably struck at him. He blocked the blow with his shoulder then butted him with his head. He could feel himself coming loose from the tree, although the rope around his ankles held him back.

Then Michael darted his fists and seized two handfuls of the ropes that swung around Paul’s chest and fell back, pulling hard. With his foot to Paul’s chest, he kicked Paul backwards against the tree, aiming blows on his scar.

Winded, Paul was squeezed back against the trunk of the tree by one rope that still caught him around the stomach. He wrestled to keep fighting but Michael was out of reach now, standing just out of range and bracing himself with the ropes.

“Got you,” Michael panted, crossing the two ends of the ropes, giving them a deft twist and spreading his arms to drive the knot down against Paul’s chest. When he was sure that Paul was trapped again, he knotted the rope a second and third time and lunged forward with a powerful blow to strike him.

Paul tensed himself, but Michael paused, his hand hovering above Paul’s vocal chords. Slowly the rage in his eyes took on a new tint, and he dropped his eyes to Rachel’s body.

That was exactly what Paul had been hoping to avoid. He lunged forward at Michael again, but the blond man wasn’t interested. He lowered his hands and smiled at Paul’s struggles. “She did call the police after all, the little chit. But Craig is up there explaining to the officers how I drove you to a mainland bar for a friendly chat hours ago. Even if they do search my property, they won’t find you here—either of you.” His eyes wandered down to Rachel again.

Paul saw that the combination of the drugs and alcohol had heightened Michael’s sense of power and obscured his judgment. He tried to speak, but the words came from his dry throat like puffs of wind.

Michael merely cursed at him as he leaned over the unconscious girl and lifted up a handful of her inky dark hair. There was no response from Rachel. Paul watched miserably. He had no weapons left to stop the man, and they both knew it.

“She doesn’t mean that much to me,” Michael mused, toying with her tresses. “But even so…” He inspected the back of Rachel’s calves with a finger. “Quite a dish. Made for our pleasure, wasn’t she? Tell me, did you really love her, or did you just want to—”

He paused and looked up at Paul. “You really love her, don’t you?”

His eyes were cold. “Too bad for you.”

Rachel woozily resurfaced into consciousness, and found her cheek pressed against the gritty stone floor of the cave. Someone was behind her, talking. His smooth, steady voice made her skin crawl. Now the distinction between nice and good was chillingly clear.

“You think she came back here for you? No, she came back here because she’s hungry for what I can give her.”

It was Michael’s voice. She felt a sudden urge to vomit. He was wrong. She had no taste now for anything from him. But when she tried to push his hands away, she found that she couldn’t move. His knee was planted on her back, pinning her down.

Michael chuckled. “You know what I’m going to do now, clown? I’m going to eat her alive in front of you. And man, you are going to watch me.”

She tried to wrest herself away, but he merely laughed at her. He had a hand over her mouth, and was working a gag down her throat. Becoming aware of his other hand tracing a line from her neck slowly down her back, as though he were deciding where to start cutting her open, she tried to jerk herself away. He squeezed her neck once more, cutting off her resistance abruptly, and black bees swarmed around her head, stinging her with sharp pricks of light.