You'll Answer To Me

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Rebecca hung her head; just the thought of her stepmother and her stomach instantly soured. The woman had been separated from her father for two years, but they weren’t divorced, and she’d never stopped hovering around their lives. Her haughty cunning was as menacing to Rebecca as her father’s wrath. Following every one of Rebecca’s legal skirmishes – the drugs, the reckless driving, the wild parties, the public tirades – Lavinia would be the first in front of the cameras, there almost by default. For his part, her father was content to let the woman speak for the family even when the Wittendons were no longer her family. Phillip wouldn’t have her in his house, but he was more than happy to let her charm the press during times of crisis with her witty repartee and droll remarks as she moaned the fate of her volatile stepdaughter before the eyes of millions. She spoke as if she was still intimately involved with the family, and Phillip never bothered to correct this misconception, even as his disdain for her increased.

With Phillip’s death, Rebecca could imagine the woman before dozens of cameras and bright lights, acting the part of the grieving widow as she shrewdly added to the din of accusing voices her own veiled insinuations about the wayward stepdaughter, and whether the girl had it in her to murder her father. She would leave those hungry for a definite answer plenty to chat about in blogs and twitters dedicated to the subject.

Nothing would suit Lavinia more than to have Rebecca out of the picture. She wanted control of the family fortune and would do anything to see she’d have that prize. From Rebecca’s markedly diminished position, she might as well have handed that prize to her on a silver platter.

The bitter truth slammed Rebecca back to reality so hard that she was overcome by despair. Her head pounded with a deep ache and a creeping nausea had set in; she was unsure if she could hold herself together much longer.

“So? Is there another option?” she finally asked, when Arthur offered nothing more.

“Another option? With my client dead, I’m not sure it’s my place to offer you another option, especially if you’re guilty.”

She could feel the ire in his voice, but she pressed on. “Can I not be your client?”

A faint smirk fluttered for a moment at the corner of his mouth.

He turned and paced a bit, mulling the question with a hand on his chin, then he stopped before the windows and stared at the driving rain running down the glass in sheets. He was a handsome man, Rebecca thought. A tall, straight and robust man who looked no more than a vigorous forty-five when he was likely all of sixty years or more. He’d always been pleasant to her, evenhanded and sane when she was in the midst of one of her insane rebellions. When she was arrested, he was the one who came to the police station, the one who bailed her out and brought her home. Phillip’s delicate hands would never be soiled with the stain of her crimes, which made Arthur more of a father to her than the obsessively driven narcissist whose genes she carried. He handled her bad behavior with a seemingly magical touch, and on many occasions was able to squash the rumor mills and gossipers with a few short but incisive quips. He, too, was a master before a ravenous crowd of sensation seekers. He’d been her only champion. Her only friend at times. And yet, he was clearly not a friend. He’d been hired to play the part and he did it well. But behind his benign exterior, Rebecca always suspected a darker side to the man’s nature. He made deals when deals needed to be made, even if it meant consorting with unsavory characters who were unfit for polite society. She imagined him doing business in back alleys, in furtive closed-door meetings. Did she have any real knowledge of a darker purpose behind Arthur’s polished, urbane exterior? No. But she knew there had to be. No man could fix things the way Arthur Steele could fix things without dealing with the dregs of society.

Rebecca waited as he considered her question, and weighed the available options. He’d have an option, he was sure to have another option, and she eagerly anticipated the sense of relief that would wipe away her pressing anxiety.

His eyes were lowered, his brows knit, his expression determined.

“Well, you could just leave,” he suddenly, almost flippantly shot off, lacing the comment with sarcasm, “take to the road with as much cash as we can scrounge from the house. I might be able to get you on a plane out of England. With a little cunning, you might actually slip the notice of the authorities.” He was almost whimsical as he spoke, far less serious than the situation warranted. This was cause for alarm.

“I didn’t kill him!” she suddenly needed to say in her defense – one more time.

With that remark, his flippant air immediately vanished and his eyes narrowed again.

“You don’t believe me,” she stated the obvious. “But I am telling the truth. Find the man who fired the shot. He was here in this house…the argument…the gunshot…”

Arthur was quiet for a long while before he spoke again, and in that awful silence Rebecca could hear the blood pounding through her veins. Her heart beat so rapidly that she thought it would run off and leave her in this awful mess.

“Yes, Rebecca, there are other options.” He hedged a bit, but precious minutes were ticking by and he was suddenly aware that there was no time to spare. “I know a man who could handle the matter, but you might not like the outcome. He’ll get you out of England; he might even place you in the US, that is if suitable arrangements can be made.”

Rebecca’s ears perked. “The United States? Really?” For the first time that evening she felt a modicum of hope. Plus, the idea of disappearing into the vast spaces of another continent seemed like an exotic adventure rather than a sentence. “So what’s it take to make this happen?” She tried not to sound too eager or relieved, though he saw how her eyes lit with excitement.

“There will be a hefty price to make you disappear.”

“Money should be no problem.”

“Money is not the issue. But there are risks.” He paused as if he was unsure he even wanted to proceed, but he finally went on. “How you are willing to spend the rest of your life…what kind of risks you’re willing to take, what prices you may need to pay…they may be an issue. The ‘middle-man’ in this venture regularly places women who need a safe haven free from legal entanglements – angry fathers, vindictive boyfriends, that sort of thing. In this case, your final destination will already be decided. That is, if my friend is willing to take you. You’ll have an entirely new life, and the Rebecca Wittendon you know will cease to exist…” Rather than sounding reluctant now, the tenor of his voice darkened and his eyes seemed to fill with an unsavory lust, as if he were actually taking pleasure in what he was about to say, “If my friend, Warren, agrees to take you, I can be reasonably sure that you’ll be in safe hands. If he is unwilling or unable, it’s possible that our ‘middleman’ can find you another arrangement. But,” his eyes narrowed, “if it’s Strickland making the final arrangement, I would have very little control over the outcome. I’m not talking about a stellar individual here…this could put you in some compromising positions…” He fidgeted, obviously uncomfortable with what he had to say next.

She studied him for a second, while fast-forwarding in her mind through a host of possibilities, none of which was particularly disturbing. At last she blurted out, “If you’re concerned about my being taken advantage of sexually, don’t be.”

Her blunt declaration took him by surprise, but then he almost looked relieved. “I guess I shouldn’t have been worried about your delicate sensibilities. You have had plenty of experience. But I’m not sure that running around with a bunch of fawning twenty-year olds hanging onto your skirts is exactly the kind of situation you might face.”

“You’d be surprised the men I’ve handled in my short life, and I’m not talking about the men who make headlines trying to get into my pants.” The scared little girl had been replaced by the slightly jaded, but very savvy sounding young Rebby she was to her avid fans who lapped up every juicy detail of her scandalous life.

“You’re not getting it, Rebecca. Let’s hope my friend will be willing to take you. Any other arrangement comes with a great deal of risk. There are men who will pay great sums of money to acquire females who are moldable. Once they have you, you’re at their mercy. They’ll expect some degree of subservience – indeed, some will demand your submission – in ways you can hardly fathom now. I can’t state this any plainer than this: you may end up in surroundings as luxurious as these, or you could end up in a cage.” Rebecca’s cocky confidence fled and her eyes went wide with alarm. “Yes, a cage. I’m not making this up just to scare you. If Warren steps in, I know you’ll be safe; if not, it’s out of my hands. My contact assures me that he weeds out the riff-raff and the truly demented, but he’s out to make a buck and how diligent he is with background checks, I can’t say.”

“But a cage?”

“It’s not likely, but not out of the realm of possibility. Some of these men are into alternative lifestyles, spanking, bondage, pretty much any kink you can suggest. Others are strict disciplinarians who won’t hesitate to punish you if you fail to obey their command – or just because they can. Wherever you land, it will be no picnic in the park, some cushy place where you can start your shenanigans where you left off.”

If he was saying these things to shock her, the effort was having little effect, at least outwardly. Though previously distraught, she barely flinched as he rattled off the cold hard facts.

“Let’s just hope that Warren rises to your cause.”

She was hesitant, scared out of her wits to be sure, but at the same time she was curiously aroused, even titillated, by the verboten nature of what Arthur described.

“So, how would this work? What do I do?”

“I send you to the summerhouse as soon as we can get you out of here. You’ll have to drive yourself, but there should be little problem as long as you get away within the hour. You’ll be picked up there within a day or two, no longer than that with the police out to find you. You’ll need to sign papers granting Strickland the authority to place you, after that, it’s out of my hands, and yours. If all goes smoothly, you’ll be far across the world in a matter of days on your way to a new life…a roll of the dice, you might say.”

“And I suppose getting out of this would be difficult.”

“Indeed,” he said as he shook his head. “I’m not going to sugarcoat this, Rebecca. It’s possible, not likely, but possible that you could get trapped with no way out and no recourse.”

“And my access to you would be limited?”

“Exactly.”

By the time they had reached this point in the discussion, Rebecca was as sane and clear-headed as she’s been before the night began. She could feel the urgency present in the moment but she wouldn’t be rushed.

“And my other options… again?”

He practically growled at her, his reply laced with scorn, “You have two: surrender to the police, let the legal system run its course and hope for the best; or take off on your own and hope you can escape those who will relentlessly pursue you.” He looked at her straight on, no longer interested in further discussion. “So, what will it be, Rebecca? You need to decide now. As it is, you’re wasting precious minutes.”

She hesitated still, but only for a moment, then taking a deep breath and finally sitting up straight, as she used to see Lavinia do when she was making an announcement, she said quite calmly, “All right then, if you’ll excuse me, I need to pack a few things and head for the summer house.” She rose to her feet. “I won’t be five minutes.”

Rising to her feet like the doomed on the way to the gallows, she carefully picked her way through the spattered blood until she was out the door. The power was still out, but the slowly receding storm continued to provide enough light to make it safely to the top of the stairs.