My thanks to the marvellous people who left me some new reviews -- I hope this next chapter is to your liking. I'll do my best to get the next one out ASAP. In answer to your question, Elendil, the newer version will be posted under the title "A Caged Bird" once I have polished the existing chapters to an extent that I'm happy to post them and take this older version of the story down.
Thanks again for your support, and happy reading :)
*
Bill was humming.
He was humming softly to himself as he turned his attention back to the magazine, winding a lock of Margaux's hair around his fingers.
What was that tune? She knew it from somewhere. It was a trite nineteen-sixties tune, probably a love song, the sort of thing you heard once in a while, but that was seldom played on the radio.
Maybe this was an opportunity to make some kind of connection -- have a real, normal conversation. She couldn't help but wonder what sort of person Bill was in a normal context. She couldn't imagine him at a dinner party, or going to see a film. Did he have friends? He must have.
If only she could remember the name of that song. Where had she heard it?
The tune made her think of her nana's sitting room -- a little box of a room with a gas fire -- and an old cassette player.
I've a pretty señorita waiting for me, down in old Mexico... Ooh, I'm a travellin' man... She could picture the singer's face on the faded dust jacket.
"...Do you -- do you like Ricky Nelson?"
"Hm?"
"You were humming a Ricky Nelson song."
"Oh. No, it was on an ad last night. Can't get it out of my head."
Margaux frowned.
"Oh..." No. No, don't squander the opportunity.
Get the ball rolling, Margaux. "What
do you like?"
He turned his head and looked down at her. His chin was only level with her forehead, but she still felt as though his face was too close to her own.
"What are you hoping to gain from asking me questions, Margaux?" He was twisting her hair in slow spirals. The prickles began in her scalp and danced down her spine, and made her stomach turn.
"I just want to talk. I haven't had a conversation in days."
"We've had plenty of conversations."
"I want to have a
normal conversation. Can't you humour me?"
He smirked. "If that's what you'd like, Margaux."
"Thank you."
Bill picked up his mug of tea and took a drink with deliberate slowness, looking at her over the rim of the cup. "Have you started dating yet?"
"...What?"
"Since your divorce. Have you seen anyone else?"
"Why are we talking about this?"
"You said you wanted to have a normal conversation. This is what I want to talk about."
"Hm."
"Answer the question, Margaux. You have to meet me halfway."
Margaux sighed. At least they were talking.
"No. I haven't."
"Not Dylan Murphy?"
"How did you know about him?"
"I know everything about you, Margaux." His hand moved around the back of her neck and his fingers curled around her throat. She swallowed nervously. "You should know better than to lie to me."
"I don't want to talk about him."
"Tough. Tell me what happened."
"If you know everything already, why do I have to tell you?"
"
Margaux..." "Alright. Christ. You win, as usual."
"Good. Now tell me about Dylan.”
"We were on the same course at university, and after my book was optioned I recommended him for the soundtrack."
"And you started dating how?"
"We didn't. He turned up drunk at my hotel one night, and we had sex. That's all."
"Only the once?"
"...No. We saw each other regularly for a couple of months."
"Then you were dating."
"It was just sex."
He laughed. "You'd never know to look at you." The hand moved from its threatening position at her throat, skimming down her side to rest on her thigh. Margaux went to move away, and he pulled her back with an arm around her waist.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Only that you don't seem like that kind of woman. Not much in-keeping with that good girl image you have going, is it?”
There was a sudden burst of noise in the kitchen, and they both turned towards the sound. It had been so long since she'd heard a sound like that -- for a moment Margaux didn't register that it was the sound of a phone ringing. Bill got up and left the room. After a few seconds, a door creaked, and Robert appeared in the hallway. He also headed for the kitchen.
"David -- so good to hear from you at last. How are you?" She could just make out Bill's superficially charming tone over the sound of Robert's boots on the tiles. "Now David, there's no need for language like that."
He was heading this way with the phone. Suddenly Margaux couldn't breathe. The moment had finally arrived -- the moment which would kick off a chain of events, for better or worse -- and she was completely unprepared for it.
"Yes, Margaux's here." He appeared in the doorway, resting a hand on the frame as his eyes met hers. "Yes, you can. If you apologise." His lips twisted into a slightly manic grin, and Margaux's eyes widened. “For that slight against my mother, David. You've upset me. I'm a sensitive man... No, not until you apologise, I'm afraid…” Bill held Margaux’s gaze and grinned again. She felt sick. “Now, you see, that's better. Not so hard, was it?"
He moved into the room and stood over her, looking down at her terrified expression, then sat down at her side and placed the phone on the table.
"Margaux, it's for you."
He pressed the speaker key, and immediately she heard David's voice -- albeit more panicked than the last time they had spoken.
"Oh Jesus -- Margaux? Margaux, can you hear me? I'm sorry --"
"I'm here, David. I can hear you."
"I'm sorry, baby, I didn't know--"
"Apologise on your own time, David. Ours is valuable."
"Don't you hurt her! Don't you dare hurt her--"
"If you want to save your wife, David, it's very simple. Just give us our money."
Bill's hand rested on the back of her neck, and Margaux felt not the abstract dread of before, but true, mind-altering terror. David's undiplomatic approach had made Bill angry, and he was ready to let some of that anger out -- she was certain of it.
"But I can't!"
"Of course you can. It's as simple as pushing a few keys."
"It's not! I can't just--"
"David. David, David, David. You're approaching this all wrong. Anyone would think you wanted poor little Margaux to get hurt."
He squeezed her shoulder hard, and she yelped.
"Please! Please, let me explain! I can't get hold of anyone -- none of the other people you mentioned in your note."
"Poor David, all alone. Isn't that terrible, Margaux? Aw, she's practically weeping for you, David. Your wife’s torn up.”
"Ex! Ex, god damn it! Why couldn't you have contacted someone else? Anyone else?"
"Why, because you're a prime candidate, David. We couldn't have asked for a better one."
"I..." It sounded as though he was trying to collect himself. Was that a whisper at his end of the line? Unfortunately, Bill seemed to have heard it, too.
"David, is someone else there with you?"
"No. No, of course not--"
"Because if the police were to get involved, David, I've already explained to you what would happen... You understand that, don't you?"
"I would never -- I, um--"
"Oh, David, I don't believe you're taking me seriously. Perhaps you need to be reminded of what's at stake."
He leaned back a little and began to unbuckle his belt. Margaux edged away, and tried not to look as though she was judging the distance to the door.
"Please, be reasonable --"
"You need to learn who is in charge here, David." He pulled the strip of leather free of his belt loops and folded it in half. “Unfortunately, Margaux is going to have to learn that lesson for you.”
Margaux bolted for the door, but she barely made half the distance before he was on her, tackling her to the carpet. David was yelling -- she couldn't make out the words.
"Now, where did you think you were going to go, Margaux?" He pinned her on her front, his whole weight on top of her. His breath tickled her ear, and he murmured: "For running from me, I'll make sure it hurts twice as much."
He hauled her to her feet.
"Robert, hold her."
The giant of a man, who had entered during their brief scuffle, grasped her wrists and held them above her head. It felt like being suspended from the ceiling.
There was a moment of silence, as though the world stopped turning in anticipation of that first blow.
The strap cracked across Margaux's thighs, and as the surface of her skin erupted in white hot agony, she screamed. He struck again -- higher -- before the pain had time to dissipate. As she writhed in Robert's grip, the turning motion of her body only provided more fresh targets upon which to strike, and each scream that tore from her throat only served Bill's purpose.
"Stop it! Stop it, please! I'll do anything you want, but I don't have that kind of money!"
"Then you have a big fucking problem, David."
Robert released his grip on her wrists, and Margaux's legs crumpled beneath her.
"See that you have something better to tell me tomorrow, David, or you'll start seeing parts of Margaux sooner than you'd like." Bill flexed the belt in his hands and looked down at his handiwork.
"Alright! Alright! I'll..." Was he... was he crying? "I'll talk to them. I'll get the money."
"Good man."
Bill took a step towards Margaux, and she drew her knees up to her chest, trembling. He threw the belt at her feet, and she flinched.
"Clean yourself up, Margaux, you're a mess."
