Behind the Facade (8 page)

“Where is she? Where the fuck is she?” he demanded, his
handsome face distorted with fury. Before Angela even had time to reply, he was
on top of her, one hand round her throat, the other holding the gun to her
head, spitting and cursing into her frightened face. She tried to speak but it
just came out as a strangled cry due to the pressure on her windpipe.

Sebastian eased up a little,
relaxing the hand from her throat but keeping the gun trained on her saying,
“Kate Pearson has been here. You'd better tell me where the fuck she is now or
my face will be the last thing you ever see.”

“I don't know who you're taking
about!” Angela choked out. Sebastian responded to this denial by punching her
hard in the face. Her delicate nose, already weakened by plastic surgery,
collapsed and she screamed in agony, blood trickling from her nostrils.

“You'd better start telling the
truth bitch or a broken nose is the least of your worries. I can do things to
you, you couldn't imagine in your worst nightmares.”

Angela
sobbed pathetically.  “Please don't hurt me again. Please!”

“You must have seen her. She has
been here in your house. She is slightly built with blue eyes and long, dark
hair. Her name is Katherine. Tell me where she is!” Sebastian commanded.

Light
now dawned in Angela's eyes. “Yes! Yes!” she confirmed eagerly. “Sorry I didn't
know who you meant! I wasn't told her name! I was just told she was Sean's
sister!”

Sebastian's eyes darkened at this
and his hand involuntarily tightened on her neck. “And who the fuck is Sean?”
he asked, his voice harshening dangerously.

Angela began to cough and choke and
so he eased up enough to allow her to give a rasping account of
who
Sean was, his explanation for Kate's presence and what
had occurred.

“Where
are they now?” Sebastian
asked,
when she had finished
her story.

Angela started crying again,
rightly deducing that he would not be happy with her lack of information on
this score. “I don't know,” she whispered. “I thought they might still be here
but I did tell them that I wanted them to leave.”

“They
aren't here - I've checked. When did you last see them?”

“They were still here at about 6 am
- that's the last time I saw Sean.” She swallowed painfully. “Why do you want
to find them? Are you her husband?” she queried tentatively.

His face could no
longer be called attractive as his mouth pulled down into a ghastly scowl and
his cheeks burned red, the roar in his veins reaching fever pitch. Kate had
been within his grasp but there was no lead to finding her, and now this stupid
bitch had the gall to start questioning him!

“It's me who's asking the fucking questions, cunt!”

He hit Angela again, this time with the gun, making
contact with her eye and cheek. There was a cracking sound as her cheekbone
splintered and she howled in pain. Her screams just fed his rage and he began
ripping at her nightclothes, determined now to find some outlet for his
vexation.

He put the gun down on the bedside
table, tugging at his trousers and keeping his other hand on Angela’s throat as
she whimpered and thrashed beneath him, clawing ineffectually at his face. Once
he had freed himself, he clamped both hands round her throat, extinguishing her
last choked scream as he gave full rein to his rampaging, frustrated
lust. 

It was
over very quickly and he collapsed on top of her prone form realising, as he
released his savage grip from around her
throat, that
she was no longer moving. There was no time to dwell on this though, as he was
suddenly and forcefully attacked from behind.

Brenna was becoming bored. She smiled
whilst she twisted and turned for the camera but she’d been through this
process before. She was getting tired of the posing. How many photos and
outfits would it take before her portfolio would hit the right note? She’d even
agreed to some collagen lip enhancement. Maybe her brother had been right.
Brains were more important than beauty and she was lucky enough to be blessed
with both – at least that’s what he’d always said. She’d always agreed with the
brains part and maybe she really didn’t have what it took in the looks
department, despite their initial confidence in her.  Other girls she’d
met whilst here had got lucky and been offered work. She’d heard about it.
She’d been here for nearly 3 months now and had even started missing her
studies and her most annoying college friends!

She was actually relieved when they were
unexpectedly interrupted by the entrance of the boss – Harry Pearson, the man
who’d chaired her initial interview.
Uh, oh.
It was
unusual for him to pay a visit. Was she going to be ditched? Now this prospect
raised its head her stomach turned over in dismay. She wasn’t prepared to let
go of her dreams - especially the dream of living with her brother in his
classy apartment in New York, or even finding her own place near him. Money for
the flight to America would be chump change once she was a model. She’d been
hoping to just show up and surprise him. She’d been emailing him but had kept
her new situation a secret from him.

Harry addressed the photographer. “Enough now
Marcel. Brenna, come with me.” His tone brooked no argument.

Feeling apprehensive, Brenna followed
him from the room. He led her away from the photography studio and into a room
she’d never really noticed before, marked “Conference Suite.” Were her dreams
going to end here and now? Closing the door as she entered, he smiled at her
and invited her to sit in one of the chairs surrounding a long, glass-topped
table. The place was clean and well-lit but eerily bleak and empty without the
presence of anyone else. It made her feel on edge and suddenly inconsequential
but she belied her nerves with an answering smile.

Taking a seat next to her, Harry put a
folder on the table between them tapping his fingers up and down on it. Brenna
glanced at it, noticing the front held her name in bold type. She looked up
from it, pensively.

  “Have you enjoyed your time
here, Brenna?” Oh no, this was definitely it, she thought. This was the “we’re
letting you go” speech. She nodded.

“Good, good. We’ve been having a
little problem placing you though, haven’t we?”

Brenna was about to defend herself
when he patted her knee, continuing with “Not your fault, not your fault at
all. Fashion is a fickle business. There’ve been new designers making a big
noise and they’ve odd ideas about the kind of look they’re after.”

He shrugged. “Anyway, whilst the
market can shift again just as dramatically, at any time, we just can’t afford
to hold you on our books any longer.”

Brenna blinked away the sudden prickling
of tears. Hadn’t she known this was coming? So why wasn’t she ready for it?

“So,” his hand now delved into the
folder, emerging with a piece of paper. He passed this across to her. “Time to
settle up, I’m afraid, my dear.”

Frowning in confusion, she picked up
the piece of paper. It was an invoice.
Made out to her.
For several thousands of pounds.
“What’s this?”

“Your bill”.
His tone had transmogrified from kindly grandfather to stern
businessman.

 “I don’t understand?”

“Your contract.”
He pulled another piece of paper from the
folder,
that
was fast becoming a nest of hidden monsters, and placed it in front
of her.

“Unfortunately, your time is up. As
agreed, the contract allows for a maximum placement period of 3 months. Once
that period expires, as it now has, it becomes terminable and the fees for all
services rendered become payable.”

Brenna stood to her feet in shock.
“Is this some kind of sick joke?”

He brushed a hand over the
contract.  “It’s all in there, if you need confirmation.”

She glanced at it
but didn’t need to read it. She had no doubt he knew what he was talking about.
And she’d been stupid enough to sign it.
Carried away by the
prospect of it all.
 

“But what about
your side of the deal?
You promised me a
modelling career?”

“I’m afraid that’s where you’re
wrong. We promised to do our best as your agent to get you signed. And we have.
You’re worth much more to us as a successful model, believe me. We’re as
disappointed as you are.”

Brenna sat down
dejectedly and picked up the invoice again.

 “I wish it were different, I
really do Brenna. We have to invoke the 3 month clause extremely rarely.” 

He placed a hand on hers in a
gesture of mollification but she withdrew hers angrily.  “You don’t really
expect me to be able to pay this do you?”

“Well, is there someone who can pay
it for you?
Your mother, perhaps?”
 

Brenna’s eyes
widened in horror at this suggestion.
Her
Mum would just love that, her coming back to her, not only with her tail
between her legs but cap in hand. No, even the thought of it and the inevitable
“told you so, told you
you
were no good” rant, was
too much to contemplate. 

She closed her eyes. What was she
to do? Fleetingly her brother’s image came to her. He would pay this in an
instant. But he’d be mad she hadn’t involved him from the beginning
. And she’d so wanted to make him proud of her and to show him
what a success she could be, all on her own. How could she face him now? The
shame of it was just too great.

The sound of the door opening roused her from her dismal
thoughts. It was Sebastian who entered. He didn’t acknowledge her but went
straight to Harry and leaning down, whispered into his ear.

Harry immediately rose to his feet.
“Wait here,” he said to her and, letting Sebastian take his arm, they strode purposefully
to the opposite end of the room and began to converse in hushed but urgent
tones.

Once their mini confabulation was
over, Sebastian walked back up the room and on passing her gave her a huge wink
and then left. Brenna puzzled over this. Was she going to be given more time?
Had Sebastian intervened on her behalf? Her spirits began to reassert
themselves a little. Harry remained in thought at the end of the room. Abruptly
he seemed to make up his mind about something and then quickly re-joined her.

“There’s been a development,” he explained, as he
regained his seat. Brenna waited tensely for him to expound on this, with a
mixture of
both hope
and fear, fear that the hope
would prove false.

Harry smiled slyly. Something about that smile made
Brenna feel a bit sick. “It seems you have an admirer.” Did he mean Sebastian?
This was repudiated by the words that followed. “A wealthy tycoon has seen your
publicity photos and he likes them.”

“He’s going to offer me a contract?” Brenna jumped
in eagerly.

“No, no.” Harry waved a hand at her,
dismissing this idea. “He’s not in the fashion or advertising industry.”

“Oh.” Brenna was confused.

But then Harry leaned forward and
grasped her hand excitedly. “He wants to sponsor you!”

“Sponsor?
What does that mean?”

“He’s going to fund your continued promotion. He
believes you have huge potential and that we’ve not to give up on you. He’s
convinced you’ll make it and he’d love to be credited with some part in your
eventual success.”

Brenna was stunned but also a little
wary. Wasn’t this all a little too convenient? “What’s the catch? He must want
something in return?”

“Well, of course! He wants a cut of
any earnings you make, but only a very small percentage. Oh,” he tagged on,
almost as if he’d forgotten, “and he’d like to meet you.
Immediately.”

Brenna turned her head, thinking this
was a cue and expecting her “sponsor” to walk into the room.

Harry laughed. “No. Not here. He’s
invited you to his home.
For dinner.”

Brenna’s harsh intake of breath was
audible.

“Remember,” Harry rationalised, “he’s
only ever seen you in photographs. He wants to meet and get to know the person
behind the image.”

Rising, Harry grasped her arm, pulling
her to her feet, ignoring the shock clearly delineated on her features. “Now,
go and get yourself ready. You’ll find Melanie already in your room, ready to
make you look perfect!”

“Wait! Wait!” Raising her arms, she dislodged
Harry’s grip. “I’m still trying to get my head around this!”

“Don’t try and do that, my darling. Just go. You’ve
been granted a well-deserved reprieve. Hurry now,” he said waving her on her
way, “we don’t want to keep him waiting and risk him changing his mind.”

As Sean manoeuvred the car quietly
back up towards the house, the sun was struggling to shine through banks of
heavy cloud. Streaks of red tarnished the sky, seeping into the grey like
blood, and Sean felt unaccountably perturbed. They hadn’t been gone long and he
was certain Angela would be sleeping by now but a sense of unease settled in
his stomach. He couldn’t help thinking coming back had been a mistake. Was
there something different about the house? He thought so, but he couldn’t quite
put his finger on it…and then it registered. The front door was slightly ajar.
He was sure he had left it shut. He shrugged. There could hardly be anyone else
responsible for the door as Angela would not leave without securing it and her
car was still on the drive.

He turned to Kate, who was anxiously
wrestling with the handcuff, “Let me out of here. I need to go and find it,”
she insisted.

“Hey, hey!” he said, holding up his
hands in visual disapprobation of her words. “Who said anything about
you
finding it?

“But it’ll be so much quicker if I…” she
began to argue and then saw the look of chagrin on his face and decided against
continuing.

“You’re not starting off well on that
promise to not cause me any more trouble, are you?” he said. “Do you think I’m
really so stupid as to allow you to go running around in there?”

Kate bit her lip and hung her head.
What had she been thinking? She’d just been overcome by her need to recover the
locket.

“Look,” he said to her. “You give me a
full description of it and where you think you left it.
I
will find it.”

Turning her troubled eyes up to his
she said in a soft voice, full of poignancy, “It has a long delicate chain. The
pendant is a simple gold one in the shape of a heart. It’s engraved on the
reverse with, “Katherine, Mon enfant, Mon Coeur.”

Sean was temporarily stunned into silence, affected more than he
would have liked by the parental love conveyed by these words.  For some
seconds he simply stared at Kate. Having never received love from his own
parents he felt a mixture of incredulity and, truth be told, jealousy.

Admonishing himself for wasting time, he mentally shook himself
and asked her, "Where do you think you lost it?”

She shook her head but suggested, “In the bathroom? Perhaps it
came off when I was getting undressed?” 

“I’ll find it,” he again asserted. With that he darted from the
car and into the house, suddenly grateful that he'd accidentally left the door
open, which saved him some time and enabled him to enter the house
surreptitiously.

The shrill desperate scream that ripped through the air, when
Sean was only part way up the stairs, momentarily jammed all thoughts in his
head it was so unexpected. It left him immobile with shock. The cry had come
from the direction of Angela’s bedroom. Could there be some harmless
explanation? His gut told him otherwise. The scream had held a note of
anguished authenticity. His temporary inertia lasted only seconds and then his
adrenaline kicked in, stimulating him to act.

He raced towards the bedroom, recalling now the open front door
and his initial certainty he had left it shut. Was there an intruder? He slowed
a little. Perhaps he should exercise some caution. However, a further scream,
thinner but no less tortured, left him no choice but to intervene, and to do so
quickly. Stealth was now out of the question and he’d simply have to hope that
speed and force would give him the advantage he might need.

As he barged into the bedroom, flinging the half-open door wide
in his wake, Sean registered many things at once: the bedclothes scattered on the
floor, the spatter of blood sullying the pristine wall but, most of all, the
huge hulk of a man crouched over Angela.

Angela was only visible by virtue of one arm, hanging limply off
the bed, a swatch of blond hair and one tanned leg, streaked with blood. The
rest of her was obscured by the body of her attacker. It didn’t occur to Sean
to hesitate, he simply leapt at the man, curling his arm around his neck and
pulling him away from her. They lurched backwards away from the bed together,
Sean attempting to pull the larger man to the floor.

 However, whilst he succeeded in extracting him from
Angela, the stranger soon recovered from this surprise assault. Using his bulk
and the backward motion Sean had initiated to his advantage, he resisted Sean’s
endeavours and instead drove him back towards the wall, crushing him forcibly
against it and causing him to relinquish his hold. His opponent then whipped
round to face him a grin, rather than any sign of concern, stretching his face.

They eyed each other, both weighing up the other. Angela
remained motionless on the bed, despite the removal of her attacker, and this
worried Sean but he could do nothing for her until this maniac was taken out of
the picture. He concentrated on the man before him, assessing him for any sign
of weakness but struggling to find any. The guy was formidable; both taller and
larger than Sean, with a bull-neck and broad muscular shoulders and arms. There
was little doubt he had the advantage in both build and strength, but Sean was
no stranger to unequal fights. He was suddenly thankful for the brawls he’d
never managed to avoid as a skinny, troubled youth on the streets of Derry. He
had a strong arm coupled with an agility to duck and weave and had held his
own, despite the knock downs.

Sebastian considered Sean and saw only a weaker adversary but
one who clearly had verve and some strength and would hopefully give him a nice
workout. What an enjoyable episode this was turning out to be. He knew he could
end matters now simply by stunning this joker with the device he had in his
pocket but where would be the fun in that? He loved nothing better than a good
fight, especially when there were no rules and he was free to inflict whatever
punishment he chose, ultimately ending in the satisfaction of a kill. However,
he accepted he’d have to manage this one carefully. This new and unexpected
playmate might just be the bitch’s current boyfriend and have nothing to do
with Kate. After all, what idiot would have returned here? Either way, he needed
to establish who he was and might even have to deliver him to the boss. That
meant leaving him alive, or as close as good enough.

Sean decided he should bait Sebastian into making the first
move, rather than trying to hit him first, which was likely to be ineffective.
His best chance was to wind him up, hoping his aim would be affected, and he
could avoid his blows. He’d learnt this method could eventually tire a heavier
more powerful opponent and give him an opening to throw a successful, if not
deciding, punch.

“Come on,” he taunted. “What’s the matter?
Happy
to beat up a woman but not someone who can fight back?”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed at this but he recognized the tactics
Sean was trying to employ and laughed. “You think you worry me?” he said “You’re
the one who’s talking instead of fighting. Shut the fuck up.”

With that he lunged quickly forward and, before Sean could duck,
he’d hit him fully in the mouth. Sean’s head jolted sharply backwards from the
force of the blow and his mouth filled with the coppery taste of his own blood.
It would have knocked a lesser man to the floor and, whilst he genuinely fought
to stay on his feet, he played on this fact. Thinking hard and fast, he feigned
virtual collapse, then suddenly pushed up to a half-crouch and ran at
Sebastian, head down. He slammed into him with all his body weight.

Sebastian was taken off guard, and they fell to the floor, Sean
on top of Sebastian and grappling with him as they went down. However,
Sebastian soon recovered and shoved Sean off him, driving a fist into his
stomach. He quickly regained his feet and, before Sean could recover his wind,
began kicking him unremittingly whilst he remained on the floor.

Sean managed to twist himself so that only some of the kicks
made contact. When Sebastian finally tired a little and the kicking began to
slow, Sean saw his opportunity. He grabbed one of Sebastian’s upraised feet to
unbalance him and then sweeping his own leg out, connected with the ankle of
his rooted foot, bringing him down. Sebastian fell sideways, crashing heavily
into a small glass side table, splinters showering everywhere.

This time Sean was the one who stood, but he did so with
difficulty, breathing hard and with excruciating pain in his ribs, brought on
by suspected fractures where Sebastian’s boots had found their target. However,
he knew he had no time to waste on rallying himself. Sebastian, not having
suffered the same punishment as Sean, would soon be upright again, despite the
thundering fall. He grabbed one of the larger splinters of glass from the table
debris and approached Sebastian, as he started to raise himself.

Sebastian glared at his competitor. He was surprised at how well
this monkey had fought. He’d given him a better game than he’d anticipated, but
enough was enough, damn it. He could feel glass fragments stabbing his back and
arms and blood seeping from a cut in his forehead. He reached for the
taser
in his pocket but, as he did so, his hand brushed
against something lying next to him that was cold and hard. He smiled.

Sean thought he now had the upper-hand but had unwittingly
knocked Sebastian into the table upon which he had deposited his gun. As
Sebastian’s hand alighted on that object he lifted it and pointed it at Sean.
With smug satisfaction in his voice he said, “I think gun beats glass.”

Sean admitted defeat at the sight of the gun. He reluctantly
dropped the piece of glass and raised his hands in capitulation.

Sebastian rose to his feet and said with undisguised humour, “I
enjoyed our short skirmish, but I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.
Barbie over there didn’t have the chance to play hostess.”

 Sebastian’s derogatory reference to Angela caused Sean to
glance across at her on the bed. His stomach knotted in sympathy and regret at
what he saw. She lay there lifeless, gruesomely used and battered. He’d clearly
been too late to save her, even had the fight ended in his favour. Had this man
been here because of him? He truly hoped not, but his presence seemed too much
of a coincidence.

“Rude of you really to engage me in combat when I don’t even
know who you are?” continued his antagonist. “Perhaps you need teaching some
manners?” he queried, and before Sean could respond, ruthlessly shot him in the
thigh. Sean collapsed to the floor in shock, gripping his injured leg, blood
pouring from the wound.

“Just thought I’d better test that it works,” chuckled
Sebastian, his real reason being that he was considerably pissed at how Sean
had caught him unawares, not just when he’d been occupied with the woman, but
also during their fight.

“Now, who are you? This time it’s not a rhetorical question so
you can answer, and don’t bother lying to me or I’ll shoot you again.”

Sean’s instinct had been confirmed. This man was here for Kate,
but he clearly wasn’t a police officer. How the hell had he found them? But he
didn’t have time to figure this out. Breathing harshly, he hissed through teeth
gritted against the throbbing and intense pain shrieking from his leg, “My
name’s Sean Murphy, you fuck.”

He knew it was risky to give this man a false surname. However,
he was relying on the possibility that Angela had only remembered or revealed
his first name and he was loath to disclose more than he needed to.

“Sean,” repeated Sebastian. “Your ex obligingly told me all
about you. That makes things considerably easier for you. I hope you’re
grateful to her.
Now, no more questions.
Take me to
Kate.”

Sean was relieved that his ruse had worked but it occurred to
him that, once he led this man to Kate, the odds were that he’d be a dead man
anyway. He was tempted to affect confusion but realized this would gain him
nothing but further suffering and this prick would find her, with or without
him. His mind raced but he could see no way out of this. He carefully raised
himself to a half-standing position, placing as little weight as he could on
his debilitated leg. Blood pounded in his ears, muffling his senses and filling
his head with muted thunder. He blinked rapidly, as his vision threatened to
dissolve.

Sebastian noticed this and strode towards him. “Don’t faint on
me you fucking pussy,” He ordered and pulled him savagely upright, planting the
pistol against his head. “Where is she?”

His actions succeeded in putting pressure onto the very injury
Sean had been anxious to avoid provoking.
The pain, whilst
devastating, rocketed through his brain clearing it in a brutal burning burst.

Sean fought against clutching the arm that now held him and
giving voice to the scream that strived to erupt from him. He wasn’t about to
give this bastard the satisfaction. Instead, he shrugged off his arm and
mustered his few remaining reserves. Turning, he limped from the room, grunting
“This way.”

Kate was growing restless. She fidgeted with the metal cuff
manacling her to the car door. Why was he taking so long? The clouds had long
dispersed and the sun was now beating down unrelentingly. It might have been
winter and cold outside but the car was unbearably warm and she was sweating
and uncomfortable. She glanced out of the car window again, having done so many
times without result. What she now saw had her gaping in astonishment.