BOOK IV - Chapter I - Christian and Anastasia Fan Fiction

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

Khalil Gibran

BOOK IV

CHAPTER I

HOUR OF SEPARATION

As I pour myself a double shot of Bourbon, my Blackberry buzzes again. My heart stops and lurches with anxiety. Is it Ana?

*It was good to see you. I understand now. Don’t fret. You’ll make a wonderful father.*

It was Elena. I don’t respond back. I meant what I said to her. I said my farewell. I don’t know if she really understands, but it’s been over between us for a long time. I needed to say my peace. I down my drink in my glass and pour myself a triple shot this time. I can’t call Anastasia. I’m still mad, but I’m also feeling empty and missing her terribly. What do I want? What does any man who willingly gets drunk want? Memory loss: my current mission is reaching this free prize at the bottom of my Bourbon bottle.  

When I finally reach my free prize at the bottom of the bottle, I feel woozy, a little incoherent, and things seem to be coming in twos at me. The two waiters are standing in front of me with the bill. I take out my wallet. My fingers attempt to retrieve the money or credit card whichever I can grasp. Money decides to come out easier. It looks like I have four $100 bills.

“How much do I owe you?” I ask my speech slurred. I look at the bill but the numbers seem to walk away and change sizes to my blurry vision. I can’t see a damn thing.

Both of the waiters who look remarkably like twins with each other extend their hands for the bill. One of them finally manages to grasp it to check the number for me.

“It’s $183 Dollars sir.”

I take the cash and slap it on the table. “Two for the bill, and one for each of you. Tttippp,” I slur. My mind can’t do math right now.

“Each of us, sir?”

“Yeah, for you, and you…” I say pointing to each waiter. They both smile with identical grins.

“Thank you, sir. We appreciate your generosity.”

I stand up on my feet, but I feel the floor calling me. I hold onto the table to steady myself then make my way to the door. The cool air hits me in the face as soon as I step outside and momentarily I feel a little steadier. Now, which direction was my house?

I look around.

“Hey, my man! Do you a have smoke?” asks another fellow drunk. I pat my chest with my hands.

“Nope, fresh out.”

“Thanks, all the same,” he says with his breath smelling like cheap beer. He salutes me with his index and middle finger and walks away with unsteady steps. I think I can walk home if I can just make to each light pole without falling down. Yes, that’s seems like a good goal to me. Now, I try to walk to the next light pole that looks like more than 100 feet away. I might have to use the park benches, and building walls to make it there. Change of goals: make it to the next building wall and then to the light pole.

Anastasia is pregnant. I knocked her up. Shit! That means I won’t get to have sex with her. Damn! I still didn’t get the free prize. No memory loss!

Hey, goal number 1 is complete. I made it to the next light pole without falling. Now I have to turn the corner. Two light poles distance. I live at Escala. How many light poles away is the building?

“Taylor!” I yell. But he doesn’t answer. Oh yeah. He’s not here. He’s home, safe with Gail. He didn’t knock her up. He can safely have sex. Not Christian. Christian is going to be a dad. A terrible dad. Oh God! I’m sick! I double; my back to the light pole. My stomach tightens, and heaves. Huh, Anastasia hurled like that in that bar. It was the first night I slept with her. Anastasia... I have to get home to her. I stand straight. No puking. I walk the distance of three other light poles, very... very slowly. The ground isn’t steady. It moves and dances under my feet. It’s a balancing act to get home.

I finally see the building straight ahead. Maybe four more light poles. One light pole… Two light poles… Three light poles, and four… Home free!

I push the door. It doesn’t open. I push more. It doesn’t open. The doorman rushes. When he sees me, he takes a second look and pushes the door open, and I pull it. I knew that!

“Mr. Grey! Good evening… I mean good morning sir.”

“Morning? What time is it?” I slur. He checks his watch.

“It’s 1:30 a.m. sir.” I walk in, and the door man comes after me, and calls the elevator.

“What’s your name?”

“Sebastian, sir.”

“Yes, I knew that.” When the elevator doors ding open, I walk in, trying not to stumble. Sebastian holds the door for me. I salute him like my fellow drunk saluted me.

“Good morning to you, too…Seb… Seb…”

“Sebastian, sir.”

“Sebastian.” The door closes to Sebastian’s dumbfounded face. It takes me two tries to enter my code on the panel. The elevator takes me up with the speed of light velocity, or at least that’s how it feels to me. I’m shaken like a rotten egg. When it reaches to my penthouse, it stops and the doors open. I fumble with my keys. I walk in to the foyer, and hit myself to the table that walked right into me!

“Shit!” I try to move away, but the table follows me scraping on the floor.

“Shit!” I say again pushing it away. Leave me alone! There are double doors ahead of me, and I push them open. Someone, some angel runs toward me.

“Christian, are you okay?” she asks. Oh, that’s my knocked up wife! My seductive angel. 

“Mrs. Grey,” I greet her in a slurred speech. Shees! She looks better than an angel. She looks like she’s in a 1930s style satin nightdress. Looks like a classic beauty. Soft to touch. Warm to hold, and die to fuck!

“Oh…” I’d love to do that. “you look might fine, Anastasia.”

“Where have you been?” she asks.

I put my fingers to my lips and smile.

“Shh!” I warn her. She’ll wake someone up. Oh, yes, the baby. Then we won’t have any peace and quiet.

“I think you’d better come to bed,” she says.

“With you…” I snicker. I’d go to hell with her. All she has to do is to ask. She frowns at me. She’s beautiful even when she frowns.

“Let me help you to bed. Lean on me.”

“You are very beautiful, Ana,” I say and lean on her. The whiff of her scent hits me like a truckload of bricks. I inhale her scent. She wobbles on her feet. Is she drunk?

“Christian, walk. I am going to put you to bed.”

“Okay,” I say. Bed. It’s not as far as a light pole. I can make it. Concentrate Christian. She stumbles through the corridor supporting me.

“Bed,” I say grinning. Bed. What I’d like to do to her in bed. Or here… in the hallway. No, not in the hallway. She doesn't feel steady on her feet.

“Yes, bed,” she says as she maneuvers me to the edge, but I hold her. I love holding her. Does she know that? She makes me feel safe. Whole.

“Join me,” I say. I’m awake. I think…

“Christian, I think you need some sleep.” Oh, no. She’s saying ‘no’ to me! She’s never going to have sex with me. It’s the baby. She doesn’t want me. She just wants the baby.

“And so it begins. I’ve heard about this.” I say, sorrowful.

She frowns. “Heard about what?” she asks.

“Babies mean no sex.”

“I’m sure that’s not true. Otherwise we’d all come from one-child families.”

I gaze down at her. “You’re funny.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes,” I say, smiling. But wait, I didn’t forget. I couldn’t. She’s still pregnant. I’m going to be a terrible dad. I’ve nothing to offer.

“Come on, Christian,” she says softly. Her voice just soothes me. “Let’s get you into bed.” She pushes me gently and I flop on to the bed. My arms and legs spread open. She’s standing by my feet, looking like a sex goddess.

“Join me,” I say. My voice comes out slurred; words are hard to get out of my mouth.

“Let’s get you undressed first.” Undressed… Now that’s the idea. I grin. Christian might get lucky after all.

“Now you’re talking,” I say playfully.

“Sit up. Let me take your jacket off.”

I sit up, but the bedroom feels like a gyroscope. Getting in and out of focus. I flop back down. “The room is spinning,” I complain.

“Christian, sit up!” she orders me. I like that. She takes charge. I smirk up at her. “Mrs. Grey, you are a bossy little thing…”

“Yes. Do as you’re told and sit up,” she commands putting her hand on her hips. After two attempts I locate my elbows and struggle to sit up on them. She grabs my ties, and undoes it. But she won’t pull it off. Then she saddles me and pulls my jacket off my arms. I get a whiff of her delectable scent again.

“You smell good.”

“You smell of hard liquor.”

“Yes…” I say proudly. “Bour-bon.”

Her hands drop my jacket somewhere, and she puts her hands on my tie. My hands are resting on her hips. Oh, the soft, silky feeling of the fabric. “I like the feel of this fabric on you, Anastay-shia… You should always be in satin or silk.” I run my hands on the smooth fabric up and down on her hips then jerk her forward, and press my mouth against her belly where the tiny trespasser resides.

“And we have an invader in here.”

“You’re going to keep me awake, aren’t you?” I ask Junior. And take my wife away, no doubt. I look up at my wife again. She’s been mine all this time. I don’t want to share her, and now I won’t have a choice. She will only want him.

“You’ll choose him over me,” I say forlorn. She will. And I will never be the center of her world again. My Anastasia will be his. She won’t want me.

“Christian, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t be ridiculous… I’m not choosing anyone over anyone. And he might be a she.”

Shit! I never considered that! A girl!

“A she…Oh. God!” I flop back on the bed, and cover my eyes with my arms. If she’s anything like Anastasia, and if she has boys running after her… Oh shit! I can’t think. I can’t. I should sleep. I’m too tired to think. Exhausted. Sleep…. Yes, sleep. The room spins once more even though my eyes closed. But, the heavy darkness of sleep slowly pulls its blanket over me, and I’m out.

*****❦ ♡ ❧*****

I have a lingering pounding headache as if someone untalented is practicing drums inside my head. How much did I drink? I finished the bottle of wine, and the bourbon. There’s only the seeping light from the window, but even that is bothering me. My hand travels to the pillow next to me, but it’s undisturbed, and cold. I sit up abruptly, and feel like I hit my head to the wall. Where’s Anastasia? Fuck! She’s not here! She isn’t here. Did she get up early? Is she in the bathroom? I jump out of bed, and look around. Nothing is disturbed in the room. My jacket is off. So is my tie. My shoes and socks are taken off. I don’t remember taking them off. But I don’t remember much about last night. Fucking free prize of memory loss now finds me!

“Ana!” I call, but she doesn’t answer. I rush out to the living room, and there’s no sign of her. Mrs. Jones is in the kitchen.

“Gail, have you seen Ana this morning?”

“No, Mr. Grey. Not since last night.”

“What?”

“I only saw her last night after you left, sir…” she says her face takes a fearful expression.

“What happened? What did she say?”

“Not much. She was crying and wanted to have white wine,” she says and I wince, “but decided on a cup of tea instead. She didn’t eat, just took her tea and went to the library. That was the last time I saw her, Mr. Grey,” she says with a worried look on her face.

Oh shit! She may have gone to stay with Kate. I run to my bedroom to get my cell phone. I turn it on, and there’s a text message from Anastasia. My heart stops. Oh, God! She left me! I find myself collapsing onto the bed with my Blackberry in my hand, and open her message up with shaky hands.

*WOULD YOU LIKE MRS. LINCOLN TO JOIN US WHEN WE EVENTUALLY DISCUSS THIS TEXT SHE SENT TO YOU? IT WILL SAVE YOU RUNNING TO HER AFTERWARD. YOUR WIFE*

FW: *It was good to see you. I understand now. Don’t fret. You’ll make a wonderful father.*

Shit! Shit! Shit!

“Anaaaa!” I call out, but no response comes. I dial her cell phone number. It rings and rings, and goes to her voice-mail  Breathe! Breathe! Breathe! I don’t leave a message. I hang up and dial again. It rings ominously. I walk around to see if I can hear Your Love is King, but nothing is heard. It goes to voice mail again.

“Ana! Where are you? I’m worried about you. Please…” my voice goes to a whisper. “Call me. I’ll come and get you.” I hang up, and with shaky hands I dial Katherine Kavanagh’s phone. When she answers the phone, she sounds groggy.

“Hello? Who the hell is this at this hour?” she replies miffed.

“It’s Christian Grey,” I say through gritted teeth. Is she tired because Ana woke her up at night? Did she pick her up from Escala?

“Christian? What’s wrong? Is Elliot okay?” she asks immediately.

“How the hell shall I know about Elliot? I’m calling you about Ana. Is she there with you?”

“Why would she be here with me?” she asks confused, and then her voice turns icy. “Did you do something to her? Or maybe I should ask this instead: What have you done to her?” she is suddenly wide awake.

“I’m looking for my wife, and I haven’t done anything. We had an argument last night, and I can’t find her this morning. I want to know if she’s with you or not. Is she there with you?” I ask menacingly.

“Why would I tell you if she was?”

“God damn it Kate! I’m worried about my wife! If you have an ounce of concern for your friend, you would tell me if she is with you or not so I can go look for her and find her!” I shout.

“She isn’t here! Geez! Why is she…”she starts saying, but I hang up on her. She isn’t with Kate. God! Where would she go?

“Taylor!” I shout as I dash out of my room and dial Anastasia’s cell phone once more. When it goes to voice-mail again I hang up. Taylor, Sawyer and Ryan are already assembled in the living room and waiting for me. I’m completely shaking as if there’s an earthquake.

“Mrs. Grey is missing,” I say swallowing. “Has any of you seen her this morning? Taylor?”

“No, I haven’t sir. Not since last night,” he replies. I start breathing through my nose like raged bull.

“Sawyer? Did you see her last night? Or did she come and ask you to give her a ride someplace?”

“No sir. The last I saw her was yesterday after she got off work and we all came home,” he says dumbfounded.

My eyes turn towards Ryan. “I haven’t seen her at all. Yesterday or today, sir,” he replies completely chagrined. I start breathing heavily. The clothes I'm wearing from yesterday are wrinkled. My shirt is unbuttoned, my tie is missing. I feel my hands automatically flying to my face, and rubbing forcefully over my face and into my hair. My fingers clump and pull my hair on their trail. My heart is beating so fast, I can feel it in my throat. I shake as if I am left in freezing weather. I try to steady myself.

 “Mr. Grey,” Taylor says calmly. “We have to look for her. Let’s look for her in the house first,” he turns to Sawyer and Ryan taking charge. He starts with an efficient and authoritative voice. “Leave no door unopened. Ryan and Sawyer, you take this level. I will go with Mr. Grey. If you can find her, call me immediately and if we can’t find her, let’s assemble back here. Understand?” he orders.

“Yes, sir,” says Ryan and Sawyer and disappear immediately.

“Gail, you remain in the kitchen area. If Mrs. Grey comes back, keep her here, and let us know,” he orders her. She nods.

“Mr. Grey, let’s go, sir,” he says and we start looking for her all over my bedroom. My jacket and tie are on the floor. We go to the closet, but I don’t see any clothes having been packed, or no empty shelves, or coat hangers. Did she just leave with the clothes on her back? I so vaguely remember what we talked about. What did I say to her last night after I got home? What did we do?

Gail said she went to the library. I rush to the library, and there sits her empty tea cup, but nothing else. There’s no telltale sign that she spent the night in the library. I run to the Play Room. The door is locked. “Ana! Anaaaa!” I call out to her. I rattle the door handle, but it doesn’t open. If it’s locked, she wouldn’t be here. We search the entire level to no avail. I dial her phone number one last time. “For God’s sake! Please, answer the phone. Let’s talk,” I plead and hang up.

We get back downstairs and Ryan, Sawyer, Gail are already assembled waiting. Taylor joins in their ranks. I walk back and forth before them anxiously. I finally stand before them. “It appears that Mrs. Grey isn’t home. I want you to have no stone unturned. Check the security cameras, and video feed from last night. See when she left. Also check the video feeds from the exit cameras to the garage, to the entry and all exit points of the building. See where she went, who she went with, and what time. We need establish a starting point so we can go look for her at the right place. Sawyer, you’re in charge of examining the video feed. Start with the camera trained over the elevators, and Sawyer, you and…” I say without finishing my sentence because everyone’s eyes immediately trained on someone who is behind me. I turn around. My eyes are wide, worried and anxious. There stands Anastasia wrapped in a duvet, one hand clutching her purse. She looks beautiful, innocent, and damned angry still. I gaze back at her wide blue eyes. Fear finally leaves place to anger. Where has she been? Who did she go to? Did she come from outside? Why didn’t we see her? Was she home all along? She says nothing to me though her gaze scans my disheveled appearance in my day old clothes.

“Sawyer, I’ll be ready to leave in about twenty minutes,” she mutters and wraps her duvet around her tighter as if she’s using it as a shield against me. Sawyer nods at her, and immediately I feel the intensity of the gazes of my security personnel on me. My eyes are on Anastasia, unblinking. I fear that if I blink, she’ll disappear.

“Would you like some breakfast, Mrs. Grey?” Gail asks. Anastasia shakes her head in response.

“I’m not hungry, thank you,” she replies.

“Where were you?” I ask her finally finding my voice. It’s low, husky, and demanding. I hear rather than see Taylor, Sawyer, Ryan and Gail scatter around to their particular corners and offices to leave us alone; not wanting to face the music that is about to be composed between Anastasia and I. Anastasia completely ignores me and she marches towards our bedroom.

“Ana! Answer me,” I say calling after her. I walk behind her in rapid footsteps into the bedroom, but she makes her way to the bathroom, and locks the door behind her.

“Ana!!” I shout pounding on the door with my fists. “Ana, open the damned door!”

“Go away!” she shouts.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Suit yourself,” she replies.

“Ana, please,” I beg. “Please open the door,” I say, but I hear the water running. She doesn’t reply. “Ana, let me explain. Talk to me.” But my voice is effectively blocked out with the sound of the water. I lean against the wall opposite to the door with my hands behind my back and wait for her to finish her shower. She stays in the shower for nearly twenty minutes. When she finally unlocks the door to face me, I’m extremely wary; timid. I feel like a cornered lion. She walks passed me as if I don’t exist, and makes her way into the walk-in closet.

“Are you ignoring me?” I ask in complete incredulity. She gets pregnant because she didn’t get her shot even though we agreed on not having children this soon, and she’s mad at me and ignoring me!

“Perceptive, aren’t you?” she murmurs sarcastically without even looking at me. She searches for something to wear in the closet. She picks her plum dress, my favorite dress, her high black stiletto boots, and makes her way to the bedroom. When she comes face to face with me, she pauses for me to move out of her way, determined. I finally make way for her, losing my fight against the gentleman in me. Anastasia makes her way to the dresser. From the mirror perched on the dresser she peeks at me as I'm standing in the doorway. I keep watching her, motionless. Unable to walk forward or backwards. There’s nothing I want more than to hold my wife, and she’s so distant; treating me like a stranger. As Anastasia’s eyes are locked on me, she drops her towel covering her naked body. Her naked beauty makes me gasp but I attempt to restrain it. She is gorgeous. But she ignores what the sight of her does to me.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask in a low voice.

“Why do you think?” she replies in a deceptively soft voice, and opening a drawer she chooses and pulls out a black lace La Perla panties.

“Ana-“ I make to move towards her but stop as she shimmies into her panties.

“Go ask your Mrs. Robinson. I’m sure she’ll have an explanation for you,” she mutters as she searches for something. God damn it! I don’t want to have anything to do with Elena! I broke all ties with her last night.

“Ana, I’ve told you before, she’s not my…” I say but she cuts me off.

“I don’t want to hear it, Christian,” she says waving her hand to me dismissively. “The time for talking was yesterday, but instead you decided to rant and get drunk with the woman who abused you for years. Give her a call. I’m sure she’ll be more than willing to listen to you now,” she shouts at me. Then pulls her matching bra out of the drawer and puts it on and fastens it. I walk further into the bedroom my hands on my hips accusingly. Why was she looking for something to blame me with? Had she lost her trust in me? Was that why she was snooping? Let’s see what Christian was doing when he was getting drunk, ten fucking sheets to the wind.

She flushes in response. “That’s not the point, Christian,” she scolds me. “Fact is, going gets tough and you run to her.” That’s not how it happened. I didn’t seek her out.

My mouth falls into a grim line. “It wasn’t like that,” I start explaining.

“I’m not interested,” she dismisses me as she picks up a pair of black thigh highs with lacy tops. She walks to the bed, sitting on it, and pointing her toe outward; she pulls the stockings and gently pulls the delicate material over her long legs.

The gnawing question that’s killing me right now is, where did she go last night?

“Where were you?” I ask, my gaze never leaving her hands traveling up on her legs. But she pretends I don’t exist and continue. She puts her other stockings on. The stands up, and bending down, she starts towel drying her hair. My gaze never leaves her body. When she’s done towel drying her hair, she stands back to the dresser, and grabs her hair dryer.

“Answer me,” I say in a low and hoarse voice after she ignores me quite a while. She turns the hair dryer on, and continues ignoring me as she dries her hair, sorting the strands with her fingers. I glare at her with narrowed eyes. She is unbelievable! She is the one who didn’t get the shot. She’s the one who got pregnant despite having had many talks about birth-control. She knows how freaked I get about this! She knows that I’m freaked out right now. Yet, she chooses to ignore me. When she turns the dryer off, I ask again.

“Where were you?” My tone is a chilling, low whisper.

“What do you care?” she shouts.

“Ana, stop this. Now,” I order. She just shrugs, and I move quickly across from the other side of the room towards her. As I reach out to her, she whirls and steps back.

“Don’t touch me,” she hisses, making me freeze in my tracks. Why couldn’t I touch her? She’s my wife. My woman…

“Where were you?” I ask demanding. It’s eating me up alive. My hands fists on my side. Was she with someone else? Jose? Ethan? Who? Was someone else comforting her while I got myself wallowed up in my own fucking misery?

“I wasn’t out getting drunk with my ex,” she seethes. “Did you sleep with her?” she asks in an accusatory tone, making me gasp. How could she possibly think that? I would never cheat on her.

“What? No!” I gape at her. It wounds and pains me to think that she could even consider the possibility of me cheating on her. This makes me angry.

“You think I’d cheat on you?” I ask outraged.

“You did,” she roars, “by taking our very private life and spilling your spineless guts to that woman.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing. She thinks I’m dishonorable? I’m a lot of things, but I would never consider cheating on my wife. Does my own wife think of me so worthless?

“Spineless?” I breathe. “That’s what you think?” I have to know. My eyes are volcanoes, heated.

“Christian, I saw the text. That’s what I know.”

“That text was not meant for you,” I growl in response.

“Well, fact is I saw it when your Blackberry fell out of your jacket while I was undressing you because you were too drunk to undress yourself. Do you have any idea how much you’ve hurt me by going to see that woman?” she asks.

I pale in her epitaph. I made a mistake, because I’m a fucking idiot. I was mad, and I’m still mad, because she’s not giving me a chance to explain. The fact is, when she gets mad, she gets in a roll, and pick up her baton, and runs with it.

“Do you remember last night when you came home? Remember what you said?”

What the hell did I say? I’m frozen momentarily. I stare at her blankly because I don’t remember jack shit. I must have royally fucked up, because she’s totally pissed.

“Well, you were right. I do choose this defenseless baby over you. That’s what any loving parent does. That’s what your mother should have done for you. And I’m sorry that she didn’t… Because we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now if she had. But you’re an adult now... you need to grow up and smell the fucking coffee and stop behaving like a petulant adolescent.

“You may not be happy about this baby. I’m not ecstatic, given the timing and your less than lukewarm reception to this new life, this flesh of your flesh. But you can either do this with me, or I’ll do it on my own. The decision is yours. While you wallow in your pit of self-pity and self-loathing, I’m going to work. And when I return, I’ll be moving my belongings to the room upstairs.”

I blink in complete shock. Is she leaving me? She is leaving me! Oh God! She’s breaking up!

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to finish getting dressed,” she says breathing hard.

I feel like she just slapped me. I take a step back, looking at her, my demeanor hardened. “Is this what you want?” I whisper. She wants to be away from me, away from our relationship.

“I don’t know what I want any more,” she says fervently, her expression mirroring mine. She turns her back to me, dips her fingers into her moisturizer and gently rubs it in over her face. She peers into the mirror, checking her flushed face with wide eyes.

I can’t take the idea that she doesn’t want me in her life. “You don’t want me?” I whisper.

“I’m still here aren’t I?” she snaps at me. She takes her mascara tube and taking the brush, she applies it over her eyelashes.

She must have been thinking about this since yesterday if she came to that conclusion now.

“You’ve thought about leaving?” I ask as my heart squeezing tightly into a knot. I can’t live without her! I am desperate for her. Can’t she see that?

“When one’s husband prefers the company of his ex-mistress, it’s usually not a good sign,” she says with disdain in her tone. Then she applies her lip gloss. My eyes are on her, and I haven’t touched her since yesterday morning. It’s been about 24 hours. The short literal, but miles apart virtual distance is killing me. She picks up her boots, and strolls over to the bed, and sitting on the side of the bed, she puts her boots on, tugging them up to her knees. She’s just in her underwear and her boots. And I’m fucking frustrated, hot for her, desirous, and she won’t have me. She doesn’t want to have anything with me. Or does she? Is this a tactic for her win her argument? She’s a good negotiator. A tough one. Anastasia can bring any man to her knees. She’s about to do that to me. But, I have my own set of tactics I can employ.

“I know what you’re doing here,” I murmur in a warm, seductive voice. She has zero resistance to my seduction. I know her better she knows herself.

“Do you?” she squeaks her voice cracking. It’s the first chink in her armor. I swallow, taking a chance, I step forward. She steps back holding her hand up to half my advance.

“Don’t even think about it, Grey,” she hisses menacingly.

“You’re my wife,” I counter softly, contentiously. I want what’s mine. She is mine; my wife, my woman.

“I’m the pregnant woman you abandoned yesterday, and if you touch me I will scream the place down.”

My eyebrows rise in incredulity. “You’d scream?” I ask, hoarsely.

“Bloody murder,” she counters, narrowing her eyes, not backing down.

“No one would hear you,” I murmur, my gaze intense, passionate. Please let me touch you. The only way I know how to resolve problems is in bed, Ana.

“Are you trying to frighten me?” she mutters breathless, scared. What? No! I’m only trying to communicate with her the only way I know how. And she won’t let me.

“That wasn’t my intention,” I say frowning. Her chest is heaving up and down with short breaths.

“I had a drink with someone I used to be close to. We cleared the air. I am not going to see her again.”

“You sought her out?” she asks, wounded.

“Not at first. I tried to see Flynn. But I found myself at the salon.”

 “And you expect me to believe you’re not going to see her again?” she hisses with pure fury. “What about the next time I step across some imaginary line? This is the same argument we have over and over again. Like we’re on some Ixion’s wheel. If I fuck up again, are you going to run back to her?”

“I am not going to see her again,” I say with a petrifying decisiveness. “She finally understands how I feel.”

She just blinks at me. “What does that mean?”

I straighten and run my hand through my hair completely exasperated, anger rising in me, and I’m completely silent. Because she tells me to talk about what happened, but she’s unwilling to listen. She’s angry, and she’s running with her conclusions, and not hearing me out. We’re not resolving anything because our anxieties are running high.

“Why can you talk to her and not to me?”

“I was mad at you. Like I am now,” I growl.

“You don’t say!” she snaps. “Well, I am mad at you right now. Mad at you for being so cold and callous yesterday when I needed you. Mad at you for saying I got knocked up deliberately, when I didn’t. Mad at you for betraying me,” she says her voice choking at the end.

Her declaration shocks me as if she kicked me in the groin and slapped me at the same time, making me flinch. I never betrayed her. I know I behaved like an ass, but she doesn’t listen to me, and she isn’t listening to me now. I’m rudderless when I’m around her. She takes all my control away. What the hell am I supposed to do? How do I express myself? She swallows, getting ready to say something.

“I should have kept better track of my shots. But I didn’t do it on purpose. This pregnancy is a shock to me, too,” she mutters. “It could be that the shot failed.”

I glared at her wordlessly. Of course it fucking failed. It has an expiration date. A date and time where it runs out of her system! That’s why she has to take her shot at the prescribed date.

“You really fucked up yesterday,” she whispers, with fury. “I’ve had a lot to deal with over the last few weeks.”

“You really fucked up three or four weeks ago. Or whenever you forgot your shot,” I hiss back.

“Well, God forbid I should be perfect like you!” she shouts glowering. I glower back at her. We stand silently like this for a few minutes.

“This is quite a performance, Mrs. Grey,” I whisper. She’s delivering it well, standing up to me, fighting toe to toe.

“Well, I’m glad that even knocked up, I’m entertaining.”

I stare at her blankly. She insists on taking me the wrong way. “I need a shower,” I murmur.

“And I’ve provided enough of a floor show.”

“It’s a mighty fine floor show,” I whisper as I step forward. I want to hold her, touch her. If I just touch her, I know we can solve this, melt the glacier growing between us. I need her desperately right now. She immediately steps back.

“Don’t,” she hisses menacingly.

“I hate that you won’t let me touch you,” I whisper. I need her desperately. Can’t she see that?

“Ironic, huh?” she mutters.

I narrow my eyes again. I let her touch me. I worked on getting over my fear for her, and yet she’s denying me what’s mine. “We haven’t resolved much, have we?”

“I’d say not. Except that I’m moving out of this bedroom.”

What? Don’t do this to us, Ana! Why are you tearing us apart? My eyes flare and widen with fear briefly. “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Except when you need her.”

“I don’t need her. I need you,” I plead with her. She must see that. She’s all I need. I want to be all she needs, too.

“You didn’t yesterday. That woman is a hard limit for me, Christian.”

“She’s out of my life.”

All the man I need – Whitney Houston

“I wish I could believe you,” she says with utter distrust, and that’s the knife that sticks to my heart.

“For fuck’s sake, Ana.”

“Please let me get dressed,” she says dismissing me. My heart is ripped out. Is this the end of us? I’m numb, desolate, bereft of feeling as if a tornado came and swept away everything and shuffled my life upside down.

“I’ll see you this evening,” I say, with a flat voice, beaten, crushed. I head to the bathroom, and slowly close the door. Mechanically I take my clothes off, and turn the water on walking into the first cold then scalding hot water.

What are you doing to us, Ana? Why are you shredding us into pieces? Questions left unasked, words unspoken leave me choking, worried, and utterly spent. I slowly slide onto the shower floor and let the water wash me free of my sorrow.

When I come out, Anastasia is gone, the bedroom has her lingering scent, but only so much to tell me she’s gone and away from me. I go out to the kitchen. Mrs. Jones is busy there.

“Can I fix your breakfast now, Mr. Grey?” she asks.

“Anastasia?”

“She left with Sawyer for work a little bit ago,” she replies in a soft voice.

“Did she eat breakfast?” I ask.

“No, Mr. Grey,” she says shaking her head.

“Can I fix you your usual breakfast, sir?” she asks hopeful.

“Not today, Gail. I’ll eat later at work. Thank you,” I say softly. Taylor is waiting by the entrance for me.

“Mrs. Grey was in the Playroom, sir,” he says without a preamble. I cock my head to the side quizzically.

“How do you know?”

“We’ve searched every room, every shelf in the room. The only room that was locked was the playroom. I went to check it, and it was unlocked. The key was still inside the door,” he replies.

I quickly take the stairs to go to the playroom. Just as Taylor indicated, the door is still unlocked. I walk into the room and am greeted by the scent of soft leather, lemon and oil. When I hit the light switch, and the soft lights come on and illuminate the red room. Nothing is disturbed in the room. The only evidence that Anastasia has been in the room is the small dent she left on the chesterfield sofa. I softly caress it. I look around for another indication that she was here, but there is none. I walk towards the door, turn off the light, and get downstairs. Then taking my jacket, I nod to Taylor to follow me, and we take off. The ride to the garage is quiet. We walk to the SUV in the same silence.

As the garage gate is lifting, my Blackberry buzzes. I feel hopeful immediately thinking Anastasia is calling. But my face falls when I see the caller.

“Hi Elliot,” I answer.

“Were you able to find your wife this morning?” he asks.

“I see that Kate called you. Yes, she’s at work right now.”

“I hope she isn’t leaving you five minutes after you guys got married. Not that I’d blame her,” he says jokingly.

“Fuck off Elliot! I’m not in the mood.”

“Hey, bro. I'm sorry, don't be uptight. If you want to talk...”

“Nothing to talk about. I’m sure you’ve had fights with your fiancée. Just a simple argument where she got mad at me, that’s all.”

“Alright, Ana!” he whoops his cheer.

“Look, I’m almost to work, and I’ve got a lot to do today. Talk to you later, Elliot,” I say and hang up. I just stare out the window as we stop on a red light. The people are running to and fro purposefully, getting on with their lives and businesses without knowing that only a few feet away from them someone’s heart is ripping apart, breaking into pieces, and they’re completely oblivious to my agony.

When Taylor pulls into the Grey House parking lot, he drives to my reserved parking space. After he turns the vehicle off, he jumps out and opens my door. I ease out of the SUV and walk towards the elevators. The ride is silent again. When Andrea sees my stoic face, “good morning Mr. Grey,” she says without her usual cheer.

“Coffee, sir?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say as I walk into my office.

I take to my seat and fire up my computer. Before I dive into work, I need to do one thing. Taking my Blackberry out, I scroll the numbers, and dial.

“Yes, Mr. Grey,” he answers.

“Sawyer, how is Mrs. Grey?”

“She was shaken and crying a little,” he answers, and I close my eyes in pain.

“Did you get her something to eat?”

“I asked but she said she wasn’t hungry,” he replies. My stubborn wife. The last time she went into her self-imposed hunger strike was when she broke up with me. She punishes us both.

“Just in case, check on her throughout the day. I’m sure Taylor has informed you; Mrs. Grey is pregnant. She’ll need to eat, and needs to be careful.”

“I’ll be sure to keep a close eye on her, sir,” he says.

“Call me if she’s not well, or need anything.”

“Yes, sir,” he replies.

I take a deep breath, and look at Taylor, and Andrea walks in with my coffee. She puts the coffee before me, and takes out her iPad.

“You have quite a few meetings today, Mr. Grey. The first meeting is with Finance. There are four things in the agenda with the meeting. The purchase funds, allocation of the base payroll, operational expenses, and the sale of Triway Electronics which is going to be finalized today. That meeting is at 2:00 p.m., sir,” she says and dives into my full load work schedule. For once, I’m grateful for a very busy day. It should leave me little time to bask in my own misery.

THE BAIL

His phone rings softly playing the “Godfather Theme song”.

Godfather Theme song

“I thought I told you never to call me on this phone, he answers his phone curtly after verifying the caller.

“We may have the bail accepted as early as tomorrow,” he replies as if he hasn’t heard. “There was no other way to reach you this soon.”

His eyes glower with excitement. He leans in as if he’s going to share a secret with the man on the phone.

“Fine… We will meet in one hour, the same place. I’ll have my instructions.”

“And the payment is required plus ten percent for their trouble.”

“I have it ready. And my terms are the same as ever. I hope you keep them in the forefront of your mind. If not, all involved will be dealt harshly.”

“Yes,” he answers firmly.

“See you then.”

Well, well, well… he thinks to himself. It's time to fuck his oldest enemy up. Not oldest by age, but oldest by how long he has been brewing his revenge against him. Excitement is almost unbearable. He’s been feeding a fund for this very day for years, right in his own personal safe. It’s been his cash revenge fund. He’s put aside quite a lot. They don’t say ‘revenge is a dish best served cold,’ for no reason. It’s been properly kept on ice for six long years. He opens his safe, and puts the $10,000 bank straps each containing one hundred individual $100 bills. He counts twenty five straps for the bail. Then counts two and a half stacks and places it in an envelope. In a separate quadrant in the briefcase, he puts fifty other stacks methodically. With more than three quarters of a million Dollars, he leaves his place of business, and makes his way to the restaurant.

He enters the restaurant purposefully in his usual self-confident demeanor. The male host whose name tag read Tyler looks up smiling.

“Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a reservation?” Tyler asks.

“Yes. It’s under the name of Brioni.”

“This way Mr. Brioni. Your party is waiting,” he says to lead him.

“That won’t be necessary. I know my way around,” he says as he holds a hand to stop him.

“I just wish to take you…”

“Good for you, young man. No need to wish it. I can do my own walking,” he says as he stops Tyler with a domineering stare of his and turns to get to one of the reserved private rooms.

“Mr. Brioni,” Tyler calls, and the man doesn’t answer as if it isn’t his name. “Sir,” he calls again, and the man in his impeccable suit turns this time with his forbidding gaze pinning him in place. “We are required to escort our patrons to their seats,” Tyler says in a small voice.

“I don’t wish to be escorted. I know the way,” he enunciates. Tyler nods fearfully. The man who calls himself Brioni has a foreboding, threatening stare. Tyler knows that if the man had the opportunity he would be getting his own balls on a platter from this man. The suited man turns around and makes his way to his destination.

“Mr. Brioni, my ass,” mutters Tyler under his breath. “What dumb mobster would name himself after the suit he’s wearing?” he whispers. ‘It’s not worth my life to find out,’ he thinks to himself.

When the suited man enters the small dining room, Albert stands up to meet him.

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Lincoln, I mean sir,” he says with a hidden sarcasm in his tone.  

“Sit, and cut the shit,” Lincoln order, and Albert obeys immediately.

“I have pulled a lot of strings, and called in a lot of favors to make this happen, Mr. Lincoln. It’s not the easiest thing to do to go against one of the most respected businessmen in the state, not to mention one of the richest!” Albert replies as he sits in his seat.

“You’re getting paid for it. I’m in no mood to hear you bitch about it,” Lincoln says menacingly. “However, your payment will transact tomorrow after our man is freed just to ensure the end result,” Lincoln says.

“Hyde is a psychopath. Revenge is clouding is his judgment. He has a big grudge against Grey, his wife and his father.”

“His wife? What did the little cunt do? I assumed he was doing this to hurt Grey,” Lincoln says. This may just better serve his purpose.

“Guess he tried to fuck her and it backfired on him. She kicked his balls.”

“Well, well… Grey got himself a loyal wife,” Lincoln says contemplating. Wouldn’t it be the icing on the top to shatter his confidence in her?

“I don’t know Mr. Lincoln. He is murderous. If Hyde gets his hands on her, he will torture her, and then kill her. He can’t leave a witness behind with what he has in mind. Grey has the means, resources and the motivation to find Hyde if he knows who fucked and tortured his wife.”

“Then you make sure nothing points to us, and Hyde’s own ego and rage will serve our purpose.”

“I don’t think we even have to tell him what to do. He’s itching to get his hands on her,” Albert says.

“Be that as it may, I like to be in charge to ensure the desired outcome even if Hyde doesn’t know that I am. Now here’s what I want you to do. There is the bail money, and the 10% in the envelope to give our associates for their trouble for making the anonymous payment. The $500,000 is the first installment to Hyde to ensure he does what he is set out to do. He shall never know who I am. I want both his sister and his wife fucked, and tortured beyond repair. I want Grey to know that they suffered, and suffered greatly, all thanks to him. Hyde needs to clean up his trail, and be swift and decisive about it. And he can’t remain in the country for obvious reasons. Because he’ll be the suspect number one.”

“Yes…” Albert says with a pregnant silence.

“What?” Lincoln snaps.

“Are you sure this is wise?”

“Wise? Don’t you grow a fucking conscience on me! Call it public service, divine intervention in which you get paid handsomely. No trail leading to you, because all transaction is handled in cash.”

“Yes,” says Albert. Fuck! The blonde mistress’ tits alone are worth the trouble he was going to go through. This small side endeavor would fund his personal project handsomely. “Let’s do this!” he says decidedly, and extends his hand to shake Lincoln’s.

Love is that condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own 

Robert A. Heinlein

I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you. I love you not only for what you have made of yourself, but for what you are making of me. I love you for the part of me that you bring out.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

EMPTY BED

Workday is long, busy and tedious. Tiring to the point of exhaustion, but I don’t want to go home first time in a long time. I sigh. It’s not true. I want to go, but I’m still angry. Our problems are unresolved. Anastasia is going to move out of our bedroom. How did we manage to fuck this marriage up so quickly? I can’t take the idea of her not being with me. I can’t just see her at home and not touch her, hold her or kiss her. I’m miserable. I have everything anyone would covet for. I’m rich, the way the women’s stare at me tells me I’m good looking enough, and to top that, I have a beautiful wife I’m in love with. What the hell is the problem? “She doesn’t want you anymore; that’s the problem,” my subconscious reminds me. Don’t I know it!

I call Gail at 5:00 p.m. knowing Anastasia isn’t home yet.

“Hello Mr. Grey,” Gail answers.

“Gail, I won’t be home for dinner tonight. I’m working late in the office. If Mrs. Grey asks, that’s where I’ll be,” I say.

“Yes, Mr. Grey,” Gail replies. “I’ll inform her, sir. Anything else you wish, Mr. Grey?”

Yes, tell Ana I love her! Tell her I hate this distance between us. Tell her I miss her terribly. I miss my wife! Tell her I’ve been a proud ass…

“No, thank you Mrs. Jones,” I say softly and hang up.  

I give myself to my work for the rest of the evening. I haven’t called or e-mailed Anastasia all day. She hasn’t called me, e-mailed or texted me either. I couldn’t go for three hours without some sort of interaction with her. It’s been nearly two days since I touched her. We worked out other problems before. The vows, her topless showcase during our honeymoon and the subsequent punishment, the car chase, Ana keeping her maiden name at work, the time when she broke the protocol when I was in New York even though she said she would come home, Hyde’s break-in…. We worked through all those. When has she not been challenging? Since the minute she fell through my door. She wasn’t even supposed to be there! That alone was challenge enough. Isn’t that why I fell in love with her? Why can’t we work through this? She is as stubborn as I am, and I love her!

The light in my office is dim, and I work in the light of my computer. My tie loosened, my jacket slumped behind my chair. My Blackberry vibrates on my desk, and my heart lurches. Her name on the screen with her smiling picture  both elates me and shatters my heart.

“Ana,” I answer the phone in a cool voice, though there are volcanoes brewing beneath it.

“Hi,” she says gently.

I inhale softly. “Hi,” I greet her in a lower voice.

“Are you coming home?” she asks. Yes, but you won’t let me touch you, and you’ve moved out of our room.

“Later,” I reply.

“Are you in the office?” she asks. Does she think I’m hanging out and partying with Elena?

“Yes. Where did you expect me to be?”

“I’ll let you go,” she says without answering my question. But I know what she’s thinking. The silence is deafening between us. It’s louder, speaks volumes of the distance we’ve created between each other.

Simon and Garfunkel – The Sound of Silence

“Goodnight, Ana,” I say finally.

“Goodnight, Christian,” she replies. I hang up. I toss the Blackberry on my desk, and cover my face with my hands, finally shoving my hair back in exasperation. I finally have the courage to leave for home by midnight.

Our room and bed is empty. Cold without her. I know that she’s upstairs in her former bedroom where she moved herself to. I slowly open the door to her former room. She’s curled up beneath the duvet. I slowly sit on the side of the bed to not to disturb her. My fingers tentatively reach out to her face. I don’t want to wake her. The simple touch of my fingers to her face is feels like stabs in my heart, hurting me. I close my eyes in agony. My fingers slowly slide to her hair fanned on her pillow. I feel the dampness on the pillow. She was crying. Why can’t we work this out? Two stubborn people, too fucking proud to admit we’re wrong. I slowly stand up from the bed, and pull a chair by the bed. I take off my silver tie I put on this morning in hopes that she would see it, but she was gone before I came out of the bedroom. I toss it on the floor unceremoniously. I watch her for hours sleeping, like I did the first night we spent together when she was drunk. Why the hell do we hurt each other like this? How do we pass this problem? I’m no father material. It scares me to death. I’m going to screw this kid up! I’m going to be shitty like my birth mother. But I love my wife with every fiber of my being. What do I do?

I doze off for a short time in my most uncomfortable chair. But there’s no place I’d rather be than here right now. I wake up with the first lights of the day. Anastasia is still sleeping. I don’t want her to see me here. I make my way downstairs slowly, and go to our bedroom to take a shower and get ready. I’m dressed and ready to be out the door by 6:30 a.m. Mrs. Jones fixes my breakfast, and by the time I finish the last bite, I’m ready to walk out the door. Gail looks at me with pleading eyes. But, she says nothing. Taylor is waiting by the entrance.

“Ready?”

“Yes, sir,” he replies and we leave for Boeing Field-King County Airport where Charlie Tango is. I send her an e-mail on the way to the airport.

____________________________________

From: Christian Grey

Subject: Portland

Date: September 15, 2011 06:45

To: Anastasia Grey

Ana,

I’m flying down to Portland today.

I have some business to conclude with WSU.

I thought you would want to know.

Christian Grey

CEO, Grey Enterprises Holdings Inc.

____________________________________

Taylor and I get to the airport, and get into Charlie Tango. Flight checks, and after clearing with the tower, we take off at about 7:30 a.m. from the airport to Portland. When we get to Portland it’s about 8:40 a.m. Taylor had a car reserved already which is waiting for us outside. We get to WSU’s Farming Division to meet with the directors and see the new crop projects they want to introduce. But I’m not in my element. My mind is pre-occupied, and I find myself asking them to repeat themselves.

I tour the facility and listen to their findings, and I give my okay to allocate funds to their new project with the condition that they send detailed descriptions and findings on bimonthly basis to my company for evaluation. I go to a quick lunch before taking off back to Seattle.

We are driven back to the airport where Charlie Tango is fueled and ready to take off. Just as we make our way to the helicopter and harnessed, Taylor’s Blackberry rings with voice mail. He picks his phone up.

“That’s strange. I didn’t hear the phone ring. It’s Sawyer,” he says. He opens an app up on his phone. A red dot moves along on a map of Seattle in a rather speedy fashion.

“Mrs. Grey’s car is on the move,” he says. “This is an unscheduled trip,” he mutters and without listening to Sawyer’s message he calls him back immediately.

“Sawyer, why is Mrs. Grey’s vehicle on the move on an unscheduled trip?” he asks in a commanding tone, and I stop in my tracks. Is something the matter with Ana? I listen to Taylor's one way conversation.

“I see,” he says and looks at me with concern. “Mrs. Grey is unwell, and Sawyer is taking her back to Escala,” he says to answer my unspoken question. Oh no! I’m not home, and my wife is sick. Shit!

“Tell him, we’re sitting at the tarmac, but will leave soon. We should be in Seattle in an hour. If she needs a doctor, he should take her there. Otherwise, let her rest. I’ll be home soon.”

“Yes, sir,” he says. “Sawyer, we’re sitting at the tarmac in Portland and we’ll be leaving here shortly. We are going to be in Seattle in about an hour. Take Mrs. Grey home; see if she needs any medical attention. If not, let her rest, but keep an eye on her. Mr. Grey will be home shortly after we arrive in Seattle.”

“A friend should always underestimate your virtues and an enemy overestimate your faults.”

Mario Puzo, The Godfather

FREEDOM

Her cell phone rings, but the number is unlisted. She doesn't like to answer calls from Anonymous numbers, but some of the writers prefer their numbers to be unlisted to keep it from the stalking fans.

“Good morning, this is Elisabeth Morgan,” she answers.

“And my chariot arrives,” says the male voice mockingly. She freezes in her seat.

“Jack! When did you get out?”

“This morning, and I believe we have an unfinished business, Elizabeth.”

“Look Jack! You got your freedom. Enjoy it. This will get you into more trouble.”

“Oh, no you don’t! We have a deal where you help me so I don’t accidentally publish your spread out cunt all over the internet,” he threatens. “But you already know that it’s not the worst of it. You were tied up and fucked by not only one, but two men at the same time! How would that image go with dear sweet Mrs. Morgan? You may not get a job as an editor, but I’m sure the road to porn industry might open up for you. Although I don’t know how many offers you might get since you’re not a spring chicken anymore. So, DON’T FUCK WITH ME Elizabeth! You do exactly what I tell you to do. I know the map of your body, I know how hard you like your fuck, the bite of the cat, the clamps, I know every dark desire of your heart in bed or elsewhere. If you’re a good girl now and obey, you might just experience some of that again,” he hisses like a snake. “Now, you know where the black Dodge is. And if you follow my instructions to the letter, you will get your reward, and you may not have to work under that cock sucking, gold digging whore! How does it feel to be bossed around by the little girl you hired only a few months ago, by the way? Hmmm?” he asks.

Elisabeth and a lot of other women working at SIP resent Ana badly, and half of them wouldn’t think twice to aid in finding a way to get her flat on her face. The bitch was nearly penniless until they gave her a job, and she goes and marries the second richest man in Seattle. Christian Grey! The man is richer than dirt, and sexier than Greek gods. Every girl is burning with envy at the SIP. This would serve her right.

“Fine, Jack,” she says grudgingly. “What do I need to do?”

“Good girl. Well, first of all, we need to bait our trap. And Grey’s little sister will do just fine. Since you work with the cockblocker, it’d be best if you get Grey’s sister right after her gym session. They all have a set routine.”

“I don’t know what gym she goes to, Jack,” says Elizabeth.

“Don’t worry, I do. Now be a good girl, and come and pick me up. I have my supplies at your apartment. Meet me there.”

“Fine. Give me a few minutes. I’ll have to sneak out without letting anyone know.”

*****❦ ♡ ❧*****

“You look a little different,” Elizabeth says to Jack when she sees him outside of her building. His hair is cut short, earrings removed, and he looks remarkably well dressed for a man who just got out of jail and is about to kidnap two women. He’s totally changed.

“I don’t wanna be seen on your building’s camera. Be a dear and get the tranquilizers. All 10 packs of it. I have a duffel bag with some supplies, all ready to go. We will discuss the rest once you get downstairs. You might want to get a change of black outfit. Something inconspicuous and a baseball cap. But don’t change yet. That’s for later,” Jack says without wasting a word.

When Elizabeth returns with the requested supplies from her apartment, they go to the parking lot, and uncover the black Dodge parked in a deep corner of the parking lot.

“How are things at SIP?” Jack asks.

“Different. Changing since Grey took over. Reins are tighter, so is the security. And there’s a constant watch, a body guard with Ana. It’s disgusting actually. What did Grey see in that scrawny bimbo?” says Elizabeth in contempt.

“Jealous?” asks Jack fueling her hatred.

“I have worked just as hard as you did for my job, Jack! She comes and takes over your job within two week. Well, okay, we hand it over to her, but I didn’t know her husband took over the company. And now she owns all our asses, including Roach’s! Nearly all the female editors have contempt for her. But Jack, this, this road we’re taking, it’s got no return. I don’t wanna go to jail!”

“You won’t get caught to go to jail.”

“She will know. She can surely identify me for what you are planning for me to do.”

“No, she won’t. We’ve talked about this before. If it had worked out the first time, and you did what you were supposed to do, I wouldn’t have gone to jail, and we would have had five million Dollars and sipping Mojitos in the Caribbean. As it is, I’ve made bail thanks to someone else who was fucked up by Grey. You get the little sister into the car. I’ll take care of her here. Then, we call the gold digger for our payment. She gets the money, and you collect her with the money from the bank making sure she isn’t followed. If you do it right, you get the biggest payday of your life!” says Jack with no intention of sharing the payoff.

“If I’m going to do the majority of the footwork, I want to be in 50/50! My career and freedom are also in line,” she says.

“You hold your end of the bargain, and you shall get 50/50. But I want to thank the bitch personally. Bring her here as soon as she collects our payment,” he says grinning.

“Now, pull the SUV over here,” says Jack. “If my timing is correct, the little sister will come out in about 12 minutes. Tell her who you are, and that Ana is sick. I’ll take care of the rest once she enters into the car.”

“Okay,” Elizabeth says nervously. “How do I know what she looks like?”

“Can’t miss it. She looks an ostrich,” Jacks says.

“What? This is no time to joke, Jack! I’m shaking here!”

“Long legs, big tits, dark hair cut into a bob. Like this,” he says pulling out a printed picture of Mia Grey. Elisabeth looks at the picture and swallows. She takes a deep breath and pulls the Dodge in front of the gym. Mia emerges in her tight yoga pants and a bra top, with her gym bag slumped on her shoulder and her iPod ear buds plugged into her ears. Elisabeth rushes to the steps to meet Mia.

“I’m sorry, Miss Grey?” she says all flustered.

“Yes?” Mia replies.

“I apologize for coming to you here, but I’m Elizabeth Morgan from SIP. I’m Ana’s boss. Your sister-in-law, Ana is unwell, and I guess she can’t reach her husband for some reason. We’ve taken her to a local hospital; she’s undergoing some tests right now. We’ve no idea what’s wrong with her, and the doctors won’t give me any information since I’m not next of kin. She told me to fetch you before she was taken into a test. I didn’t know how to reach you. Can you please come with me? She really needs someone with her!” Elizabeth says with genuine anxiety, but all for different reason.

“Oh my gosh! I better call my mom! She’s a doctor. She can meet us at the hospital.”

“Please do that in the car. We don’t have a moment to spare!” Elizabeth rushes Mia holding her elbow in a pleading tone. Mia enters into the passenger side of the vehicle, and Elisabeth enters into the driver’s side, and immediately locks the doors turning the Dodge on. As Mia turns to toss her gym bag to the back seat, she notices Jack.

“Who are you?” she asks confused.

“Hello,” Jack says as he snakes his arm around her neck and covers her mouth and nose with a towel doused in chloroform, and as the fight slowly dissipates from Mia’s limbs, Jack stabs her with enough dose of horse tranquilizer that could put down a horse.

“Step on it!” he hisses Elisabeth who watches him with gaping mouth. She manages to put the SUV in gear with shaky hands.

“I’ll give you the directions,” Jack says as he pulls Mia’s limp body to the back of the SUV. Jack directs Elizabeth towards the industrial side of the city where there is a clump of abandoned buildings, old factories with broken windows and graffiti over the walls. It smells musty, dust, and decay. He pulls Mia’s body and slumps it over his shoulder carrying it inside the building. He lays her on a mattress stained with dirt, body fluids, possibly blood and fecal material. It smells, but then again, the bitch won’t need it long. She’s just the bait, and bait belongs in the ocean. She won’t mind at all. He ties her hands and feet, and gags her mouth, not that she will wake up anytime soon, if she wakes up at all.

“Phase One complete,” he says as he walks out of the building, utterly content with himself.

“Now what?” asks Elizabeth.

“Now, we dip the bait in the water. Smile, it’s payday!” he says, and shows Mia’s cell phone. He scrolls through the numbers, and finds Ana’s cell phone in the list.

The phone rings a few times, and Jack gets anxious thinking Ana might not answer the phone. That wasn’t in the plans. But she does.

“Mia,” comes on Ana’s voice brightly. Jack grins wider than he ever did. It’s his paycheck speaking after all.

“Well, hello there, Ana…long time no speak.”

“Jack,” she replies in a choked, fearful, small voice. Just the affect he was aiming for.

“You do remember me,” he replies in a soft tone, smiling bitterly.

“Yes. Of course.”

“You’re probably wondering why I called you.”

“Yes,” she says hesitant. She might hang up.

“Don’t hang up. I’ve been having a chat with your little sister-in-law.”

“What have you done?” she whisper her fear.

“Listen here, you prick-teasing, gold-digging whore. You fucked up my life. Grey fucked up my life. You owe me. I have the little bitch with me now. And you, that cock-sucker you married, and his whole fucking family are going to pay.”

“What do you want?” Ah, the question he’s been waiting for many weeks.

“I want his money. I really want his fucking money. If things had been different, it could have been me. So you’re going to get it for me. I want five million dollars, today.”

“Jack, I don’t have access to that kind of money.” And, how is that my problem, Jack thinks to himself.

“You have two hours to get it. That’s it…two hours. Tell no one or this little bitch gets it. Not the cops. Not your prick of a husband. Not his security team. I will know if you do. Understand?” He shouts. She’s silent. Is it fear, or did she hang up?

“You understand!” he shouts forcefully.

“Yes,” she whispers. It is indeed fear, Jack’s proud of his performance.

“Or I will kill her.” He can hear Ana’s loud gasp on the phone.

“Keep your phone with you. Tell no one or I’ll fuck her up before I kill her. You have two hours.”

“Jack, I need longer. Three hours. How do I know that you have her?” she asks, but he hangs up on her. No chances to have time to think. She only has time to get the money.

Now, it’s Elizabeth’s time to perform. Time is ticking after all.

When We Two Parted

WHEN we two parted

In silence and tears,

Half broken-hearted

To sever for years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,

Colder thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretold

Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning

Sunk chill on my brow--

It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.

Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame:

I hear thy name spoken,

And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,

A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me--

Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,

Who knew thee too well:

Lond, long shall I rue thee,

Too deeply to tell.

I secret we met--

I silence I grieve,

That thy heart could forget,

Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet thee

After long years,

How should I greet thee?

With silence and tears

Lord Byron

“Sea-Tac tower, this is Charlie Tango – requesting permission to land.”

“Helicopter Charlie Tango, cleared for landing at Sea-Tac airport, make approach circling left to helipad 11 arrival route 4. Remain 700 feet from the other helicopter. Please use caution wake turbulence. Cleared to land.”

“Landing at helipad 11, arrival route 4. Remaining 700 feet from the helicopter,” I reply and we land at Sea-Tac. I take off the cans, and unbuckle the harness as Taylor is doing the same. His Blackberry rings ominously as soon as he turns it on, and he looks up and answers immediately.

“Sawyer! What’s up?”

He listens, and his face blanches, taking up a deathly color.

“She did what?” he shouts. “Where are you?”

“Slow down, are you running?... Driving?...Where?”

“What is happening?” I ask my eyes blazing but I don't get a chance to get an answer. Because my Blackberry starts buzzing.

“Grey,” I answer curtly.

“Mr. Grey,” says a monotonous voice. “This is Troy Wheelan at the Pacific Northwest Bank. Mrs. Grey is here to withdraw five million Dollars in cash, sir. This obviously…” he says but I cut him.

“She is doing what?”

“Withdrawing five millions dollars sir which is highly irregular for our bank without any prior notice, but luckily we do hold all the cash reserves for the Pacific Northwest,” he babbles on some shit proudly as my world crumbles around me.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what your bank holds, or reserves. Did you just say my wife is there to withdraw five million dollars?”

“Yes sir, she’s currently sitting in my office. I’m preparing the paperwork. But it is highly irregular as I said, and we need to verify what assets to withdraw these funds from.” My heart is beating in my ears. I can’t breathe. My wife, my love is leaving me with five million dollars of our money. She’s going. I find myself holding onto Charlie Tango, and Taylor’s eyes go wide.

“Before you do anything, I want to talk to my wife, Wheelan. Put her through.”

“Ah, she’s waiting for me to complete the paperwork.”

“You will complete no fucking paperwork, if I sue your bank down to its last penny. Now, put my wife on the fucking phone, now!” I shout holding the phone in front of my mouth. My hands are shaking, everything is crumbling, and my heart is being cut into slices. I’m breathing heavily. Taylor has a terrified look on his face; totally shocked.

Ana’s voice comes on the phone.

“Hi,” she says softly.

“You’re leaving me?” I ask in a harrowed whisper. I have never felt the anguish, dejection, heartbreak and torment as I do this minute. I would rather die than to hear her confirmation. But I need to know. Please baby, don’t leave me.

“No!” she says completely surprised at my question. Then what is she doing? But, her answer changes.

“Yes,” she says in a whisper. She said ‘yes,’ she’s leaving me.

I gasp my sob; my universe is destroyed, and I fall to my knees, lifeless, powerless. Death would be better than this grief. I would rather die than to hear it. Did she ever love me? Even a little bit? She said she would never leave me, and now… I buckle over my knees, my hand pulling a clump of my hair.

“Ana, I…” I can’t finish my words. I have no words. My faculties leave me. I’ll take everything I said, every hurt I inflicted. Just… Just... Don’t leave me. My choked sob finds its escape and my anguish blankets me.   

Nothing's gonna change my love for you - Glenn Medeiros