Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13176942.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Original_Work
  Relationship:
      Claude-Vincent_Moreau/Annabelle_Clarke, Original_Female_Character/
      Original_Male_Character
  Character:
      Claude-Vincent_Moreau, Annabelle_Clarke, Original_Characters, Some_other
      randos_that_don't_matter
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Porn_With_Plot, French_Characters, Mid-life
      Crisis, Real_Life, Vacation, Travel, Pedophilia, Hebephilia, Lolita,
      Sexual_Content, child_grooming, Molestation, Stalking, Secret
      Relationship, This_is_one_creepy_dude, Birthday_Sex, Loss_of_Virginity,
      Loss_of_Innocence, Running_Away, Emotional_Manipulation, Spies_&_Secret
      Agents, I'm_Not_Ashamed, I'm_Going_to_Hell, Unhealthy_Relationships,
      Unhealthy_Coping_Mechanisms, predatory_behavior, Dubious_Morality,
      Eventual_Smut, Older_Man/Younger_Woman, Age_Difference, Light_Dom/sub,
      Infatuation, Sexual_Abuse
  Series:
      Part 1 of Mr._Moreau
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-28 Updated: 2018-03-09 Chapters: 6/15 Words: 38753
****** The Fresh Prince of French Lick ******
by MrMoreau
Summary
     A Frenchman in America feels the pressures of a mid-life crisis
     approaching as he goes on vacation with his colleagues at French Lick
     resort. Being a life-long bachelor who has grown tired of moving on
     from woman to woman, he wants to find a companion he can commit to in
     the long term, take places, and find new purpose with. Problem is,
     the companion he has in mind is an underage girl.
Notes
     Hey, it's my first work on here...
     I've already reserved my own seat in hell for it.
     Before we get into this, I have several disclaimers, because those
     are always needed for some reason. As a matter of fact, my dingus
     senses are tingling - SOMEBODY will come here just to drop some
     stupid SJW comment. So here are some quick points I’d like to make
     for all the dinguses out there:
     1. The French Lick Springs/West Baden Springs resort is an actual,
     real-life location near the Hoosier National Forest in southern
     Indiana. *** NOTHING TAKING PLACE IN THIS STORY ACTUALLY HAPPENED AT
     THIS GOD DAMN RESORT. ***
     2. I do not condone this kind of behavior or activity in real life,
     and I don't intend to glorify the situations you will see here. If it
     comes off that way to you, I'm truly sorry. Things like this should
     always be kept in fantasy, and this outlet exists just for that.
     3. Make sure you've actually read the tags and understand what you're
     about see, because I'm pretty sure this site implemented that feature
     for a reason.
     For now this work will be made entirely public in order to get the
     most feedback possible. However, this also means I'm running a risk
     of legal issues having to do with the trademark of French Lick if
     they happen to find this on the 8th page of Google or something. I
     thoroughly read AO3's TOS though, where I believe they said that they
     will not handle complaints about trademarks that happen to be used in
     a fic, so I think I'm good on those grounds. If it turns out I'm not,
     this will be restricted to members only, if not taken down
     altogether.
     This location was chosen for the story because over the summer 2017 I
     visited it during a day trip. Even though I was only there for a few
     hours, it looked to me like a wonderful, historic place to stay. I
     used that visit as a major point of reference when writing.
     Mr. Moreau’s character is heavily based off the spy from Team
     Fortress 2, but the reason this isn't mentioned in the tags is that
     they aren't entirely the same, this does not take place in the TF2
     universe, and I don't want this story to be associated with that
     fandom. The guy you're seeing here isn't some murderous psychopath
     who enjoys getting paid to stab people in the back (literally). The
     main similarities between them are their appearance and gentleman-
     like parts of their personalities.
     If you're here specifically for the porn, skip to chapter four
     onward. If you’re here for the plot and are deeply disturbed by the
     porn, good luck making it through those later chapters.
     So with all of that out of the way, this is your last chance to leave
     if you don't like what you're seeing. If I so much as smell an SJW
     behind a comment, and if I happen to be in the right mood, prepare
     for me to lay down the smack. Otherwise, enjoy.
***** I *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
* Monday, June 5th, 2017 *
No smoking, they demand.
Mr. Moreau scoffed as he pushed away the sheer white curtains and slid open one
of the windows as high as it would allow, taking out his lighter and bringing a
cigarette to his teeth. After lighting it and breathing the smoke out the
window, he reveled in its familiar rush of nicotine and looked out over the
quiet grounds of the French Lick Springs hotel.
He was never much one to play by the rules. As a schoolboy in France he had
enjoyed playing mind games on his classmates and even teachers, and even found
it funny when his parents were admonished by the administration for not raising
him to be the ideal young man with values of honesty and refined character.
Well, refinement was never his problem, but the honesty was a weak point. For
whatever reason that virtue was never instilled in him quite well enough,
Claude learned that he must do what he must in order to get anything he wanted,
and to find out anything he wanted.
This is ultimately what led him to choose given his career. As part of an
underground, illegal field, his training as a spy let him reach his full
potential in trickery and stealthy infiltration. As a boy he had learned he
could find many ways not to get caught, but as a man, he learned that if he
does anyway, there was always a way to get out clean.
Then he wondered, how was he going to avoid his colleagues during their stay?
They had practically dragged him to the damned resort, desperately wishing to
recreate an outing similar to the one they had in Las Vegas a few years before.
However, this detached tourist spot in southern Indiana was far less glamorous
to him. Before leaving to go on their long trek through wooded hills, they had
all teased him on the fitting name of their destination, French Lick. He
decided to take his own car.
Despite the looks of the place in all its relative dullness, Mr. Moreau might
as well make the most out of his vacation before he had to return to a life of
sleuthing under the radar.
It would be narrowly possible for him to find a woman to fool around with and
bed there, though it wouldn't be worth his efforts, since in recent months he
found those kinds of relationships no longer satisfied him. After coming to
that realization, he buried his feelings as deeply as any of his secrets, and
had begun to ignore the opposite sex altogether. It was a challenge, however,
as he still sometimes took notice of women eyeing him discreetly, but with a
clear hunger that made him recoil.
No matter their age, close to his or much younger, they had always seemed to
gauge him all the same way - a handsome, well-to-do foreign man for them to
leech off of, whether that be for money or sex. He recalled meeting each of
these women:
"Oh, you're a foreigner?"
"I could use a sugar daddy..."
"Where are you from?"
"I'm really into French guys!"
All of which he had been given multiple times at that point, and all the women
behind these words had gone within a week, or even a day, after realizing this
man was not all they made him out to be.
He didn't want a one-night stand.
He didn't want to pay someone for a warm bed.
He didn't want to put up with typical American ignorance.
Mr. Moreau was giving up on his pursuits for the time being, no matter how much
his elderly parents back home would berate him for it. For his entire adult
life they nagged him to settle down and give them grandchildren, but especially
with the kind of field he worked in, this had always been answered with a hard
no.
The Frenchman felt a pang of homesickness. He truly missed his childhood home
in the countryside not far from Paris, the same stone mason which his parents
still resided. He truly missed his fellow French colleagues who he could sit
down with at a cafe and comically guess who else on the street were also spies
like them.
Since moving to the U.S. over eight years ago he had been free to be involved
in all the short flings he could ask for - but with no wife and children, what
would that make of him? At forty-seven years of age, a lonely old man with no
legacy to show for.
The Frenchman felt his crisis deepening when he heard a knock at the door,
knowing exactly who it was. Can't I get any peace? He knew his colleagues
probably weren't going to put up with his seclusion from them. Turning away
from the window, he made his way toward the front of the room to the door,
cigarette still in-hand. Unchaining the door and opening it, he wasn't
surprised in the slightest to see Mr. Reid, Mr. Abbott, and Mr. Brunton
standing there, dressed readily for a casual evening out. He could barely keep
from glowering.
"Hey Claude," Mr. Abbott began, "We were just about go find something to eat
before heading over to the casino. Are you coming?"
Mr. Moreau shook his head wearily, clearly not in the mood, "No, I won't be
gambling here."
"Really? But will you still get dinner with us?"
"No," he said firmly. He was planning to order food with room service, anything
to spend some time alone and think. The American took the hint from Mr.
Moreau's glower, "Shame...but whatever. It's your loss, Claude."
I will not be losing anything! They would almost certainly be losing more cash
than they could ever hope to make up for in fun.
"I mean, hey, they let you smoke in the casino," Mr. Brunton said, "Thought
that would be better than sitting there stinking up your own room." Shrugging,
he stepped away from the door and started off down the hall, and Mr. Reid
followed suit. As tempting as that sounded, he was not allowing himself to get
sucked into their trap. "Well...see you later then," Mr. Abbott murmured before
leaving to follow behind his friends.
Shutting the door with a sigh and locking its chain, the black sheep of the
group tossed his cigarette in the wastebasket and went to lay down and brood on
the leather couch in the small living area. He needed to figure out how to
spend his vacation independent from them.
===============================================================================
Annabelle Clarke could hardly keep her eyes open as she watched the scenes of
rural Indiana speed by. After several hours of her family's drive to French
Lick, the world was beginning to look entirely the same to her - endless trees
and growing fields of soybeans with the occasional patch of rustic
civilization.
She was grateful to be on this trip regardless, since she couldn't remember the
last time they decided to do something this special before her upcoming
birthday on the 11th. Previously it had mostly been slumber parties with her
friends from school, and this brief vacation was offered as trade-off for that.
However, the motivation for this trip mostly stemmed from her older brother
Jackson's success through his junior year of high school. Being the oldest and
therefore the favorite child, their parents were thrilled to find his potential
for senior year, and subsequently, college. It was funny to her in a bitter way
how she still felt to be living in his shadow.
Her father had turned off the radio in the car some indeterminate time as she
was lost in thought, and the family rode in a tense silence.
She decided to break it, "Could we go swimming tomorrow?" Mrs. Clarke had told
them there was a pool area, and had pestered them all into bringing swimsuits
and towels along.
"If it's warm enough," Mr. Clarke replied bluntly, eyes locked on the road. The
weather was often hit or miss at that time of year.
"But don't they have an indoor pool also?" Jackson questioned, not looking away
from the window as he rested beside Anne. "That's right...it's the one with the
dolphin fountain," Mrs. Clarke recalled. "I'll have to see that one personally,
some time." The building it belonged to was very likely to be heated. Either
way, both pools were close to each other, built in the same given area - if the
weather changed during their outing, whether in temperature or precipitation,
it wouldn't be a tough transition.
After a moment's silence, Mr. Clarke uttered, "I supposed we could eat at the
Power Plant grill tonight...they have burgers and stuff we all might like." The
rest of his family made no comment, their appetites not yet strong enough for
it.
Anne leaned against the car window and began fantasizing of how their trip
would play out over the next nine days - exploring the forested hills on
horseback, wearing her best dress for her birthday celebration, and seeing the
hotel's charming aesthetic which the resort advertised so proudly. Soon, her
eyes grew heavy and she dozed off to the vehicle's gentle hum.
With what must have been less than an hour later, in a half-conscious state
Anne felt Jackson's hand prodding at her shoulder. "Hey," she heard him murmur.
Struggling to open her eyes, the girl listlessly brought her head from the
window sill to look at him, "What..."
"We're here."
Anne had failed to notice before that the car was driving much slower than when
she had fallen asleep, showing that they had gotten off the highway at some
point. At that moment the girl's eyes focused, and all of a sudden she could
see crystal-clear that they were driving down Broadway street, sparsely lined
with old brick buildings until the property of West Baden Springs and its
massive hotel stood behind the trees in the distance.
"Whoa!" she clicked her seat belt off and crawled all over her brother to get a
better view of it out of his window. "Will you-!" Jackson said, but there was
no containing his sister's excitement. From its arched entrance, a long red
brick road lined with maple trees would lead to the sequestered building. She
anticipated them entering through that arch, but instead, they passed right by
it.
"We aren't staying at that one, Anne," Mr. Clarke laughed, "but we can still
visit it later." Jackson shoved her off onto the rest of the backseat once West
Baden Springs was out of sight. Normally this would have upset her, but that
day she hadn't a care in the world.
Continuing down the street, past a gas station, liquor store, and various other
shops, the family was soon immersed in front of their final destination. They
passed the casino and its parking lot, which was beginning to fill with
gamblers' cars for the evening before turning into the parking lot in front of
the hotel. Finding one of the few spots left in the last row, Anne's father
could finally rest after a day of driving.
"Okay..." he sighed, turning the engine off and leaning to face the kids in the
back, "So this is it. Looks nice, huh?" Jackson peered between the two front
seats to look up at it for a moment. "It looks old," he said apathetically. It
didn't seem too different from many of the buildings featured in the black-and-
white photos plastered into his history textbooks.
"Well, yeah, that too," his father replied and shrugged, "but at least it's
still maintained well enough that we can experience this piece of history." The
teenager rolled his eyes.
"Your great-great-grandparents could have stayed here, you know," Mrs. Clarke
mused as she gathered her purse and opened the door. Her husband also got out
and stretched before heading to the trunk to open it. Everyone congregated
before it to take out their luggage before he locked the car, and they walked
as a family with their bags across the street to the valet area. Several men
waiting at the entrance hastily approached and offered to take their luggage up
the red-carpeted flight of stairs to the entrance.
"Oh, thank you," Mrs. Clarke breathed as the weight was taken off of them, and
the family stood at the bottom of the stairs momentarily to rest while the
porters moved their things to a luggage cart near the door.
After they climbed up the steps and reached the extensive porch and their
luggage cart at the entrance, Anne fondly observed the many elders relaxing in
rocking chairs and talking amongst themselves. One old lady noticed and grinned
at her briefly before her mother coaxed her to go inside.
Upon entering, the girl marveled at the ornate and elegant design of the
hotel's lobby, as well as the equally elegant people, nicely dressed for the
evening as they rested in the lounge near the front desk which her parents were
seeing to. She listened in on their conversations about their latest rounds of
golf and their quarrels on who would win the most money at the casino later on.
To her, French Lick and West Baden Springs seemed to be an oasis of culture in
the otherwise agrarian society.
Mr. Clarke had finished speaking with the hotel reception when it was time to
roll the luggage cart to the elevator. With all four of the Clarke's watching
one corner of the cart each, they made their way down the hall and pressed the
elevator's button. It wasn't long before its doors slid open and the Clarke's
carefully put the cart and themselves inside; it was a rather tight fit.
Silently, they all watched the number above them strike 3 before the doors
opened again, and they were somewhere else entirely. Just a few doors down the
hall was their room, and the luggage cart was parked in front of the door for
them to take their bags from it and set them inside. This typical guest room
used a light brown scheme, with an intricate pattern in the carpet and freshly
cleaned bedding. Anne was eager to jump onto one of the beds, flopping down and
burying her face into a white pillow.
"Taking another nap?" Mr. Clarke joked as he put down his suitcase at the foot
of the bed. His daughter simply nodded against the pillow. "Well... then I'm
gonna ask both of you to stay here while me and your mom take the cart back and
look around. Ok?" he said. Neither Anne or Jackson replied, but looked
compliant nonetheless. Their parents then left them alone in the room, gently
shutting the door.
Anne lifted her head off the pillow and watched her brother find the remote and
turn the TV on. He pulled the accent chair out from in front of the desk so
that it had a better position in front of the TV before sitting down in it.
After mentally debating whether she should get up from such a cozy position,
the girl jumped off from the bed to investigate the bathroom near the entrance.
Jackson didn't fail to hear her opening all the sink cabinets and the shower
curtain, "There's even double sinks!" She also took note of the several
different shampoos available, picking them up and skimming over their labels.
"You act like we're gonna live here," Jackson muttered as he watched the
baseball game happening someplace else in the country. "Yeah, I would live
here. I love this place already," Anne came out of the bathroom to return to
the bed.
"I'll decide if I like this place or not once I have their food." Being a
bottomless pit of a teenager, Jackson based nearly all of his judgments by what
his stomach thought, rather than his brain. His sister laughed as she crawled
over the bed, "I think it's supposed to be good, so..." She soon found the same
spot on top of the thick bedding she laid before to get comfortable.
Meanwhile, Jackson had sunken to a slouch in his chair as he stared at the
screen, "Whatever." For an indefinite amount of time, the two lazily followed
the baseball game until their parents would return.
===============================================================================
Sometime after he received wine and a small meal with his room service while
his colleagues were away, Mr. Moreau lazed on the couch and had come to drown
himself in drink that evening in order to cope with his impending emotional
troubles. He was beginning to question nearly everything - why was he even
staying there? Once he managed to get over his alcohol-induced haze he could
cancel his stay, leave his colleagues and head back to his Indianapolis
apartment that very same night. At the moment, it seemed to him there was
nothing to be had if he stayed.
There was a rather low chance any women at the resort were looking to meet and
seriously settle down with a man, if they hadn't with someone else already.
After months of simply ignoring them unconditionally to focus on his work, he
was truly frustrated, and it would probably worsen each day he didn't do
something about it.
The Frenchman took the empty red wine bottle from the end table next to him and
inspected its brand and year, obscure and relatively recent. Déchets, he
sneered; its flavor was lackluster, too. He was surprised he even managed to
drink all of it. Grasping it by the neck, he stood with it and impulsively
opened the window to toss it outside, allowing it to shatter into black pieces
in the grass far below.
He was about to sit back down when he heard a familiar knock at the door again.
Again, they had come to torment him! Barely able to contain his contempt, Mr.
Moreau quickly straightened his appearance and put on his most neutral
expression possible before opening the door.
His colleagues seemed to be laughing amongst themselves with full stomachs
until Mr. Abbott turned his attention to him. His jolly expression fell upon
seeing the Frenchman, "Whoa...you ok, Claude?" Apparently, his hasty efforts to
look not to be drinking to cope with a crisis failed.
Mr. Moreau blinked, nodding as he rubbed his eye with his palm, "I-I'm
alright."
"Just tired?" Mr. Brunton narrowed his eyes. The other man felt that he didn't
even need to answer, and waited to be given a reason for them to have come
back.
"...We were going to ask just to make sure whether you wanted to come to the
casino with us," Mr. Abbott said, frowning, "But it doesn't look like you're in
any condition for that. Sorry for bothering you." He began to turn away
dismissively, in subtle disappointment.
"Have a good evening," Mr. Reid murmured as the door was resentfully shut on
them. All three men, remaining at the same spot in the hall, looked at each
other and shook their heads. Mr. Brunton crossed his arms and stepped away from
the door. "He's been drinking," he muttered.
"And it's never a good idea to gamble when you're drunk," Mr. Abbott shrugged
before leading the others down the hall, and eventually to the casino's
entrance at the very other side of the hotel. "I just don't get him...he never
allows himself to have any fun," Mr. Reid glanced behind himself at their
forsaken colleague's door regrettably as he trailed behind the others. He
remembered when Mr. Moreau was friendlier, years ago as a newcomer wonder-
struck by America's people, its values, and its diplomacy. The three had helped
him adapt to their agency, but over time he seemed to have become a hollow
shell of that man, as if all his dreams were never quite met.
===============================================================================
Later that night, the Clarkes had casually journeyed back to their hotel room
after their evening out eating and visiting the resort's bowling alley, eager
to finally rest to end their day. Similar to when they first arrived at their
room, Jackson had quickly claimed the only chair and turned on the TV straight
away, the children's mother meanwhile opening a window after believing the room
had gotten too hot while they were absent.
Peeved that Jackson had only returned to the sports channel from earlier, Anne
said, "That again? Can't we change it to something else?"
"What are you gonna do about it?" he retorted, eyes not leaving the screen.
Cracking a smirk, his sister rushed to him and tried to wrestle the remote out
of his hand. "Oh my god - stop!" he swiftly evaded his hand away from hers
several times before curling up and trying to conceal the device with his body
as a last resort. "Anne, get off of him," her mother reprimanded from atop one
of the beds, but her father had to step in when his wife was promptly ignored.
"Okay, missie..." he went to hoist her off from her brother as she grasped at
air, "I think it's time for you to get some shuteye." He brought her to the bed
she claimed and fluffed up one of the pillows for her. "Why me? And it isn't
even nine o'clock!" she protested, sitting up on the bedding. Despite still
being one in reality, she wasn't enjoying being treated like a child again.
"Because it's been a long day and you shouldn't be wasting all your energy in
one night, huh?" he replied as he shut off the lamp on the nightstand and Anne
reluctantly laid herself under the thick covers.
"Now try to sleep," her father left the bedside and turned the corner to go to
the bathroom. The girl shifted and settled deeper into the soft mattress, the
light from the TV flickering blue and white across the two beds and her face as
her mother and Jackson watched it. Soon enough, Anne had come to ignore its
noise and let the cool air flowing in through the window lull her to sleep.
Chapter End Notes
     I know, this is some boring exposition to our two main characters.
     Next chapter is when shit really goes down.
     Also, fun fact: To throw in some symbolism, I made Mr. Moreau's
     colleagues' names (and another important character who shows up
     later) all originate from England, which was a long time adversary to
     France during the Middle Ages and Baroque period.
***** II *****
* Tuesday, June 6th, 2017 *
Mr. Moreau couldn't bring himself to leave the resort the night before, though
he couldn't recall whether it was out of an unusual guilt to ditch his
colleagues without notice, or sheer dread at the idea of driving all the way
home so late in the dark when he had recently been drinking. The second one,
most likely.
So after a morning spent stewing over a plan of action for his relations to his
colleagues and the resort in vain, Mr. Moreau had concluded that he needed to
relax and at least try to enjoy the time he had away from his usual agenda in
some fashion, as was originally planned. Though, this was difficult as he was
growing hungry, but at the same time stressed at the risk of running into the
cohorts again if he went somewhere to eat for lunch. He hadn't seen them since
they had left for the casino the last evening, and felt that each passing
moment increased the likelihood of them reappearing again as if in the
gambler's fallacy.
His stomach's demands overthrew his paranoia. Gathering his key card and
wallet, he fixed up his business casual suit and left out the door. The
Frenchman moved down the empty hall with purpose, checking behind him and down
alternate routes occasionally before taking the elevator to the main level. As
soon as its doors opened, Mr. Moreau immediately realized the massive amount of
activity happening at this floor compared to the others. People were coming and
going from the various dining options and the spa within the building, others
rolling luggage behind them to check out from the hotel and continue their
trips elsewhere.
He scanned the lobby carefully for any sign of Abbott, Reid, or Brunton, but
all faces showed to be less than familiar. Still keeping his eyes peeled for
them, the man headed past the French Lick Mercantile down the hall and turned
to enter the bustling Spring No. 8 Deli. A small poolside sports bar and grill,
the place offered relatively cheap drinks and sandwiches.
Out of luck - all the bar seats had been taken claimed by damp, rowdy young men
who had been spending more than enough time at the pool and were now completely
absorbed in the sporting events on the TVs above them. Most of the tables
nearby were also claimed by parents and their children, and he tried not to
dirty his shoes on water or crumbs as he followed a red runner carpet to reach
the outdoor seating.
Upon stepping outside, he quickly took a seat at a shaded metal table which had
been recently cleaned up after a previous customer. A laminated menu was left
behind, and with relatively limited options it did not take much effort for him
to find what he was going to order. Not long after he took a deep breath and
observed the warm, sunny weather for that day, a waitress approached his table.
"What can I bring you to eat, sir?" she quipped.
"I'll take a Spring 8 Classic."
"And to drink?"
"Cabernet Sauvignon, thank you," he handed her the menu and she left for the
kitchen inside without a word.
Mr. Moreau managed to zone out entirely as he waited for his items, cries of
laughter at the pool and the conversations within the building being reduced to
white noise as he found complete relaxation for the first time at the resort
exactly as he would have liked. He inwardly sneered at each passing scantily-
clad woman making her way to the pool area, often with a spouse as an escort. A
growing bitterness was taking over his heart as his instinctual male desires
seemed to wane. The man tried to focus on anything else, and looked down at his
table to observe its grated pattern instead.
As he battled with himself mentally, he almost didn't notice the waitress
returning to his table with the things he ordered, "Here you are, sir." She
gently set down the sandwich's paper-lined basket and the bottle of wine along
with a glass for him to serve himself.
"Thank you," he blinked, glancing at the food before him. After the waitress
left, he pried apart the sandwich to inspect its contents. It didn't look
inherently bad, he just couldn't bring himself to eat just yet. He opened the
bottle of wine and poured a glass, sniffing the drink and raising it to take a
sip; surprisingly better than whatever was brought to his room the night
before.
As he continued to drink, Mr. Moreau people-watched, but subconsciously ignored
the various women, no matter how enticing they may have looked to any other
man. He began to question what has truly been wrong with him in the past
several months.
His wineglass was half empty when his eyes fell upon something he never
believed would captivate him as it did at that moment.
She gracefully padded with bare feet through the sliding glass doorway from the
indoor pool's dwelling, rosy lips wide open in a jubilant smile as she laughed
with the older boy beside her, and her brown hair darkened from the water
gleamed in the sunlight once they were outside. Ever so unsuitably, his eyes
moved down her form - in a floral pattern, a salmon and white tankini covered
every slight, unfledged curve of her damp skin. She was caught in a blissful
state between youth and womanhood, and never before had that looked so
appealing to him. Or at all, actually.
She was a child.
He almost hadn't even come to that realization as he watched her and the boy
descend the concrete steps to the outdoor pool's main area, where many others
like them frolicked. It was almost excruciating for Mr. Moreau to take his eyes
off the young beauty, and anxiously inspected his bottle of wine with a
troubled look. He wondered if the drink was already getting to him, or worse,
if it had somehow been tampered with.
Looking out to the pool area again, he struggled to find the girl. His wide
eyes glanced frantically as he found himself leaning slightly out of his seat
to look over the brush and fencing separating the outdoor dining vicinity from
the pool's. Was she only a hallucination? He had to outsource blame on the
alcohol if she was never there to begin with, a figment of his mind as he
drank.
Just then, a head burst through the surface of the water, and he found the same
girl of interest catching her breath as she moved strands of soaked hair out
from her face. Mr. Moreau relaxed in his seat, a sigh leaving his lips. As he
continued to watch her swim around and playfully roughhouse with the teenager,
an infatuated smile crossed his face, though not for long.
These feelings were all his own doing. Mr. Moreau found his heart pounding even
harder than before, and not out of desire, but out of true revulsion and
horror. He began to shift his gaze to each of the adults in the area, wondering
if any of them had noticed him staring at the young girl with longing.
Mentally, he could feel dozens of eyes bore into his skin with an unforgiving
disdain, if only they had known of it at all. Everything about this was wrong
no matter what angle one could take on it, but he felt his desires rapidly
turning into needs.
His eyes returned to the swimming girl, and within moments he took in the sight
of her turning her head around to gaze up at him with a growing smile,
seemingly acknowledging and teasing him in her own girlish way.
Mr. Moreau could hardly believe it. Had she really looked at him, or was it
someone else nearby? After she looked away and resumed swimming, he discreetly
scanned the area around him for someone else who might have been a likely
candidate. No one else seemed to be looking in the direction he had been, but
he could never know for sure. Observing them once more, he assumed that the boy
she was with was a relative - why would she be dating someone that age at the
given age she was, with no one disapproving? There wasn't a good reason for him
to be jealous of them being together, but somehow he still was.
An idea suddenly came to him; this girl may very well be the answer to his
recent crisis.
He had to have her.
And his mind twisted - if he possessed her, she could play the role of both a
partner and a daughter, a 'legacy' of some alternative sort. Being a child, she
would have no choice but to rely on him in the long term, and never walk out on
him like so many self-sufficient grown women had before.
She won't love me if I take her forcibly. He would have to dig up his skills in
seduction from his younger days in order to lure her into running away with
him, all the while remaining undetected by her family and the public. Despite
not quite knowing how he would at that time, as a spy, he always found a way.
Young girls were overtly trustful; they never suspected or simply assumed
anything of a man. As long as he utilized the skills he had gained over years
of training in espionage effectively, the task would be challenging, but
certainly not impossible. After all, this was a man who could get away with
murder, if he ever so wanted.
He briefly fantasized about him getting to know and eventually gaining her when
he was brought back to reality. Apparently, the girl's time at the pool was
over - along with the teenager she waded up the pool's steps, water running
down her sun-kissed skin before they approached a couple of lounge chairs. Both
of them picked up towels off the chairs and dried themselves quickly before
putting back on their streets clothes; a blouse, pair of shorts and sandals for
the girl.
Mr. Moreau didn't wish for her to leave; she looked gorgeous, near-perfect to
him swimming. The boy carelessly stuffed the used towels into a bag before they
both climbed the steps to approach the doors going inside, through the Spring
No. 8 Deli.
The Frenchman realized he had never eaten the food served to him, stuffing as
much of it as he could into his mouth as he watched them step closer to the
doors. Frantically standing up and pulling out his wallet, he took out several
$5 bills carelessly to leave out on the table. His waitress was serving another
table just nearby, "Madame!" She looked to him in confusion.
"I'm paying in cash; I really must go."
"That's alright!" she replied merrily.
Mr. Moreau wiped his mouth with a napkin and slipped his wallet back in his
coat pocket before leaving to go where the children had disappeared within the
restaurant.
As the Frenchman followed the red runner from which he originally came, he
noticed the girl and boy must have already returned to the hotel's main
building. Picking up his pace, he left the deli to pass the public bathroom
vicinity and stopped in front of the main hallway.
To the right? No sign of them. But to the left, he barely recognized the two
side by side with their damp hair, the rest of their figures a little obscured
from the people around them. With eyes like a hawk, he trailed behind them
ambitiously until they turned into the entryway of French Lick Mercantile, not
far from the lobby. The shop was relatively busy, and Mr. Moreau reminded
himself not to make it obvious what he was after by outright staring at the
girl. Glancing, he watched her and teenager begin to browse some souvenirs as
he slowly entered the store and stationed himself next to the newspaper stand,
quickly taking a headline and opening it in front of his face so that he was
hidden from her in particular.
Moments later, he heard snickering coming from their direction, and peaked out
from behind his newspaper. Eyes furrowing, he hoped to God he hadn't been
foiled already.
But instead, the two seemed to be poking fun at a mug they had picked up from a
nearby stand. In the next moment the boy put it back down, and Mr. Moreau heard
the girl's sweet voice clearly for the first time.
"Oh, they have ice cream..." she murmured to the boy, tugging at his sleeve and
looking to the ice cream stand at the end of the store.
The man's face reddened far more than it should have, and he shrank behind his
newspaper. He momentarily imagined himself in the other's place, keeping an ear
open.
"Yeah, and?" he heard the teenager reply with snark, eyes narrowing.
"Could we get some?" she leaned in front of him, smiling mischievously,
“Please?” The boy rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket to take out some
cash, counting it. "Fine..." he muttered. In response, the girl giggled and
romped over to the stand with the teenager following behind and began taking a
look into the glass case full of flavors.
Mr. Moreau could hardly bear how adorable she was. How she enchanted him, he
found no fitting words to even describe it.
He couldn't quite hear them clearly as they each chose a flavor of ice cream
and type of cone. As they waited to be served, the man took his eyes off the
girl and continued to fake his preoccupation, glazing over the reading
mindlessly. After less than a minute, they were both served their desserts over
the counter, and turned to leave the store as they began eating them. Mr.
Moreau placed his newspaper back on the stand and followed them out to the
lobby where they were headed toward.
Once out, he noticed that they had stopped near the extensive sitting area,
continuing to look around and eat when an elderly man on a couch turned to
them. The Frenchman leaned against a pillar at the edge of the lobby and
pretended to check his phone as he listened closely.
"What are you two kids up to today?" the friendly old man drawled.
"Trying to get out of the heat, I guess," the teenager answered between licks
of his ice cream.
The man turned away and nodded, "Yep, it's supposed to be a hot one today!"
"I thought it was nice, while we were out swimming," the girl said, to which
the teenager huffed, "Yeah, but that was enough for one day." He looked down at
his cone which was already beginning to melt. Meanwhile, Mr. Moreau desperately
wished for them to go their separate ways sometime soon.
"But weren't we gonna see the garden?" she inquired to him, expression falling.
The boy had begun eating his cone, saying as his mouth was muffled with it,
"...I'm not. I mean, can’t you just go there yourself? I'll stay behind in
here."
His wish had been swiftly granted. The man waited anxiously as the girl
hesitantly departed from the teenager, who turned away to wander elsewhere. Mr.
Moreau waited a few moments before leaving in the same direction she was, to
the exit out to the garden at the back of the hotel's property. Walking rather
slowly, he watched her make her way through the grand main doorway outside,
down curved concrete steps to an expansive patio area dotted with tables and
benches. Strolling through it and approaching a large flight of steps downhill,
she briefly observed the garden below, finishing her ice cream. Mr. Moreau
meanwhile crept a reasonable distance behind.
He waited patiently for her to descend the steps, and moments later she reached
the bottom to follow a path to a well-decorated artificial spring with
fountains and small arches going over the water. The man stopped at the railing
of the patio above, using some of the shrubbery as partial cover as he watched
her approach the pond full of waterfowl, empty cone in-hand. Soon enough, the
girl leaned over the white railing of the small bridge as she began to feed the
sweet bits of cone to the waiting ducks. A cigarette tempted him almost as much
as she, but if he wanted to make a good first impression, he'd rather not smell
of smoke.
He’d had enough of only admiring her innocence far from her. Dead set on the
girl several dozen feet before him, he made his way down the same steps she had
down into the garden and toward the little spring. Heart beginning to race with
anticipation, Mr. Moreau approached with stealth until he was just beside her,
marveling at how fixated she was on the greedy birds in the pool, apparently
never hearing his footsteps. Then he leaned over so that his rippling
silhouette was right next to hers.
He watched her inattentive expression through the water, which quickly turned
to alarm as her eyes happened to shift to see his reflection beside her own.
With a gasp, she stood up straight to face the strange man in person, who
smiled gently in response. "Hello," he said plainly. For the first time, he
could see her eyes clearly, a brilliant gray-blue similar to his own. Beginning
to dry under the sun, her hair had begun to frizz and give off the bitter scent
of pool water.
The girl stepped away shyly, "Hi..." Mr. Moreau stayed back, not wishing to put
any more pressure on her than he already did. She held her remaining ice cream
cone close to her, glancing, "Didn't I see you at the pool earlier?"
The Frenchman pretended not to remember clearly, "...Yes, I believe you had."
He tried his absolute hardest to keep from simpering as they spoke for the
first time. She noticeably tilted her head in thought, possibly trying to
decipher his accent.
After a moment, he asked her softly, "What is your name?"
She lifted her head a little, making more steady eye contact, "Annabelle - or
Anne, for short."
Mr. Moreau found himself being brought back to elementary school in France,
where there was a girl in his class who shared the very same name. Being
clueless with girls as a boy, he had awkwardly asked her in class if she wanted
to play with him at recess. He was rejected, she and her friends laughing off
his question. He hadn't recalled that incident in years.
"Beautiful," he said, though he shouldn't flatter her so early on. Smiling
slightly and looking down, she turned back to the bridge's railing and
continued breaking off pieces of cone for the ducks, "What's yours?"
"You may call me Mr. Moreau," the man copied her stance against the railing and
looked out to the gazebo across the spring. To him she already seemed more
deserving to call him by his first name than his colleagues, however.
"I've never heard of that name before," she continued throwing cone crumbs at
the fowl, "It sounds nice." He looked back to her and smiled, finding her
shyness charming. He carefully observed the look of her face as the friendly
ducks kept her entertained.
"Where are you from?" she asked, not looking directly back at him.
"I'm French, though I've lived here in America for several years now." Though
it was no longer very heavy, his accent could still be distinguishable after
eight years.
"I've always wanted to go to France," she remarked, the last of the ice cream
cone disappearing into the pool and the ducks' bills. Mr. Moreau's expression
sank; he had never gone back to his homeland since moving. Then he thought that
maybe, just maybe, he could make a promise for them to go if he managed to take
her away with him at some point.
"Who was that boy you were with earlier?" the man tried not to sound too
jealous or prying.
"Oh, that was my brother, Jackson," she answered, "Our parents went out to play
golf and they told him to be nice and show me around the hotel, and stuff..."
He was apparently right about the two being related.
"But obviously he ditched me," she continued dismissively. Jackson must have
used the heat as an excuse to take a break away from his sister. Mr. Moreau
thought her to be incredibly sweet; how could anyone find her annoying?
"And how long are you all staying here?"
"We're gonna be here until the 14th," Anne crossed her arms across the railing
and laid her head on them, swinging a leg as she continued observing the ducks.
Mr. Moreau couldn't contain his smirk. He had nine days to make her his - it
sounded like plenty of time, an unusually long stay for them at the resort. But
the more he thought about it, the more he realized it was still going to be
quite a choke.
"And my birthday is on the 11th!" the girl jumped up suddenly, "I'm turning
twelve." Eleven, going on twelve. To him it was a good age, at the very end of
childhood and almost to the beginning of adolescence. She should savor this
childhood while she still has it, he thought darkly. If everything went as
planned for him, her innocence wouldn't be lasting much longer.
"Why were you watching me swimming earlier?" her voice sounded through the
summer air.
Mr. Moreau felt his eyes sink into the back of his skull, and he zoned out into
the garden before them. "Uh-" he stammered. He couldn't even begin to name the
reasons why, all forbidden to anyone but himself. For now his true feelings had
to be locked away until the girl managed to find the key.
She came closer with a gaze that was strangely enticing to him, but was
probably not intended as she probed sweetly, "Did you think I was cute?"
Despite feeling utterly treed, he didn't see that she was asking out of any
suspicion or distrust. "Well - yes..." he admitted, straightening his tie in
vain. Anne giggled; lust didn't seem to be a concept she yet understood,
thankfully.
Just a moment later, a buzz toned from the front pocket of her shorts. "Hm?"
she reached into her pocket and unlocked her phone to find a new text, reading
it for a moment. "Jackson just told me our parents told him they're coming back
from golf, and they want all of us to meet at the lobby..." Both the man and
girl were disappointed they had to separate so soon; he intently watched her
text her brother back with a hushed sigh.
"Can we text?" she offered her phone for them to exchange numbers, "Sometime
later?"
"N-no," Mr. Moreau swallowed and gently enclosed her hand with her phone in it
and pushed it back toward her.
"Why not?" she frowned as he pulled away.
It wasn't at all suitable for him to explain his reason - that if he takes her,
and tells her to leave it behind, investigators would look through her phone to
read their texts and eventually track him down. His intentions would be far too
easily foiled. So he dodged the question, "...I was thinking we could meet here
again tomorrow, if that's possible?" Even if it weren't an issue, he would
still rather see her face to face than be manifested into words on a screen.
"Yeah, I guess..." she slid her phone back into her pocket.
"What time do you suppose you can?" he could only hope she had much free-time
alone during her trip. If she didn't, his task would be much harder than it
already was.
"Probably around noon. I think my parents are letting me and Jackson just do
whatever a lot of times." Relieved, it was understandable that their parents
wanted to take time to be away from their children during their vacation, which
was going to be just perfect for him.
"Then I'll get here before then."
Anne nodded with a smile in response, beginning to step away from him. Before
she could leave, he placed a firm hand on her shoulder, “Don’t tell them about
me.”
“I wasn’t going to...but why?” a puzzled look crossed her face.
For a moment he hesitated, “-I’ll tell you why tomorrow.” However, he didn’t
yet know what the reason to tell or show her would exactly be. Anne began to
back away further, showing she was about ready to go, “Ok...”
“Bye!" she exclaimed, turning to jog up the steps to the patio and disappearing
back inside the hotel moments after. Once she was out of sight but certainly
not out of mind, the Frenchman sighed with a smirk, leaning back against the
bridge's railing and lighting a cigarette.
The table was set, and soon enough he would feast.
===============================================================================
Disappointed that she had to leave Mr. Moreau so soon, yet thrilled about their
short meeting while it still lasted, Anne made her way down the main level's
corridor to join her family in the lobby. Once there, she scanned the room to
see if her parents were already back from the golf course, but instead she
found her brother sitting on one of the ornate couches, tapping through his
phone and chewing on some bubble gum he must have gotten from a machine
somewhere else.
He never looked up from it as she approached and sat beside him. Picking up the
cue, Jackson glanced at her for a split second before continuing to scroll
away.
"So what was in the garden? Anything?"
"Yeah, there were some cute ducks," she said, "I fed my cone to them." And she
met a mysterious and dreamy foreign man, too, she would have liked to add.
Jackson huffed a little in begrudged amusement, believing she was too easily
entertained.
Anne leaned down a little in her seat to notice a red ball of bubble gum being
held in her brother's left palm as he gripped the phone with it. She smiled.
"Is that for me?" she asked in a teasing way.
"No, it isn't," he let go of his phone with that hand and brought the gum down
to his side in a fist, away from her, "I was saving it for later, for myself."
The boy grimaced as he veered his face closer to hers and blew a small bubble
with his old gum to emphasize his point.
"Your teeth will rot if you chew that much gum!"
"So you want your teeth to rot?" Jackson retorted, "You're so full of crap..."
Like lightning, the girl nearly leaped across her brother's lap on the couch
and sabotaged his hand with the candy in it, prying open his fingers to take it
out and pop it into her mouth. Jackson watched in exasperation as she returned
to her normal position and began chewing the gum, smirking. "I swear to God..."
he muttered.
She leaned against him, "What would mom and dad have said if they came in here
and saw you not giving it to me?"
"They can't see me not do something," he sat back and stared up at the
balustrade in frustration.
"You know what I mean!" she blew a red bubble uncomfortably close to his face
just when she saw their parents in their golf clothing coming through the front
entrance tiresomely. She knelt up on the couch and waved to them, and their
faces brightened at seeing their children, maneuvering around other furniture
and people to approach them.
"Hey, kids," Mr. Clarke sighed as he stood before them on the couch, shaking
his head, "They have a pretty tough course here." He uncapped and took a quick
drink from his water bottle.
His wife nodded at his comment in full agreement, looking to her son, "Have you
been treating her right, Jackson?" The boy shrank a little and glanced at his
sister sitting against him, who gave him a wry smile as she chewed her gum.
"Yeah..." he groused. Luckily for him, Anne wasn't planning to spill how he
refused to go to the garden with her or give her his candy.
"What's happening now?" Jackson asked, now that they were all together again.
"Well..." their father said, "me and your mother are pretty tired and I think
it would be best if we all hang around here for the rest of the day."
"So are we going back to the room?" Anne stood from the couch and came closer
to her mother. "I guess," the woman couldn't stifle her yawn. Anne and her
parents had begun to turn away to head to the elevator, and Jackson groaned
when he was forced to get up from the comfortable seating. Once he caught up,
Mr. Clarke began to tell his children a story from their outing at the course,
"Some old man completely lost his mind when his ball landed just an inch away
from a hole in one..."
===============================================================================
That afternoon after his girl of interest went to reunite with her family, Mr.
Moreau had eventually returned to his room to take a lengthy siesta; it was
about dinner time when his eyes slowly blurred open. Waking up on top of the
bed with somewhat messy hair and a wrinkled dress shirt, he heaved himself up
and rubbed his drowsy face as he sat on the bedside. He regretted to imagine
how he would have felt in that moment if the earlier events from that day were
all only a dream.
It was going to be a struggle for him to take his mind off of Anne until he
would see her again tomorrow, but at the moment a familiar hollowness occupied
his stomach. For now, he had to worry about where his next meal would be coming
from.
The man just remembered that he hadn't seen his colleagues all day, with no
sign of them at all while he was out. As much as he often detested being
invited to do something with them, he actually began to wonder what they were
going to be up to for the evening.
He may as well ask them about plans for dinner before they could come to ask
him. Standing up, he went to the bathroom mirror to fix his hair with a comb
and try to straighten his shirt before taking his blazer off the coat rack near
the door and heading out.
At the first day they all arrived at the resort, Mr. Moreau managed to memorize
where Mr. Abbott's room was located, but was unsure about the others'. It was
on the same level as his, but in another wing of the building, and so he made
his way down the long corridor and turned once to the left, carefully scanning
the room numbers to reach what he believed was the American's room. Standing in
front of it, he hoped he had remembered the number correctly, and knocked.
Moments later, the door opened to show him the familiar face of Mr. Abbott,
"Oh, hey, Claude..." The American glanced at the unexpected visitor.
"Good evening," he replied, stone-faced.
There was a short moment of silence. "So...what's been happening?" his
colleague briefly glanced behind him into the room.
"Not much today," the Frenchman lied, "I was going to ask where we could go to
eat tonight."
"Oh..." his face brightened as he rubbed the back of his neck, "so you're
feeling a bit better now, since yesterday?" Mr. Moreau nodded without words,
and to his surprise he saw Mr. Reid and Mr. Brunton show up behind their friend
in the doorway. Mr. Abbott backed out of the way a little to allow them more
room.
"Hi, Claude," Mr. Reid said.
"...We've been hanging around in here; and I'm sorry, I know you don't really
like us coming over to your room and being a nuisance," a moment of silence
quickly followed Mr. Abbott's ramble.
Subsequently, Mr. Moreau changed the subject, "How did your 'gaming' turn out
yesterday...?"
"It was pretty good. I profited in about $100, actually," Mr. Reid piped up as
Mr. Abbott rolled his eyes and smirked.
"Dinner's on him!" Mr. Brunton joked, fisting the other's shoulder before
exiting the doorway out into the hall, the other two following and laughing.
"So where were you thinking about going to eat?" Mr. Abbott asked the
Frenchman.
"I'm not sure. Did you have an idea?"
Mr. Brunton waved his hand, going down the hall with a head start toward an
elevator, "I think we can figure it out once we get down there." As he trailed
behind him along with the others, the Frenchman let go of some of his aversion
for now, and didn't anticipate a short outing with them to end the day to be so
bad after all.
***** III *****
Chapter Notes
     Jesus, it feels like it took ten thousand years to edit this one. I'm
     spending at least 6 hours a day looking at this story and only 1
     playing TF2 when it's supposed to be the other way around.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
* Wednesday, June 7th, 2017 *
Late the next morning, Mr. Moreau eyed nearly every detail of his reflection in
the bathroom mirror, staring into the dreamy abyss of his own gaze for a moment
and even evaluating the width of his lean shoulders under his dress shirt after
he was finished shaving his face and gelling his hair.
He felt he needed to look his very best for that day. Deciding to be a showoff
to the girl, as opposed to the day before, he even arranged an outfit using the
finest suit he had packed for the trip. Overdressing with this stuffy suit in
the heat outside hardly mattered to him in this given situation; all he wanted
was to give the very finest impression, and gradually come to woo her.
Picking up his black tie from the bathroom counter, he meticulously knotted it
under his shirt collar before heading back out to his suitcase to retrieve the
waistcoat and jacket. Pulling both on and smoothing the jacket's material, he
returned to the bathroom to go over the finished look. It looked far too
similar to what he usually wore to his job, and so he really hoped he wouldn't
run into his colleagues while he was out; they would be puzzled as to why he
would dress that way on vacation. He couldn't come up with another excuse.
He almost forgot - cologne. The Frenchman rummaged through his bag of
toiletries left on the counter to find a half-empty bottle of it which he had
mindlessly packed out of habit. He sprayed a bit of the fragrance at the crook
of his neck, just enough so that its scent wouldn't be too overpowering.
Finally, the man reviewed himself from several different angles. He didn't
believe he had dressed this well in a long time.
Magnifique...she won't resist.
Mr. Moreau went to his nightstand to get his key card and wallet, dropping them
into his pants' pocket before planting his feet in his shoes and quickly
shutting the door behind him. As he headed down the hall toward an elevator, he
didn't anticipate the girl to already be in the garden, but he wanted to be
there significantly earlier than noon in case she had also decided to do the
same. Ruefully, he had a feeling that yesterday she wasn't as thrilled to meet
him as he was to meet her, and began to question whether she could ever return
his feelings at all. If she didn't, he would never truly have her, and wouldn't
know where to begin to find another like her.
===============================================================================
Mr. Moreau gradually walked down the concrete steps from the massive patio,
looking out over the familiar area where he had first spoken to Anne.
Meanwhile, the same ducks from before swam around the pond anxiously, waiting
for another friendly passerby to feed them again. Stepping off from the last
few steps, the man approached the small, unoccupied bridge where he and the
girl met, and much like they had the day before, leaned over its railing to
peer down at the birds in the water.
Several of them looked up to him with open bills, expecting pieces of bread -
or ice cream cone - to come raining down. Mr. Moreau shook his head; they would
have to wait for Anne to show up, if she would bother to bring anything for
them that day in the first place.
For what must have been over ten minutes, the Frenchman wandered from that spot
and strolled around the rest of the garden, keeping a careful watch of the
entrance from the building for any sign of Anne, not allowing himself to worry.
He then decided to stand under the oak tree near the edge of the pond, soon
beginning to space out as he listened to the whispers of the fountains and the
breeze.
He had been observing various plants arranged along the patio some distance
away when he heard the voice of a little girl, "Hi, Mr. Moreau!" The man
quickly snapped from his empty daydreams and turned his head in the direction
the voice came, and his gaze fell upon his lovely Annabelle, who beamed as she
jogged across the garden towards him. Let down and flowing behind her as she
ran, her light brown hair had since been well-kempt after her time at the pool
yesterday.
"Good morning, Anne," he leaned forward a little as she stopped before him,
delighting in saying her name.
"I decided to come out before noon, also!" she said cheerfully as she looked up
to him.
Mr. Moreau smiled with warmth, "Yes...but I'm afraid I still beat you to it."
The girl glanced at him up and down, cocking an eyebrow curiously. "Do you have
some fancy place to go to later?" she wondered, "Is that why you're dressed
like that?"
"No," he inhaled, sheepishly replying as he shook his head, "no; I just try to
look presentable, most of the time." It was a tempting question for him to ask
her if she liked how he looked, just to see if his efforts were paying off, but
that didn't seem appropriate at the moment.
"Oh," Anne replied quietly and looked at something behind him which had caught
her attention. Unaware of it, Mr. Moreau began to enjoy how she came even
closer, but then she tugged at his sleeve, pointing, "Do you know what that
is?" The Frenchman turned around to see a large gazebo-like structure, standing
on white pillars and roofed in red brick.
"I'm afraid I don't..." of course he had seen it beforehand, but never felt
compelled to visit it. The girl motioned for them to go to it together, and
they both followed the concrete path to the entrance of the octagonal building.
A cursive description on the frieze above them read, World Famous Pluto
Springs. From there, its flooring was set deep within the ground.
"Look!" Anne leaped down the steps to approach a well in the spring's center,
surrounded partly by a metal guard railing. Historically, water must have been
gathered from there. As she looked around the interior of the spring and gaped
down the well's dark, empty chasm, he inwardly marveled at how investigative
she seemed to be.
Mr. Moreau caught up to her and placed a hand on the railing, looking up at the
interior friezes which read things like, While here take our Mineral Baths, or
When NATURE WON'T Pluto will.
"Yes, a hundred years ago this place was best known for its mineral water..."
he recalled from some of the research he had done as his trip there was being
arranged, "but not anymore."
"Why would they stop using this?"
Their voices resonated against the concrete walls of the spring's foundation,
"It must have been harmful, in some way." The man came around to position
himself behind her as she looked down the well, arms crossed over its wall. He
placed his hands protectively at either side of her on the well, and was almost
frighteningly inclined to bend down and nuzzle her soft hair and neck. For
another time, he chastised himself.
Anne laughed slightly in mischief, continuing to gaze into darkness, "What do
you think would happen if I jumped down there?" Pitch-black, the well almost
looked like it had no bottom.
"...I would be deeply upset with you." Hypothetically, though, she would die
before he would even have the chance to admonish her.
"It looks like I would fall through the center of the Earth!" she remarked, and
Mr. Moreau chuckled in response.
It was just then that he looked back out of the spring for the first time since
they entered it, and saw how the garden had become more active with resort
guests since. Some people near the pond or on the benches around the garden had
been facing roughly in their direction, though the man could not yet make out
any suspicious glares of anyone who might have seen them together. The familiar
feeling of apprehension, with eyes boring into him, had come back to haunt him
from the day before, when he first recognized his affections for her. It was
also worth noting for him that if he took her later, someone might recall the
girl and a 'strange man' she was interacting with before her disappearance.
Someone out there could have a photographic memory and be able to tell
investigators exactly how he looked and had behaved around her. That scenario
daunted him more than anything.
"Anne..." the man was beginning to feel himself sweat more than he anticipated
he would under this suit, in this heat. Uneasily, he moved away from the girl,
continuing to look out. He didn't wish to allow any suspicions to arise at all.
"Hm?" she lifted her head from the well to look to him.
He wasn't quite sure whether to expect backlash from the imminent question,
"How would you like if I took you to my room?"
"What, are you getting too hot in that suit?" she grinned. He was beginning to,
but it was the real reason which was causing that.
"I think we would have more fun there," he softly told the girl as he looked
back to her.
"Oh...sure," Anne stood up straight and moved away from the well, waiting for
him to escort her. It ultimately didn't come as much of a surprise to him, how
she hadn't really questioned it. This was good on his part, but at the same
time worrying; if he happened to be someone more questionable than he was
already - a serial killer came to mind - she could have been risking her life.
Mr. Moreau stood in place and continued to stare beyond the steps going out
from the spring, squinting. "Do you know where your brother is?" he asked.
"Yeah, when I left he said he just gonna stay in the room and watch TV."
He looked down at her beside him, "And your parents aren't in the hotel as we
speak?"
"Nope," she shook her head.
As the man became lost in thoughts concerning her family, how blissfully
ignorant they were of everything happening between them, he felt Anne pull at
his wrist from in front of him. "What are you doing? Come on!" she said in good
humor. Though she couldn't lead him to his own room, he let her eagerly pull
him up the steps until they were on the garden's path again, out of the spring.
She let go and allowed him to determine where they would go from there.
"This way," he murmured, starting off toward the steps up the balcony to the
door in which he had originally come out from. As they ascended them side by
side, Mr. Moreau looked behind them to the people enjoying the warm day in the
garden below, where no one seemed to be watching them.
Moving up another flight of steps to the door and opening it for Anne to go in
first, he looked out one more time before following her inside. He watched
adoringly as she managed to saunter ahead of him down the short hall to the
main lobby, stopping at its perimeter and glancing back at him with a grin.
As he caught up to her with most of his attention wandering elsewhere, to the
many others in the lobby, he heard a dramatic gasp rise from the girl. "Oh no,
there's Jackson!" she cried, pointing somewhere imprecise.
"What-" Mr. Moreau nearly jumped out of his skin, scanning the entire lobby for
the teenager for a moment until beside him, Anne had begun to double over and
laugh uncontrollably. Her brother was nowhere to be seen.
"Anne," he barely cracked a smile, fawning over her little joke and bringing a
hand to his face in relief, "Please don't-"
She reined in her laughter and looked up to him with smiling eyes. "Did I scare
you?" she mocked.
"Yes, you did," he bluntly replied and led her to an elevator near the front
desk. She most certainly drew some attention to them from the visitors in the
lobby, too, he regretted to think. Pressing its button and standing in front,
within moments the elevator came down and opened with many guests pouring out
of it with their luggage, leaving to check out. He coaxed Anne to move out of
the way for them until the elevator was empty and they could go inside.
With nobody else following them in, the Frenchman thumbed the black button next
to'3' on the elevator's panel, and let the doors slide shut. After a soft jolt
indicated they were moving, he made a sidelong stare at the girl beside him.
Her large eyes gazed blankly at the position indicator above them, waiting
patiently for its image to change from 'L' to '2' to '3'. He almost wanted to
say something, but then the doors opened to his room's given level.
Stepping out, he led her left down the hall past a housekeeping cart and
several employees preoccupied with cleaning a room, its door wide open. As they
drew closer to his room, the man took the key card from his pocket and stopped
in front of the door to swipe it. He pushed it open to let Anne inside first,
then followed and shut the door behind them, setting down his key card and
wallet back on the nightstand, "Here we are..." The air conditioning began to
help him cool under his suit.
His hotel room was a little different from the one which her family was staying
in, with a more extensive living area with a couch, chair, coffee table, and
only one queen-sized bed. Mr. Moreau’s luggage was neatly organized on the
ottoman at the foot of the bed, with an extra pair of shoes and several folded
dress shirts laying out over it.
"Nice..." Anne said, "now what?" It was a great question, he believed. Now that
they were both all alone in private, it was entirely possible for him to have
his way with her, to smother her in kisses and feel her body against his own,
to tell her exactly what she meant to him, not having a care on Earth how wrong
it all was. But that probably wouldn’t be well received, no matter how easy she
may have been to seduce up to this point.
Even though he was being put on a tight nine-day schedule to claim her, it was
much too soon for that. One of his principles as a spy was to practice great
patience. Glancing, with hands behind his back, he quickly figured something
else out to do with her for that day.
"Yesterday you asked why I didn’t want you to tell anyone about me, yes?"
"Yes," she reiterated.
"It’s because..." he went over to his luggage, opening the suitcase to find a
few items and take them out and drop them on the ottoman, "I work as a spy."
Elaborating to her about his career and personal life would probably draw her
interest to him further.
"Really?" she asked eagerly, coming near him to see what he took out. He nodded
wordlessly and held up a piece of dark gray fabric with several holes in it,
something that was most important in getting away with what he was paid to do.
He said, "Sometimes I must wear this mask whenever I’m sent out to gather
information." Anne reached out to touch its silken material, an important piece
it was.
"Or a balaclava, as some call it," he added, looking down as he handled the
mask, almost touching her hand as it was so close to his.
She backed away, examining his face, "Can you put it on?” Mr. Moreau opened the
bottom of the mask and pulled the stretchy material over his head, concealing
his face and attempting to tuck the neck of it under his shirt collar.
Normally, he would have put the mask on before his shirt.
"You look like you’re gonna rob a bank!" she laughed after he was finished.
With all of his hair tactfully hidden, he easily looked as if he were bald
under the mask. His nose, cheekbones, and part of his jawline were also
obscured with his eyes and mouth still perfectly visible.
Beginning to take it back off, messing his hair a little, he replied, "That
isn't something I've ever needed to do." He tossed it onto the ottoman and
tried to think of what to tell her about her next, smoothing back his hair.
Glancing at his wrist, he didn't think it would be a good idea to show her his
invisibility watch, something known by anyone else who wasn’t a spy as
impossible to exist. It may have been an impressive piece of technology, but it
wouldn’t be worth scaring her with it, and possibly losing her trust.
Seeing the gloves he had laid out, he picked them up and slipped them on,
flexing his fingers in them and trying to loosen the dark leather material
after having not worn them in a while. "And these are so I don’t leave behind
fingerprints on anything I touch," he went to sit on the side of the bed as he
looked down at them, with the girl doing the same. Experimentally, he held his
open hand up to see if she would touch it; she accepted the gesture a little
shyly and pressed her hand against his to compare their sizes. Her fingertips
only reached the middle joints of his own fingers.
"I want to see how they fit..." she murmured, taking her hand away from his own
before he had the chance to cleverly close his fingers over it. Although it
should have been obvious they wouldn't, he gave into her interest anyway. With
the gloves, he stood up to kneel down in front of her as she rested on the
bedding, gently taking her small hands and putting them on. He then released
them to let her assess how they fit, much too over-sized. As she wiggled her
fingers, the material only roughly followed their movement.
"Too big," she said simply, stilling her hands as the man reached for them
again. Enclosing them on top of one another, Mr. Moreau brought both her gloved
hands close to his face and kissed the knuckles tenderly.
After a moment of silence, the man holding her hands close, he lifted his head
for his gaze to meet hers. She had watched him intently, but then glanced away
and smiled, with pink beginning to lightly gather on her cheeks.
He had tested her limits in that moment, and she seemed to have passed. Anne
began to lift her hands to take off the gloves when he took hold of them again
and pulled them off for her, standing up to take them back to his luggage.
As he approached to sit back down with her, Anne broke the silence, "When I
used to think of spies I always thought of someone who lies to everyone and
never tells them what they do, or what they really think...you seem different."
With conflicting feelings for what she said, his eyes furrowed. If he took her
away, he would have to lie to everyone - strangers, his colleagues, possibly
even law enforcement in order keep them both under the radar. But
simultaneously, her statement showed him that he seemed trustworthy to her.
With no reply to it, Mr. Moreau strayed to a different subject, "What plans do
you and your family have for your birthday?" It was next Sunday, he recalled.
"I don't really know what we're doing other than going out to a fancy place to
eat, that night. Why?"
The man shrugged, staring out into the room, "I was only wondering." An idea
had actually come to his mind - he could make an extra challenge for himself to
obtain her before then, so that she could spend her birthday only with him
rather than her family. The outlook to have her in the first place so far
looked promising to him, but in order for this to work out, he'd have to find a
way to win her over entirely in only four days.
She piped up, "Wait...when's your birthday? I forgot to ask before."
Somewhat hunched, he looked at his hands, "I was born March 15th."
"Year?"
He turned to her wearily, wondering why his exact age was important to her,
"1970."
"So that means you're..." she glanced as she did the math mentally, "forty-
seven?" He nodded and she began to laugh, "I thought you were younger!"
"How old did you assume I was?" he smiled and asked, a little flattered.
"Like, forty," she replied shyly, "I mean, it doesn't really matter, though..."
As silence fell upon them again, Mr. Moreau reached into his suit jacket for
his wallet and opened it, sorting through slots of cash, cards, and his ID to
find something else in particular that had been nearly forgotten about. "I want
you to have this..." Between his finger and thumb, he held out a copper Euro, a
five-cent piece minted in 2003. After over eight years away from the country,
it was the only French coin left in his possession. All the others had either
been lost or exchanged for US currency.
He handed it to her, allowing her to see it. She observed the face of a young
woman surrounded by stars on the head of the coin and asked, "Who's that?"
"That is Marianne, a national symbol for France. She is meant to represent
freedom."
She squinted at the engraving before looking back to him, "So kind of like the
bald eagle?"
"I suppose...but she never existed."
Anne inspected the coin more, including its tail which depicted a globe
centered on Europe before putting it away in her shorts' pocket. "Thanks," she
grinned, "I'll keep it forever." In case she opted not to be his, whether he
would decide to ask before or after her birthday, he meant to give it to her as
something to remember him by when they would be forced to go their separate
ways. However, he still hoped she wouldn't have to use it for that purpose.
The man looked away from her as he put away his wallet in his jacket, but she
must have still noticed his sunken expression and could see how much he missed
his country.
"Why did you leave France?" she murmured almost morosely.
He inhaled slowly before sighing, "My agency there believed that my potential
couldn't be fulfilled as long as I worked only for them. They told me that
there would be better opportunities for me in America, which they were
absolutely right about. I really have accomplished more in my career since
being here." He was never forced to leave, but had followed his heart like so
many other forward-looking immigrants over the centuries who wanted a taste of
the American Dream.
"But you miss it, don't you?" The man could see an understanding, an empathy in
her eyes which he couldn't remember seeing in anyone else who he had spoken
with in a long time.
"Of course," he breathed.
After a few moments of thought, Mr. Moreau scooted closer to her on the bedding
and carefully brought an arm around her shoulders, watching closely for any
reluctance from her. To his utter surprise, her lips drew into a smile and she
actually leaned closer to him, allowing him to pull her into his embrace.
"I'm fond of you, petite fille..."
She giggled lightly and returned the hug; it was becoming difficult for him to
resist burying his face under her hair and to plant kisses along her neck and
shoulder. Sniffing subtly at a body spray she must have used, something like
sweet pea, he ended the embrace before he could take things too far.
"I think I should go now," Anne mumbled after she pulled away.
He worried that he had made her uncomfortable, but couldn't quite read that in
her expression, "Why?"
"...My parents are supposed to be coming back for lunch, and I don't know
when."
He nodded in understanding, and the two sat together for a few moments more,
reluctant to separate. "Tomorrow I want you to meet me here at my door," he
told her gently, moving a strand of hair away from her face, "Do you think you
can remember where it is?"
"Mhm." Without necessarily memorizing the room number, she could recall which
story and wing of the hotel it was in.
"Alright..." he let off of Anne for them both to stand up, following her to the
door. As he opened it for her she wrapped an arm around his torso a final time
before stepping out into the hall.
"Have a good day!" she cried, and peering past the doorway, he was awed as she
laughed and tore down the corridor with boundless energy. Rolling his eyes and
smirking as he stepped back to shut the door, the sudden change in her
temperament didn't make much sense to him, but at the same time, he realized
his charms were certainly making an effect on her. Though earlier he was
doubtful, that day she already reciprocated some of his affections, and soon he
would expect all of them to be.
===============================================================================
Anne wished she had looked back and seen Mr. Moreau's face when she left him
behind; out of breath and waiting for the elevator to arrive, she beamed as she
stared down to the end of the hall from whence she came. His door had been
shut.
The elevator's tone soon sounded and she was prompted to enter with a small
family who was already inside with a luggage cart.
"Which floor are trying to get to, hon'?" a middle-aged woman asked. Anne
positioned herself in the middle and turned to face the front, "The fourth."
She eyed the panel and noticed that the button '4' had already been chosen.
"Well, that's good. That's where our room is," the woman chortled as the doors
shut, "Won't have to skip around levels and all that weird stuff..."
Soon, the group found themselves at the given level and Anne stepped out to
allow the family to push their cart out into the hall more easily. As they went
their separate ways and she made the journey back to the Clarkes' hotel room,
the girl reflected on what she had learned about Mr. Moreau that day. Being a
spy, it made sense to her how reserved he seemed, but she speculated why he
held such a particular interest in her over anyone else.
Did he like her, she wondered? Only just getting out of sixth grade, she knew
very little about relationships besides the small crushes and juvenile 'dates'
her classmates sometimes teased and gossiped with each other about. The man was
very gentlemanly with her, but he may have acted that way towards all women and
girls. However, when they were together she could see a certain look of
admiration in his eyes strangely different from that which her family had
always given her.
In all honesty, if it were true that was what he wanted with her, she wouldn't
mind experimenting with him during her time at the resort. Not minding his age,
she found him reasonably attractive in both his mannerisms and appearance, how
sharply he liked to dress and his cordial treatment of her as mentioned before.
The deep melancholy he had for his homeland also intrigued her to a point where
she almost wished she could relate, to feel just what he felt.
She had heard before, though, that it was inappropriate for an adult to be in a
relationship with a child and this was one of the main reasons the "stranger
danger" doctrine was persuaded in children from early on in their lives. At
Jackson's high school, she had even come to know about several scandalous
flings some students had before with their teachers, in which they had soon
disappeared from the campus, revoked of their careers and taken off to prison.
Because of how reprehensible it would be if anyone found out about it, Anne
actually realized getting into a relationship with Mr. Moreau would be
thrilling. And she had an idea for something they could do during their meeting
tomorrow, where she could test how he really felt about her.
Smirking as she finally reached the door to her family's room and unlocking it
with her key card, she walked in to see that Jackson was in the exact same
place his sister had left him, on the chair pulled out in front of the TV,
though now snacking on some potato chips the family had brought.
He sneered at her as she closed the door and took off her shoes, bringing a
chip to his mouth, "The hell are you smiling about?"
"Nothing..." Anne mused, entering further into the room lazily and jumping to
sit upon the bed.
Jackson turned his attention back to the TV as he chewed, "What, did you see
someone you like?"
"No," she lied and wrinkled her nose defensively. Making sure her brother
looked away, she took the copper Euro out of her pocket to look at it again; it
was older than she was, but still held most of its luster. She could tell that
Mr. Moreau had taken good care of it the whole time he had lived in America,
but she certainly didn't believe he was upset to give it up to her.
"What's that?" Jackson's voice brought her back to reality, and she lifted her
head to see him twisted in the chair to look at what she held with such great
interest, having a puzzled expression. Silently, Anne glowered at him; she
would never allow him to know who gave it to her.
As if demanding an answer, Jackson suddenly stood from his chair to rush over
to her and grabbed at her hands which concealed the object. The girl tried
yanking her hands away from him in vain and kicked out at his torso as he
pushed her further against the bed, "Freaking stop! I'm going to tell dad!"
Jackson managed to pry open one of her hands when the coin flew out, landing on
the carpet with a quiet thud and conveniently rolling under the bed. Anne
gasped and nearly smacked him in the face as she struggled to sit up again. She
would do anything not to lose that coin.
"But where did you get it?" her brother demanded as they both rushed to lay on
the floor and search under the bed. With its comforter and very low bed frame
almost reaching down to the floor, their view under it was obscured.
"I found it!" she shouted, her voice muffled under the bed. Within moments she
did actually find the Euro as her fingers came upon its cold metal again and
backed out with it in her hand. She curled up on the floor in defense when she
anticipated Jackson to pounce, but instead he only knelt as he stared at her,
aggravated, wondering why that insignificant thing was so valuable to her.
He stood up from his knees and started back toward his chair, "Whatever...I
guess it's none of my business..." After a moment she also stood and went to
take the coin to her luggage between the two beds, inspecting it and trying to
rub any dust off from when it was under the bed before hiding it away in a
pouch where she kept her other cash. One could suppose it was an immigrant
among all the US currency.
Anne flopped down on the bed and sighed, face buried against the pillow as she
looked to her brother out of the corner of her eye.
"Do you know when mom and dad are coming back..?" she mumbled.
Jackson made no reply, but she wasn't sure whether he was ignoring her or
couldn't hear her over the TV.
"I said do you know w-"
"No, I don't know!" he snapped, never once looking at her. Anne shook her head
in annoyance and rolled over to stare at the wall next to the bed. She
gradually let herself slip into daydreams about the next time she would see Mr.
Moreau, how she could toy with him, what she could find out about him, never
realizing that she was falling asleep.
Chapter End Notes
     I get that this last scene might make it look like she knows what
     she's getting into, but she's still a minor and ultimately the victim
     of Moreau's schemes. Same goes for everything that comes after this.
***** IV *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
* Thursday, June 8th, 2017 *
Well-past sunrise that morning, the Clarkes had languidly dressed and ventured
down to the Grand Colonnade restaurant to find out for the first time how the
resort's breakfast held itself. Jackson in particular had asked their parents
if the hotel offered breakfast, to which the man replied 'yes', but they had
avoided it so far during their stay due to its price and that they could
substitute their more costly food with some items they had brought along on
their trip for themselves.
Of course, Jackson was tired of granola bars and had to try more of the
resort's food.
"Fine...and it's a buffet, so it better be worth it, Jack," Mr. Clarke sighed
as they all headed out the door. Downstairs, upon reaching it, the family found
they had to pay upfront before they were allowed to seat themselves. Anne
admired the restaurant's classical theme, with ornate designs and chandeliers
lining the ceiling and a small bouquet of flowers presented at the center of
each mahogany table. She could see how people probably paid more for the
experience eating there, rather than the food itself.
The Clarkes wandered for a table to claim as many others ate, soon settling for
a half booth built into the room divider. Mrs. Clarke set down her purse in one
of the chairs. "Ok," her husband nodded, glancing around the main dining area
and then to the buffet nearby, "Let's go grab a few plates."
Approaching the buffet busy with guests making their choices and cooks donned
in white preparing the food behind the counters, they all stood together in
front of it and eyed the many options of fare available. Mr. Clarke was drawn
to the omelet bar, unable to resist the smell of eggs as they seared in frying
pans, and Mrs. Clarke had gone her own way to make coffee.
Anne stuck near Jackson as they went to look at a bar with fresh fruit and
yogurt. Picking up a plate and taking a few chunks of cantaloupe with the
tongs, the girl thought she could see a familiar figure out of the corner of
her eye.
She looked to the dining area and at a small table for two adjacent to the
windows some fifteen feet away, Mr. Moreau was seated with a cup of espresso
and plate with only a few remnants of whatever he must have eaten sometime
earlier, fully invested in a magazine he had laid out in front of him. Glancing
back to Jackson, who was turned away from her as he was preoccupied with
getting his breakfast, she almost thought of waving to gain the man's
attention.
While her brother decided to wander away where bacon was being served, she
pretended she couldn't decide which kind of fruit to have next, standing in
place at the bar as she looked between trays and occasionally back to Mr.
Moreau.
Look at me, she wished she could call to him. She watched closely as he mixed a
spoon in his coffee and brought the cup to his mouth, finally looking up to
observe the room and other guests surrounding him.
Anne beamed when his eyes came around to settle on her. His face, so somber and
dispassionate before, lit up upon seeing the girl, and she took full note of
that. She glanced one more time over at Jackson, set down her plate, and pulled
her phone from her pocket to feign checking it in case her brother looked back,
though never once really looking at it. Hi, she mouthed.
Mr. Moreau slowly pressed a finger to his lips, a slight simper creeping along
them before disappearing as his eyes flicked to glare at her oblivious brother.
Anne meanwhile copied his gesture, snickering and swaying a little in her
stance shyly, before looking down at her phone. The man let down his finger and
continued to eye Jackson warily for a few moments, then she noticed the way his
attention frantically returned to the magazine, seemingly shutting her out.
"What is so funny?" she heard Jackson drawl as he came up from behind. Of
course, that's why, she rolled her eyes. His sister picked her plate off the
counter and turned to face him, scrolling on her phone, "Oh, I just saw
something - on Twitter..."
With his own plate piled on with his breakfast, Jackson gave her a questioning
look, probably unsure why she had gotten almost nothing on hers. Nevertheless,
he shook his head and started off toward the table their family had claimed.
"Their memes can't be that good," he said.
As the teenager left her behind he briefly turned back and pointed, "No,
actually, Twitter memes are garbage." Anne scoffed, at least he actually bought
what she told him, and quickly gathered enough food from the buffet to make a
reasonable meal out of. Once Jackson had sat down and begun letting his black
hole for a stomach suck in his food, she brought her gaze back to the Frenchman
at his table. For a moment, his expression was unreadable as he watched her
until he gave a small smile and looked away once more, as if dismissing her.
She glanced and reluctantly left to join Jackson and their parents at their
table, where she wouldn't be able to see the man from.
Sitting with them in the chair next to her mother and picking at her food, she
was truly frustrated how she couldn't go and sit with Mr. Moreau instead - for
them to say good morning to each other, possibly discuss his reading, and make
specific plans for them later in the day when she would be able to tear herself
away from her family.
"I think this food here is actually pretty good," Mr. Clarke said across from
her as he swallowed the last bit of his omelet, "How's yours, Anne?"
"It's okay," she answered indifferently. The situation seemed to have degraded
her meal as well as her mood. She hadn't been awake for even two hours and was
already growing tired of the people she was expected to cherish the most.
Realistically, Mr. Moreau couldn't possibly be an equivalent after only knowing
him for two days, and being a spy, there was probably an entire world he was
hiding deeply away from her. All the same, that was exactly what she wanted to
find with him.
Anne must have pondered about the double agent for at least ten minutes before
the Clarkes had finished up the last of their food, though some of hers went to
waste. She wasn't bothered to finish it off as the others were preparing to
leave.
After she and her family had cleaned up after themselves and went to leave the
restaurant, she stood on her toes to peer past the room divider to the table
Mr. Moreau had been. To her disenchantment, he was gone, with not a trace of
him left behind.
===============================================================================
Mr. Moreau paced back and forth across his room, with a window left wide open
and sheer curtains undulating from the warm breeze outside. A look of concern
wrinkled his brow and sank his eyes as he held the cigarette between his
fingers, his main method of relieving his stress for years. He had expected
Anne to show up in front of his door at around noon, the time they had been
together the day before; now it was after one o'clock. What if she wasn't able
to visit at all that day? In part, it would be a waste of the short allotment
he had to lure her away with him, but there was next to nothing he could do
about that.
He thought back to the short, endearing incident between them at breakfast.
Even if it was only for a few fleeting moments, it was very pleasant for him to
see the girl at the Grand Colonnade a few hours earlier, when she finally
caught his attention from his seat as he was finishing up his meal. The sleepy
look in her eyes from the morning laced with some kind of fondness for the man
had intrigued him, maybe even aroused him deep down. It was certainly a step up
from their first day together, he thought triumphantly, when she was all
timidity.
He was lounging in his chair near the open window and taking a drag from his
cigarette when he heard a soft rapping at the door, and whipped his head around
to face it. He swore, if it was Mr. Abbott...
The man quickly put out his cigarette, dropped it out the window, and tried to
waft some of the room's air that had been hazed in smoke outside before
approaching his door. Not touching the chain lock just yet, he pressed his face
against the peephole and looked out. Out of the small hole he could barely
catch the top of somebody's head as they stood in the hallway. It must have
been her. Relieved, Mr. Moreau unchained the door and opened it to see Anne
staring one way down the hall before her attention was quickly drawn to him.
She smiled, glancing with her arms in front of her, "Hey..."
"There you are," he sighed, "I was beginning to think you wouldn't show up.
Come in." He stepped away from the door to give her space to go inside,
narrowing his eyes and looking down the hall the way she had been. He barely
noticed someone disappearing into the elevator, and whoever it was, he hoped
they had paid the girl no mind.
Closing the door, he turned and watched as Anne went to stand near the bed,
"I'm sorry I got here later than usual."
"It's quite alright," he nodded. He didn't bother to ask why; it surely had to
do with her parents leaving for an activity which they had planned unusually
later in the day. All that mattered was that she was able to visit at all, for
him to take in the lovely sight and personality of her.
"About-" he cleared his throat of the smoke from before, "-when we saw each
other at breakfast...do you and your family go there everyday?"
She laughed after being reminded of it, sitting down on the bed, "No, that was
our first time eating there, but I think we'll be going again. Do you?"
"I'm not planning on it, now."
Disappointment crossed her face, "...Is it because of Jackson?" Mr. Moreau was
brought to think of how her brother may have reacted if he noticed a strange,
older man leering at her from afar. Even if Jackson often treated Anne with
scorn, a familial bond still united the two, and he would very likely protect
his sister no matter what it cost him.
She looked away and fidgeted with her hands, "Because when I was at the buffet
with him you looked kind of nervous." The risk they took that day alone, the
two of them longingly meeting eyes when her brother was just near enough to
notice, was far too great.
"I don't want to be seen by your family at all," he replied sternly and sat
down on the soft bedding closely beside her, "because we can't ever let them
know about us under any circumstance, can we?" For those with a particularly
watchful eye, like eagles, anyone else might have caught on as well, which he
had long realized when they were together in the garden the day before.
"Nope..." she shook her head candidly, in an agreement which seemed almost
unsettlingly blind to him.
"Now, with all of that aside...did you have something in mind for us today?" He
allowed her to be in initiative so he could assess where she felt they were in
their relationship. Normally the man had always been self-seeking, but at this
time, her own feelings were of utmost importance to him.
Anne didn't maintain eye contact, glancing at the floor as the gears seemed to
grind in her head. "If anything?" he smiled, leaning in a little closer with an
arm situated behind her. She looked back to him and smirked, a cue that a clear
idea lingered somewhere in her head.
"There must be something...I see it," he teased as a glint appeared in her
eyes. She slid off the bed, "We have to sit on the floor for it!" The girl
chose a spot near the foot of the bed, in front of the TV's entertainment
center. As Mr. Moreau got up to follow suit, she rested on the carpet in a
kneeling position and watched him eagerly.
"Why must we be on the floor?" his voice strained as he lowered himself in
front of her, a joint cracking.
"Because this is how me and my friends play it."
"Play what?"
"Truth or dare."
Oh yes, a child's game often reserved for slumber parties late on weekend
nights or recess during the school day. It was a test of their friendships. Mr.
Moreau tried to recall a French equivalent from his own childhood decades ago,
but his mind came up blank, "I don't believe I've ever played it."
"Never...?" genuinely surprised, her bright eyes widened, to which he shook his
head. Shocking, he thought with amusement. She glanced, "Ok, so...you pick
either truth or dare, and then I have to ask a question or tell you to do
something. Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
Anne twisted to face back toward the window he had left open near the chair.
She lifted her head a little and her nose wrinkled as she sniffed the air, "Is
it true that you smoke?"
She sounded almost accusing to him, "...Yes." There was a reason why he hadn't
smoked in front of her; many of those in or around her generation found it
vile. He supposed he couldn't hide it forever, though. The girl turned back to
him and shifted her legs out from under her, "I don't think you're supposed to
smoke in this hotel."
"Just as we aren't supposed to be together?" he dared to question. A tense
silence followed, filling the room.
"Oh..." Anne shrank. The Frenchman wasn't sure if she had realized it before.
He stood up to make his way over to the window, smirking, “You see, I have no
regard for it.” Finding that most of the smell had gone, he shut it and drew
closed the heaviest layer of curtains, casting himself and that end of the room
in shadow. When he returned to his spot in front of her, he was prompted shyly,
"Your turn, now."
"Truth or dare?" he asked.
"Dare."
Mr. Moreau thought carefully; he didn't wish to force her to do anything
indecent. "I dare you-" he reached for his shirt collar and unraveled his black
tie, "-to put my tie over your eyes."
Grinning, she didn't question it and took the improvised blindfold from his
hands and veiled her eyes, tying it in a knot behind her head. He noticed her
looking around and blinking behind the fabric, possibly straining to see
through its opaqueness, but found she couldn't.
"Oh, no..." she joked, "Everything looks like - death!" To his surprise the
girl threw her arms out dramatically, and in an awkward position, she flopped
down against the carpet like a rag doll, playing dead. Mr. Moreau chuckled for
a moment until he found himself entranced by her form as she kept up her act,
laying perfectly still in front of him. "But ma petite fille isn't dead, is
she?" he purred, moving to observe the girl more closely in his want, now that
she couldn't see him. His eyes softened further as their gaze moved from the
shirt slightly coming off the shoulder down to her waifish midriff, hips neatly
traced by the waist of her shorts. In that moment he couldn't imagine she had
any idea how perfect she looked to him.
"Is she?" he placed a hand on her thigh and caressed it gently, and after
seeing no reaction from her, he removed it and got down so that he was laying
on the floor just beside her. With his index finger he carefully began to
withdraw the blindfold from one eye, murmuring, "What will I do without-"
A burst of laughter from Anne cut him off in the same instant, and Mr. Moreau
joyously wrapped his arms around her to pull them both back up into a sitting
position. When she brought her hands up to the tie he intervened, reaching
behind her head to untie the knot and let it off her face for her. Not
bothering to wear it again, he held the crumpled tie in his fist against the
floor as he waited for her question.
"Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
A smile, barely noticeable, appeared, and her question soon followed, "Is it
true that you're married?"
Mr. Moreau swore that she understood exactly how risqué that had come off to
him. If he was, surely this nonexistent wife would have been staying at the
resort with him. Maybe she even wanted him to be flustered...
He only shook his head to drive away those thoughts and replied stoically,
"I've never been married."
Anne brought her knees up to her face and bashfully hid behind them, hugging
her legs. He could see her smiling eyes gazing to meet his, and that which
seemed so far beyond his reach when he first had her in his sights could have
been very plausible, now. Moving on reluctantly, the Frenchman continued their
game, "Truth or dare?"
"Truth."
"Is it true that-" he faltered, "that..."
...You want me as I do you?
Mr. Moreau felt as though he were a schoolboy again.
As she waited earnestly for his question, he took in the girl's age, how
unexposed she was to the world and countless experiences to be had in life. The
man hadn't been certain what she wanted out of him this entire time, but
neither was she.
After so many years spent womanizing he couldn't bring himself to materialize
that simple question to her. "Hm," tapping a finger against the carpet, his
blue eyes moved to look anywhere but the girl he longed for so much. She
laughed at his misgivings, however unaware she was of their significance, "It's
okay if you can't think of anything! Truth or dare?"
"Dare," he tensed, gripping the tie against the floor.
"I dare you..." she scooted closer in front of him, "to kiss me."
Maybe, in spite of it all, he could allow the question he had almost asked
before to be undoubtedly answered in that dare. His heart began to race in his
chest and he shuddered as she tilted her head up towards him with soft lips
slightly pursed as an offering. Any sane man would have rejected it, feeling
mortified at the idea of giving into the feeble, uninformed wishes of a child,
or instead would rather leave only a guiltless kiss on the cheek. However, Mr.
Moreau, in all his desperation, was about to full advantage.
Slowly, in disbelief, he shifted until he was close enough to take Anne's lips
with his own for the first time. He was riveted by the sweetness of her small,
warm mouth, unlike that of any other he had kissed in his life. The girl
laughed into his mouth, which must have only tasted bitter with smoke and wine
- flavors curious to her along with the experience. As their kiss deepened, he
claimed her hand with his free one and entwined their fingers on the carpet.
Mr. Moreau finally pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers. "I knew you
liked me," she giggled.
"Yes..." he crooned, exhaling and nuzzling his face into her neck, his stubble
scratching against it. The girl meanwhile let go of his hand and pried open the
other one holding his tie. He allowed her to take it from him and reach over
his head to wrap it under his shirt collar, idly observing her attempt to tie
it again.
She had done the knot wrong, but Mr. Moreau couldn't complain, even deciding he
would leave it that way. He drew her close into his embrace.
As he nibbled along her jaw, he almost forgot she had never asked for his first
name. "I'd like you to call me Claude, from now on," he whispered in her ear.
"Like Claude Monet?"
In his near-drunken state of lust, he almost moaned in approval as he held her.
The man was beginning to place feverish kisses under her chin and a possessive
arm around her shoulders when a familiar tone sounded from one of Anne's
pockets. With hesitance, he had to let her go, and she reached into her pocket
to go through her messages. Not looking up from the phone, she said, "Jackson
wants me to come back so we can get something to eat together...”
Mr. Moreau rolled his eyes as she was preoccupied with typing her short reply.
That boy...! he fumed on the inside. It seemed Anne could sense his frustration
when she put the device away and continued, "I mean, if I don't, later he's
probably gonna be like, 'what were you doing that was more important than
getting lunch?'"
Put in that way, it was understandable - he couldn't quite trust her to think
of an excuse persuasive enough to cover the fact that she had really gone to
make out with a grown man in his hotel room.
The Frenchman finally stood up from the floor and smoothed his jacket, "Then I
suppose you'd best be going." He then offered his hand to help her to her feet,
which she accepted gladly and pulled herself up with before heading to the
door. When they stopped before it, Anne turned back to him, and he bent down
slightly to allow her to give him a final kiss on the cheek goodbye. "See you,"
she said as he opened the door to let her out.
After she had gone to return to her brother, Mr. Moreau strode to the couch at
the far end of his room and rested on it, hands clasped in his lap and chest
low as if in prayer. Maybe he was, that what occurred wasn't a dream and meant
just what he foresaw - that there was a great chance she would agree to stay
with him, for them both to leave behind their old ways and begin a new chapter
in life.
He felt he owed his colleagues a visit later.
===============================================================================
All that evening Mr. Moreau could not think straight; instead of listening
intently to the conversations between his cohorts while he spent his time out
with them, he let them fade to the background, hopelessly obsessing in a
lovestruck daze over what had just sparked between him and the young girl that
afternoon. She had asked him to kiss her, without a single doubt or hesitation.
It felt to the man that she didn't find one thing imperfect about him, every
silver hair an accent rather than a fault of aging. Now he knew just the way
she liked him; the girl wasn't being a tease or only looked to him as a father
whenever she embraced him.
Now that he was back in his room and tumbling down a slippery slope of
hormonal, primal urges, he wished he could tear the entire suit off his body at
once. Hastily, he removed all the garments from his upper body before his pants
and socks, only leaving himself in his underwear as he threw himself onto the
bed. The man felt the exhaustion from his evening out weighing him down like
anchors as he climbed under the covers, but arousal still throbbed through his
blood, nagging to be released.
Pressing his face into his pillow, Claude reached under himself to pull out his
cock, its erection already quickly beginning to grow. He pictured having the
girl pinned stark naked against his bed, doll-like blue eyes gazing up at him
longingly. Squeezing his eyes shut, he inhaled as he touched his length.
As Mr. Moreau soon became lost in his fantasy of claiming Anne, robbing her of
her innocence, he had subconsciously grabbed onto the pillow and turned it
vertically; it was about the size of her torso, he found. Continuing to stroke
himself, he mounted the pillow and salaciously kissed and licked its fabric in
place of the soft skin of the little girl's shoulders and chest.
"Oh, Anne..." he moaned in a hushed voice, "Je t'aime...je t'aime." He made
steady, lecherous movements with his hips against the pillow, the underside of
his cock brushing against it with each thrust. Gradually, the friction grew
unbearable.
"Dieu-!" he growled as he spurted onto the side of his pillow, spasming against
it in ecstasy. As the pleasure disappeared from his nerves, he slowly came off
the pillow and took its soiled cover off, pulling it inside out and tossing it
to the floor carelessly to be washed by housekeeping the next day.
Laying in the dark and staring out at the small living area next to him
obscured by twilight, Mr. Moreau let his breathing settle until he eventually
couldn't keep his eyes open anymore.
Elle m'appartiendra.
Chapter End Notes
     It really shouldn't have been, but this chapter was the death of me.
     Oh and the next time you stay in a hotel think of how this guy
     treated the bedding. Someone who was in that room before you could
     have literally done the same thing and the staff probably don't wash
     their shit as much as they should. You're welcome.
***** V *****
Chapter Notes
     Just a heads up that this chapter will have a few short POV switches
     in the same scene, as will some in future chapters. I hope it isn't
     too jarring.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
* Friday, June 9th, 2017 *
His cigarettes mocked him.
Mr. Moreau had set out his pack of cigarettes and lighter on the sill of his
'smoking window' - it was just to keep them off his person, just for a while
until the day was out, whether or not Anne would have been there to see him. He
had distanced himself from that window and chair next to it by resting on the
couch instead, but he found himself staring at them still. She isn't coming, he
could hear them say, tormenting him. All that day the man had managed to
abstain from smoking; he made a vow to himself before to make sure he and his
room wouldn't smell of it whenever Anne came to visit him from then on.
It was four o'clock, and the girl wasn't there yet - but he still persisted,
not quite running out of hope. He figured that his desire to please Anne must
have been even stronger than his deep-seated one for nicotine. It was difficult
for him to recall ever feeling that way for any of the women he was once with.
One of them, in fact, had come to resent him and they broke up over his smoking
habit alone, he remembered with a sad sort of fondness.
He bent over in his seat and examined some of the bony details of age in his
hands for a while, frowning. His long, arduous wait had finally paid off when
he recognized the soft pattern of knocks against his door. At last, after a few
hours waiting there patiently, he could heave himself off the couch to answer
to Anne, his mind switching from one obsession to his other.
Mr. Moreau gave a relieved smile when he opened to see her. "Hi..." she hummed,
moving past him to go inside and take her feet out of her flip-flops without
him needing to prompt her. She seemed unusually shy, but he supposed it was
expected after remembering what happened between them yesterday. He hoped he
was only looking too far into things to see that she may have looked contrite -
that it wasn't a good idea how she willingly gave away her first kiss to
someone she may have never intended to be with, long-term.
After shutting the door, he was torn away from his thoughts when she smiled up
at him sheepishly, "Did I make you wait literally all day?"
He glanced at his wallet, watch and key card laid out on the nightstand; they
had been left in the exact same spot since last evening.
"Yes," he said, "but it wasn't an issue for me."
Once again just glad that she was still there to be with him, the man reached
and guided her by the back close to him, and she wrapped her arms around his
suited trunk. Keeping her close, he recalled that the girl's birthday was only
two days away. Maybe as an early 'present' for it, he would offer her his final
inquiry, so long as he could find something to use, and the audacity to use it,
as a certain influence on her decision...
He gazed past over her head to the series of windows letting in white light
that stretched across the floor to them. "What would you like for us to do
today, Anne?" his question was more rhetorical, than anything. An inherent
politeness had called upon him to ask anyway.
Mr. Moreau's voice was enjoyable as it resonated against her ear from within
him. She shrugged and mumbled against his chest, "I don't know."
"I have an idea..."
As he began to pull away from the embrace her eyes brightened, "What's that?"
"Come here," he took her by the hand and led her around the bed to the chair
next to the window that accompanied it. Still keeping a hold of it when he
turned to take a seat, he pulled gently to encourage her to sit on his lap. He
shifted to accommodate her weight as she clambered up to settle on his thigh
and turned so that her back faced against him, almost as if in disrespect.
Mr. Moreau had wished for her to face him, but nevertheless relished in feeling
the girl's body in such close contact with his. He wrapped his arms around her
small waist and drew her even closer, setting his chin on her shoulder and
letting out a soft sigh. He could just see the corner of her awkward smile as
she spoke, "We've never been this close."
"But do you like it?" the Frenchman nudged his face against her neck, under her
hair. He swore that he could almost distinguish the scent of the shampoo she
must have last used.
"...Yeah."
They sat, simply enjoying each other's company and the quiet of the room for a
minute until he murmured closely to her ear, "I enjoyed our kiss yesterday..."
Anne turned her head to face him, seeing it was his way of asking for another
one. She smirked, leaning in to give him a peck on the lips, and he smiled
gently, "Merci."
He would curb his greed for more. Instead, the man let his eyes become
entranced over the highlights in her caramel hair as they shone in the sunlight
flowing in through the window. It reminded him of when he first witnessed her
during that hot day earlier that week, traipsing before him across the pool
area, taunting him from the water without knowing. "Do you understand how I've
felt, from the moment I saw you?" he asked.
She laid back until her head rested against his shoulder and looked up at him,
grinning, "You like me."
"Much more than that," he murmured, their noses almost touching. Mr. Moreau had
found that she would fill an empty hole in his life, and heart.
Carefully, he laid his hand on her thigh, thumb caressing the inside of it, "I
want to please you."
"Like...?" Anne looked down at his gesture, but couldn't get a question out.
"Allow me..." he breathed, eyes low and gazing down the girl's body resting in
his lap. Then, as part of a risk greater than any he had ever taken as a spy,
his fingers snaked toward a place nobody else's ever had. She blinked, not
protesting as he one-handedly unbuttoned the seam of her shorts.
Anne gasped slightly as she watched him slip his hand into her underwear. He
would find that her lower regions were mostly smooth, but still showed an early
indication of puberty, small hairs scarcely beginning to grow down there. Mr.
Moreau had learned over the course of his life as an adult how to determine a
woman's arousal by the way she began to breathe under his ministrations. A
young girl's turned out to be mostly the same, but higher-pitched and somehow
more thrilling to him.
As he struggled not to become too aroused himself, her excitement was proven
once he reached her private area, where hot moisture was beginning to gather.
His slender fingers felt and probed around her little folds, and soon enough,
shaky gasps were drawn from her at the new sensations. Mr. Moreau knew the
parts of a female well and managed to hit her in all the right spots, except
inside. That was what must be spared.
Letting his fingers continue to give her their gentle massage, he had trouble
reading Anne's expression given the angle he was at, but could see that her
cheeks were flushed red and lips parted. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked
quietly as a precaution, pausing. Even though it would be too late at that
point, being unable to take back the crime he had already committed, it would
pain him greatly if he found she didn't enjoy it.
Anne shook her head with no words accompanying it. She shamelessly allowed him
to defile her in the spot that she had been told her whole life never to allow
anyone to touch. It was wrong, she had been convinced without any definite
reasons given, but how did it feel right? Slowly, she began to grind against
the hand stuck beneath her panties, shallow breaths and small moans becoming
more erratic as the unfamiliar feelings of tension and pleasure grew from
within, rapidly heading someplace final that an instinct told her she must go.
"Shh..." he leaned in and tenderly kissed her cheek. Though her voice under his
care sounded like music to him, he couldn't let her get much louder in case
there was anyone in the neighboring rooms to hear. He finally found success,
his goal was achieved when he could hear her exhale softly in pleasure and felt
her parts convulse at the mercy of his hand.
After waiting for her to finish, Mr. Moreau finally took his hand out from her
shorts. Anne's head was too far in the clouds for her to complain of its
absence. She had never thought it was possible, for simple touches in that area
she kept secret between her legs to reduce her being to a mess of euphoria.
Still recovering from this first orgasm, she shifted to turn around in his lap
and brought her arms up in a hug, head resting against his jacket's lapel as
she regained her breath.
The Frenchman lifted his fingers to inspect the small amount of warm fluid
which had come out onto them. Elbow against the armrest, he rubbed them
together and looked down to her, "More, chérie?"
"Mm..." she rubbed her face against his shoulder. Unbeknown to her beneath all
his clothing, his heart fluttered; that sweet sound was validation enough for
him.
Mr. Moreau thought of something different for her, hopefully as part of a more
intense and memorable experience. "Go lie on the bed for me," he said, allowing
the girl to withdraw from him and slide off his lap to go there.
He chuckled as Anne flopped down to the bed on her stomach and averted her gaze
within her arms, waiting expectantly for him to make his next move. "I'm coming
for you..." he mused, leaving the chair and stalking toward the bed as if it
were part of a mission - one which actually earned him his living. His half-
hard cock twitched in its confines as he let his eyes follow over her form, but
at least for that day, he affirmed, he wouldn't be satisfying himself. Anne
couldn't be deflowered just yet.
He slowly brought a leg up and knelt on the bed beside the place she laid,
hearing her muffled giggling. With a smirk, the man just watched her for a few
moments before letting his hands slither to her waist. Something close to a
delighted squeal came from her as Mr. Moreau suddenly yanked her shorts down to
her knees. "Quiet, Anne," he warned her.
And there she was. The girl's entire rear laid exposed to him - it was
noticeably paler than the sun-kissed skin over the rest of her body she so
easily flaunted to anyone else in the recent weather. This, though, was going
to be all his. None of the other licentious men who may very have well leered
at her at the pool the way he had would ever be able to see her, to have her,
in this way.
He let his eyes wander downward. Shimmering, the place he had violated before
was rich with the aftermath of her previous orgasm, its lips reddened and
pulsating with an impatience for another. It was as completely virginal as it
should for a girl her age, but had still been tainted by his carnal attention
to her, never to be the same again. It looked absolutely beautiful to him.
Laughs escaped her as he bent down to place several teasing kisses on the small
of her back, not far above her tailbone. Then, they quickly turned to shrieks
when his head plunged between her legs. The man aggressively melded his lips
with her folds, not so much as stopping to breathe, or to tell Anne to keep
quiet, even once. He planted his hands on the bedding at either side of her
waist to brace himself as he set out to satiate the girl a second time.
Anne wanted to cry out, wincing from the wet sensations of his lips against her
lower regions. Her girlhood throbbed at his touch once again like it had when
she was in his lap, begging for the release that only he could give it. If it
weren't for the pair of shorts caught around her knees, or his relentless
actions preventing her from being able to take them off fully, she would have
spread her legs wider to further invite him in.
He took a taste of her, darting his tongue out against her clit and pressing
against the sensitive nub to draw a gasp from the girl, causing her to quiver
as he licked. In a daze, Anne threw her head up from the bedding and looked
back at him over her shoulder, gripping the comforter and choking out in
laughter, "That's so-!"
Disgusting? Deplorable? Unthinkable? All of those, but to them both above all,
it was ecstatic.
His mouth carried on its lewd act against her, tongue being rewarded with
Anne's soft whines and more of her slickness with each wet lap. Gentil, chose
parfaite, he worshiped. She was behaving so well for him - he knew how lucky he
was to have chosen her from the beginning.
Over time, Anne grew tense once again, pleasure building at her very core. Her
feet curled and kneaded against the bed as she was almost tempted to demand
more of him, but could never bring herself to scream at someone she had come to
respect so well. She should have told him to stop long ago, but let him
continue his service to her steadily until, in the most sensual way, she could
bear no more.
Making an effort not to be too loud, she let out a small cry as she climaxed in
Mr. Moreau's face. She felt her folds pulse and contract around his mouth; all
through the ride he continued to devour her in his greed.
As her mind slowly returned to Earth, Anne felt something begin to trickle out
of her, but all of it was caught in the mouth still against the girl, her vulva
trembling from over-stimulation. He kissed her lower pair of lips for a last
time, "Bonne fille." She had doubtlessly enjoyed it.
Loosening his grip on her thigh, he withdrew his head from between her legs,
allowing her to turn her body so that she could lay on her back and lift her
hips briefly to pull up her shorts, head propped against one of the pillows.
Mr. Moreau remained seated in the same spot on the bed, waiting until she gave
him her full attention.
"Anne..." he picked up both of her hands and looked deeply into her eyes,
"listen to me. There's something I've been meaning to ask you." The man hoped
it was clear to her how serious he was about to become. He had decided it was
finally time to give her his ultimatum - to be his, or for him to check out of
the hotel, never for them to meet again.
"Would you stay with me, for us to live together?"
He promised he would tend to her every need, to give her all the attention she
could want during her birthday. Perhaps, someday he could even return to France
with her.
Mr. Moreau saw her brow furrow in thought, and she glanced between him and the
bedding she laid on with no reply. He swallowed, not so sure now if he should
have asked if the answer to it was already clear to her. Her silence beckoned
him to continue, "If not, if you feel more needed by your family...then the day
after tomorrow I'm leaving the resort, and you will never see me again." He
squeezed her hands more tightly. It would be beyond a painful goodbye - he
believed they would get along so finely if she chose for them to stay together.
The girl inhaled, upset by the flattering, yet tough proposition. It should
have been an obvious choice to stay with her family normally over a man she had
hardly come to know so far, but over the past few days she had been captivated
in such a way she had never experienced before. In all of her naivety, she
thought she was getting to know what it was like to be in love, a feeling she
had thought was mainly shared between high school sweethearts who could only
see each other for a short time each day, yet wanted so much more.
If they were to part ways and continue life as normal, Mr. Moreau would
disappear like an apparition, as though he never existed to anyone but Anne.
This idea somehow intrigued her too, but she didn't like how unfazed he seemed
to be over it. As a spy, he may have left people behind this way countless
times before.
"I am giving you one day to make your decision," he shifted, releasing her
hands, "Tomorrow I'll need you to come back and tell me which you would rather
do." It would be either the last time they would ever meet, or the last time
they would ever separate.
At the same moment he was about to turn and stand, Anne slowly sat up on the
bed and scooted closer until she pressed her head against his chest, stopping
him. Just as he had asked her for a kiss earlier, she was asking him for a hug.
She welcomed the man as he enfolded his arms around her shoulders and gently
set his chin on her head, stroking her back as they held each other for a while
in silence. Whichever path she chose, she knew that he didn't want her to
regret it. The proposal should be left to sink in for a while, for her to sleep
on, and she appreciated him for giving her the option.
"I'm sorry if this is too much," she heard him whisper into her hair. There was
certainly a lot being given for her to think about over the next day. It was
going to be a challenge, but she could handle it, she believed with a smile
hidden away from him, that he never had the pleasure of seeing.
After another minute passed, Mr. Moreau pulled away from her with a sigh, "I
think it's best if you leave now." The sooner she could be left to her own
devices to come to her decision, the better.
"Okay..." she crawled across the bed as a shortcut to the other side closest to
the doorway, where her flip-flops had been left on the floor. Before he stood
up and went around the bed himself to escort her out, the Frenchman watched
fondly as she swung her legs and slid off the side to put the shoes back on.
He had done everything in his power for her to hopefully be more inclined to
choose him, but in the end it was her own call, and whatever personal business
she had with her family was beyond his control. It would take all of the
understanding he had in order for him not to be upset if she didn't believe it
was a good idea to go off with him.
Anne gazed at him shyly as he approached, not yet turning toward the door for
him to open it. When he came before her and waited for her to say something to
him, she instead stood on her toes and reached up around his shoulders for a
parting hug.
Mr. Moreau sighed quietly, imagining spending his future nights holding the
girl like this, in his bed with the sheets tangled between their bodies,
without any cares in the world to give. It was a good possibility, he wished to
think. With one hand around her waist, he used the other to move some of her
hair out of the way to lean down and kiss her temple. "Think very carefully
tonight," he murmured, "Will you do that for me?"
"Mhm," she nodded into his chest. Then, as she moved away from him he, at last,
pulled open the door to let her go. She didn't say goodbye.
===============================================================================
Much later, as the sun was falling low in the sky and many resort guests were
filing back into their rooms for the night, Mr. Moreau wandered into his
bathroom, switching on the light and focusing his attention on the bag where
his toiletries were packed. He approached as it rested on the marble counter
beside the sink and soap dish. It wasn't that he needed to use something in it
right then, but that he wanted to make sure there were enough items there to
last him, depending on how long he would continue his stay.
This relied entirely on whether Anne would choose to stay with him tomorrow.
The same way Anne did, Mr. Moreau also had a lot of thinking and preparing to
do before she would come back to him with her last conviction.
If she decided to go with him, he wasn't going to take off with her - that's
what every other idiot who had ever gained the nerve to abduct a child did. By
the odds that his skills failed him and he was taken into custody, it could
cost him his career, reputation, everything, just so he would have this young
girl for himself and alleviate some of his petty insecurities. He could never
afford to be an idiot in this.
Instead, he determined that they, for a little while, would stay put in the
hotel - the exact opposite of where investigators would most likely assume she
would have gone with her mysterious captor. As the surrounding area and
businesses were combed for any clues as to where they went, this would also
give him time to think of a way to smuggle her out later. Hopefully, though he
couldn't be sure, no more than a quick sweep for Anne over the resort would
take place before they moved on to try and find a trail.
He zipped open the bag and sorted through his manly toiletries inside - bottle
of cologne, comb, razor, shaving cream, mouthwash, among other things. Taking
them to set out them on the counter, at a glance it looked like all of this
would last at least another week without him needing to visit a drug store in
town. Mr. Moreau picked up the bottle of shaving cream and shook it, finding it
to still be mostly full. He looked in the mirror for a moment and wondered how
Anne would like to see him someday with his face completely clean-shaven,
without the scratchy gray stubble that covered his jaw then. It must have been
a small discomfort to her whenever he kissed or nuzzled her.
Then, it set in, what would happen if she chose not to be with him.
After leaving and making the melancholy drive home, he shouldn’t push his luck
by pursuing another. The greatest concern coming out of it is that he could
become fixated on children, which, he felt, would be too dangerous for both him
and certainly whichever ones he went after. Just as he had reflected in the
same spot in the bathroom a couple days before, Anne would never be easy to
replace.
The IUPUI campus laid not too far from his apartment. Later that year in the
fall, when the student body would all return for school, it was possible for
him to make a search through it and find a more innocent type than he had
always been used to, without them being underage. Then, he remembered he would
also be facing hoards of campus police and the judging eyes of professors as
they commuted to and from class. He would only be exposed for the creep he was,
and no one there would take very kindly to him. As well, many college-aged
women would probably expect him to pay their tuition in exchange for their
company, which he could understand, but this was not what he was looking for
any longer.
Mr. Moreau set his hands on the counter, eyes darting wearily. What in the
world was he going to do? Besides Anne, it seemed he was out of options.
But no matter what, if the girl would return tomorrow and the coin was flipped
tails...he could never take her by force and hold her in his room against her
will. The main reason being that it simply wouldn’t be possible in this
environment, with leery visitors around every corner, in every neighboring room
to hear her cries. Just the thought of the girl in fear and emotional turmoil
like that, at his very own hands, disturbed him deeply as well. The delicate
trust she held for him would shatter, and she would never love him.
He sighed before reaching into the bag again, and his hand came upon something
he couldn't remember packing. He pulled out a white plastic bottle of
medication, something he hadn't used in quite a while. The bootleg container
was carelessly labeled, but he recalled the name of the substance perfectly,
WIN 18446.
It was a male contraceptive, taken orally. Though it was never released to the
public, this 'male Pill' had been circulating under a black market for several
years for shady figures such as himself to purchase. As Mr. Moreau had never
seen them on the news or read much about them ever since, the scientists who
leaked the product still must have happily continued their careers, secretly
benefiting from the extra income. He was always grateful they managed not to
get caught; otherwise, he and so many others would no longer be able to attain
it.
He thought that the medication might as well be released, because in his past
relationships he had taken the risk of using it with no other protection, and
it turned out to have actually worked. None of his past lovers ever came up to
him telling him they were pregnant.
The man tried to recall the moment he gathered it before heading off for French
Lick. Back home whenever he went through his bathroom to pack for a trip, he
would often just rummage through the drawers and cabinets, throwing things into
the bag without even glancing at them. He must have taken it subconsciously out
of routine, even though he wasn't originally expecting to find a new partner at
the resort.
His old habits would have to die hard.
But given this situation, he was glad he happened to have it there with him. It
might turn out to be a waste of the pills, but it wouldn't hurt if he took one
anyway, just in case he could make something happen with the girl. Mr. Moreau
uncapped the bottle and poured it into his open palm, and with the other, took
a plastic cup and filled it with some water from the sink. Followed by a swig
of the tap water, he swallowed the contraceptive.
Tomorrow if she chose him, as a rite of passage, he would finally take Anne's
innocence in its entirety.
Chapter End Notes
     Welp.
     I'd like to point out that this 'WIN 18446' is an actual substance
     that was mostly developed during the 1950s when it was found to have
     some sketchy side effects on the prisoners they tested it on. It's
     still being looked at today, and (hopefully?) it never really made it
     to some weird drug cartel or whatever.
***** VI *****
Chapter Notes
     Sorry subscribers, I have several excuses why this came out so late.
     - This chapter is over three times as long as the others on average?
     It took three times as long to draft, three times as long to edit and
     polish. And it's the most important part of the story so it actually
     has to be decent, too.
     - Schoolwork has been tearing me a new one.
     Better hold on to your butts.
* Saturday, June 10th, 2017 *
Anne was gradually drawn from her sleep as warm sunlight reached across the
Clarkes' room to the furthermost bed where she had spent the night. The girl
shifted under the thick covers and rolled over to face the wall in a lazy
protest, disregarding the morning's pleas for her to get up. It was something
she had always enjoyed the most during her summers - sleeping in to the point
where she felt as if she could never leave the comfort of bed again.
As she continued to lay in her drowsy state, eyes half-lidded, she eventually
noticed the room around her seemed strangely silent and unmoving; usually, she
would have been hearing the shuffling of Jackson as he went to gather fresh
clothes from his suitcase, or maybe her mother as she got out from bed and
opened the curtains. Turning away from the wall to face the dreaded light, she
sat up under the covers and let her eyes focus as she glanced about the hotel
room, with no one there to be seen. No activity of any kind could be heard
behind the closed door leading to the bathroom, either.
Anne blinked, not moving. Where was her family?
As if waiting for someone to miraculously appear, she sat still for a few
moments more before stiffly leaning over to reach for her phone that laid on
the nightstand. The time on its screen told her it was almost ten o'clock - she
had slept in much later than she thought. Whatever they were doing, she still
felt too tired to care much, and expected them to return soon for them all to
go to the Grand Colonnade, or maybe someplace else outside the resort, for
breakfast. With a sigh, she set it back down, prepared to sink deeper into the
bed and doze off once again until her heavy eyes did a double take.
A small scrap sheet of paper had been left on the nightstand beside her phone.
By the somewhat course handwriting scribbled in ink on it, belonging to someone
who always liked to leave patronizing notes behind before going out, she could
already tell who it was from. Still, at least it would reveal to her where they
had gone, and why. She sneered as she picked it up to read,
Rise and shine sleeping beauty,
Since you went to bed kind of late last night and we got up a bit early, we
didn't want to disrupt your sleep and went down to the buffet to get something
to eat ourselves. Don't worry because there's plenty of things for breakfast
you can have that we brought instead.
And make sure you get dressed soon before we go out on the trail ride later.
Long pants, no shorts.
- Dad
Anne seethed, crumpling the note in her fist and tossing it to the floor. They
had gone out of their way to get up, get dressed, only to leave for the
restaurant while she still slept, never having any concern whether she actually
wanted to go and eat with them at the Grand Colonnade anyway.
One of them could have just woken her and asked - if she wanted to continue her
slumber, they would have allowed her, and if it turned out she wanted to go, in
that case too, they would have allowed her. But now it was too late. With them
already out and enjoying the hot options for a meal from the buffet, she
begrudgingly would have to find something they had packed along to eat, as
mentioned in the note.
The girl shoved herself out of bed and stepped across the room to the little
nook next to the entertainment center where they had set down their bags. She
sat on the floor and began to sort through the one where the food was stashed,
digging through several boxes until she came upon an unopened bag of granola
with pieces of dried fruit mixed into it.
Though of course Anne knew she wasn't, it felt almost as if she were abandoned.
Contemplating, she ripped open the bag, scooping the sweet bits out of it by
the handful and stuffing them into her mouth in frustration, never thinking
much of the mix's flavor.
Claude wouldn’t do this to me! she thought. Anne had never seen an ounce of
carelessness in the man since meeting him. Pausing her eating, she just
remembered what he had asked her of yesterday, how he was enticing her to
possibly abandon them. If she were to be with him instead, as he had sworn, his
attention to her would be unyielding. She could hardly keep from smiling as she
envisioned it.
Even though it wasn't what he had wanted of her, she had broken her informal
pact with Mr. Moreau and mostly kept her mind off his proposition the night
before. She was rather at a loss for words when he had made the offer to her,
and couldn't have done much to help the way she remained in a state of awe for
the rest of the evening after the fact.
But just as much as his question, her mind reeled to the pleasurable things he
had done with her. She could tell he would be bestowing to her more strange,
new experiences of that sort if she went with him; it might have actually been
what he meant by the 'attention' we would pay her, at least partially.
Quickly growing tired of the granola, she sealed the bag shut and put it away,
rising to her feet to use the toilet and get some water from the sink in the
bathroom. Standing before the counter and filling a small cup to drink, Anne
wondered what he did in the morning. He probably liked to wake very early, with
a consistent routine used each day to get ready to present themselves to the
world, like many other older men did, she had always assumed.
She went to stand in the bathroom's doorway idly after disposing of the empty
cup, having no idea how long her family had been gone or when they were coming
back. She looked to her duffel bag a few feet away and groaned wordlessly at
the one thing she had left to do, head lolling, Really don't want to get
dressed...
As she found herself drifting into daydreams about Mr. Moreau, getting ready
for the day would have to wait. Anne walked across the room and slumped back
onto the bed face-first and sighed, shutting her eyes. She was going to be
faced with some level of nagging the moment they returned for it, but she
couldn't have cared less.
The girl crawled very much like a little soldier across the messied comforter
and sheets until her head reached the pillow. Soon, she imagined it melted away
into the man’s chest as she snuggled against it, grinning. Innocently, she
wished for him to hold her again, to be close to his distinct modish scent of
cologne, wine, and just the slightest hint of tobacco on his breath as he would
whisper comforting things to her. 'Chérie', he had called her before; she knew
it meant something nice.
But soon, that all faded as more forbidden thoughts appeared, and she felt a
familiar heat grow in her nether regions. It was strange to her, this time, how
it was all without the man’s touch. It was a fire brought about and fueled only
by her imagination.
Frustrated, she ruminated in these feelings until she recalled a short, two-day
sex ed course she and her peers had taken last school year. The guest speaker
for it had told them it was perfectly healthy for kids her age to begin
touching themselves 'down there', to experiment with their own bodies. During
their time together, though, she supposed Mr. Moreau had helped do that for
her. Until then she hadn’t understood the point, never bothering with it and
focusing only on the things which normally consumed her life - her schoolwork,
friends, how she could get back at her nasty brother for his slights, but now
she knew very well. She needed this release more than anything.
With her head still pressed firmly into the pillow as she laid on her stomach,
Anne lifted her pelvis off the bed slightly and slid a hand under her pajama
shorts, then her underwear. She soon found the place which burned so ardently,
and shuddered as she graced her fingers over its lips, drawing small surges of
pleasure throughout, though to her discontent not intense enough for her to
reach nirvana any time soon.
Admittedly, her hand wasn't as skilled as that of Mr. Moreau, even as she was
satisfying herself. When he had touched her yesterday she took note of his
meticulousness, like his fingers had been performing an elaborate dance all for
her own enjoyment. He seemed more familiar with her own body than even she was.
She would try and copy his movements, exploring every crevice of herself but
inside her warm, weeping center, where more pleasures to be had remained
unknown to her. With her index finger she probed past her folds and found her
clit, which the man had led her to find out was her most sensitive part. She
remembered to when his mouth was upon her, and moaned upon her fingertip's
contact with the tense bud, quivering. It made the girl hide her flushed face
in the pillow bashfully, as if away from the phantom man in her mind who took
his greatest pleasure in claiming her body.
Anne could sense the third peak she would have in her life approaching, quiet
gasps leaving her as she began fingering herself faster, trying desperately to
reach that sweet ending. She was racing toward it like a lost child would to
their mother in a war zone. "Claude..." the Frenchman's name fell from her
lips. Not long following it, she swore she could hear the phantom man answer
her in his lowest, most dangerous tone,
I know you long for me, chérie.
With a sharp gasp, she came undone. The girl writhed and kneaded the bedding,
disordering it even more as she convulsed and euphoria seemed to wash over her
entire being. By her own will, Anne's fabrication of Mr. Moreau disappeared, or
was rather discarded when she no longer needed it to sate her sickening,
forbidden fantasies. Continuing to ride out her orgasm to her full advantage,
she could feel spots of wetness forming on her fingers and the inside of her
panties.
As the pleasure gradually faded and her core could find peace at last, she
pulled her hand out, let her body settle into the sheets fully and shifted
against the pillow, staring blankly out the two windows across the room to the
bright morning awaiting outside. Had her family walked in during her little
activity, she would have had no way to explain herself.
And who is this 'Claude'?
In the warmth of the room and the bed she still shivered. After going all week
without letting a single soul know of them, she would have finally let Mr.
Moreau down.
But thankfully, that was never the case. Anne brought up her legs and lifted
the sheets to tuck herself back under them; when her family returned, it would
look to them as if she had never gotten out of bed. Despite the deep,
pleasurable exhaustion that seemed to weigh her down into the mattress, she
didn't allow herself to slip into sleep again. It probably wasn't going to be
too long until she would only be disrupted, if she did. To keep herself
occupied until her family's return soon, she just observed each of the room's
naturally-lit features from her angled, distorted point of view as she laid
against the pillow.
She would be putting off her important decision further, at least until her
mind would come out of its morning haze. It was a good excuse she made to
herself, that it was always much better to settle on something so paramount
with a clear head. Anyone else probably would have agreed to that, if someone
happened to ask that day why she looked so pensive, so down - maybe one of
Jackson's comments had struck a nerve, or it was only from the normal worries a
girl like her should have for her future.
She vowed they would remain ignorant.
===============================================================================
As she had predicted, Anne's parents were disappointed when they came back to
their room to find her still in bed, not ready. Reluctantly, their fussing over
that, while they had overlooked the fact whether or not she had eaten anything,
finally forced her to gather some clothes appropriate for a trail ride and
change into them. She hoped her pair of capris would count as long pants.
Now she was in the backseat of their car, bringing along a plastic water bottle
and staring out the window absentmindedly as the Clarkes made their drive down
the back road that bridged the two sides of the resort, separated about a mile
apart. Just as they entered the domain of the massive West Baden Springs hotel,
the road's pavement was changed from asphalt to one inlaid with red brick,
having a dated but charming appeal.
The car soon passed by the annular building, slowing down as it was forced to
go under the coach gate for the other cars and guests approaching its entrance.
Anne couldn't see it well as she was seated on the side of the car furthest
from it. Jackson, though, had the privilege to take in its grace, but only
glanced with indifference before it was left behind them, unimpressed like
always.
They had to drive through the hotel's parking lot in order to reach the path
that would eventually take them to the stables at the northernmost point of the
resort. Marked with a sign, Mr. Clarke found the gravel road that forked out
from it, leading them deep into the forest. Anne rolled down her window for
fresh air and to immerse herself in the sounds of the woods, leaning over to
cross her arms over the sill. As she observed the way sunshine peaked through
and dappled the undergrowth in brightness under the canopy of the trees, she
also kept a weary eye out for any glimpse of wildlife. Robins swooped across
the ground and between bushes while warblers sang to each other happily from
their highest perches above.
The rest of the drive was unexpectedly long to her, causing her to wonder how
far the resort’s vicinity really reached. Mr. Clarke faintly sighed with relief
minutes later when the road was ending and a clearing presented itself before
them, telling them they had finally arrived.
Their car came to a slow stop after turning into a parking spot next to an old
stock trailer, and the family stepped out to take in the scene. In contrast to
either of the two hotels' parking lots, this one was tranquil, the stables
seemingly existing in another world away from the resort. For a moment Anne
observed a family that had gathered for a small party or reunion in a pavilion
built far on the other side, preparing to serve lunch on the picnic tables.
Otherwise, the Clarkes seemed to be the only ones there.
As she was summoned to follow the others into the main office, she looked out
over the rest of the property to see a small goat pen, set up before the range
of pastures dedicated to the horses further away. A few heavier horses,
probably ones that worked the carriages, wandered and grazed on the short
grasses in the distance.
Once inside, the family had their obligatory meet-and-greet with the manager in
his cowboy-like getup, which neither Jackson or Anne cared much for. He had
explained his job and experience with the animals before taking them out to be
presented to a long row of colorful equines tied to a railing against the wall
and saddled, ready to be ridden at any given time. Standing quietly and still,
a few occasionally swished pesky flies away with their tails. It might not have
shown right then, but in all their rugged strength, to Anne they were noble
animals.
A chipper young woman in a brown ponytail promptly introduced herself to them
as their trail guide. First, she had assigned the two adults their horses
before taking Anne down the formation.
"You," she was led beside a particular horse, "will be riding Derby." The
palomino appeared to be dozing off in the heat, hind leg cocked and eyes low.
He was gently roused when the trail guide patted his rump, "He got his name
because he was born during the Kentucky Derby, many years back."
Not being quite tall enough to mount on her own, Anne was given a leg up to
climb up into the saddle. Her feet reached just shy of the stirrups, compelling
the trail guide to shorten them. "Too long?" she muttered as she eyed the
issue, "I'm gonna need you to move your leg."
Anne lifted her leg to rest her foot on the horse's wither as flaps were lifted
for the stirrup to be shortened. "So how old are you, sweetie?" the woman
asked, not looking up from her work. The girl gazed down, watching the trail
guide’s hands lift the saddle's flap to grasp at the fender and pull it, "I'm
gonna be twelve tomorrow."
"Oh, well, happy birthday," she smiled, moving to finish the adjustments on the
other side as well and allowing her to set her feet into the more
appropriately-fitting stirrups. "Think that should be better..." the trail
guide went away to the teenager still waiting from the ground. As she and her
parents were left to wait, Anne bent forward in the saddle to look at some of
the details in Derby's blond mane. A deviant strand laid unaligned with the
rest, and with a smile she flipped it to the other side so that it was neatly
united again. The horse pricked an ear back at her gesture.
Lastly, Jackson had been given his mount, on Chief. "Now I need to get my
horse, then we'll be ready to go," the trail guide sauntered into the main
stable to retrieve it, kept separate from the other animals. As she brought her
gray horse out moments later to mount, the stable manager returned to lead each
member of the family and their horses out to form a line that faced the
imminent trail.
The woman rode her horse to the very front, glancing back at the others,
"Ok...let’s roll." All party members nudged their horses' sides, and from there
they walked on, leaving the stables' property through a gate and down the
trail, eventually passing the forest’s edge. Anne’s mind wandered as she
listened to the birds and whispering trees around them on horseback, coming to
ignore the trail guide’s lectures on the local wildlife as they went. With her
needing to finalize her decision in only a few hours, she needed to stop
procrastinating and begin to seriously reflect on the offer, as well as the
state of her life. She figured the quiet, relaxing ride through the forest
would be more than a suitable backdrop for it.
So safe inside her own head, she was going to review everything she had
gathered over the past day and go from there. That morning her mind had still
been too weary to do this, but now it was more than capable.
First and foremost, the idea was never at all what she had expected out of him
- she was convinced she had only found someone to screw around with, just for a
while until she was to be dragged back home, and that Mr. Moreau had thought
roughly the same. But it turned out he was open to much more than that, and now
she was being faced with a potentially life-changing decision, where she was
stuck between a rock and a hard place.
It had just seemed to her the whole time he didn't want anything serious to
happen between them, maybe because that was always how he had always treated
his relationships. She felt flattered, yet a little disconcerted, how all of a
sudden he was willing to commit himself to her entirely, to the point of
risking going to prison. It was difficult for her to believe she was really
worth that much to him.
What the girl still couldn't see, though, was that he had had this agenda laid
out for her the entire time, all for his own selfish gain in the end. She never
had any idea of the deep insecurities he had for himself, apart from his near
decade-long dissociation with his home country.
His career was the reason she had been told she couldn't tell anyone about him,
right?
It was shady business, and she was terribly interested to see what it might be
like to stay alongside him, to learn more about what he really did to make his
living. She could trust, though, that the man would never allow her to be
caught in a dangerous position in the middle of these affairs. She could still
imagine having a similar assurance of safety as the one her family gave her if
she went with him. Seeing as said family still didn't even know he existed so
far as they continued to interact, being a professional who was remarkably
skilled in keeping himself hidden, she thought that should carry seamlessly
into keeping her hidden as well. The police might never even be a concern for
them, if their cards were played exactly right.
She almost wished she had someone to talk to about it, like the counselor at
her school she often enjoyed seeing and spilling whatever was on her mind to,
but this was a decision she had to make all on her own. Like an adult would,
she realized. Anne would be growing up soon, and this gradual emergence of
maturity would probably sneak up on her much quicker than she thought. On that
same note, her birthday happened to be just tomorrow - as she turned another
year older, would it be a more worthwhile experience celebrating with them, or
Mr. Moreau? And it wouldn't affect it only this year, but every one after it,
for as long as they were never found out. She tried hard to foresee how this
longstanding commitment would turn out down the road...
"Something wrong, Anne?" her mother asked suddenly. She had twisted her body to
look back to her from atop the horses, giving the typical wide-eyed expression
of a concerned parent that struck Anne for a moment as their gazes met.
"What?” she looked at her with equally wide eyes, "No..."
Mrs. Clarke gave her a very brief, inquisitive look before turning around. Anne
glanced at the wooded surroundings, swallowing; had her face somehow twisted
into something sullen? She hadn't exactly been feeling that way before she was
asked, just trying to weigh her options.
That small incident soon brought up something in her mind she dreaded to think
about - that at the end of the day, even if she wasn't the favorite and her
opinions weren't always the most highly regarded, she was still valued as a
Clarke, and her family was always going to be there for her no matter what
happened. If she stayed with them, everything would remain comfortable and
familiar, the same as it had always normally been. She would be continuing to
please her parents as well as she could; maybe someday she could even prove
herself more worthy than her brother. At the heart of it, she had always wanted
nothing more than to feel appreciated by them. It was a child's nature to seek
this comfort in the people that had brought them their very existence.
And the same way her mother did for her, Anne always hated to see either of her
parents upset. Most certainly, those sorts of feelings in them would be roused
and unimaginably worse than she had ever seen if she went missing.
This was her most empathetic side on the issue. A small angel upon her shoulder
said it was most rightful for her to stay where she belonged and fulfill her
role as a good daughter, nevermind how that strange man felt about it.
Then the most selfish, depraved side of her threatened to take over. A small
demon upon her shoulder said that she might as well leave them, because no
matter what she did she could probably never really live up to their
expectations. Her potential relationship with Mr. Moreau may not have been
normal, but being normal was boring. Life would be so much more interesting on
the run with him than sitting at home during these sweltering days, only being
among normal things, only doing normal things. It listed off more reasons:
She would have no older brother to compete with any longer. All the attention
was for herself.
She couldn't think of a way that Mr. Moreau would make her go back to school
later that year in their situation. Even if it was her main means of getting
about with other children, it was mostly lame anyway.
She wouldn't even be there to see her family's turmoil after she was gone. It
was never going to be any of her concern - what was out of sight was out of
mind.
Going with him sounded more alluring than ever to the brazen child within her
as the pros for this option swayed it more strongly than the ones for the
other.
But the more reasonable side stepped in for just a moment; there was never any
guarantee that she would be missing forever. By the chance she and Mr. Moreau
couldn't get away - of course her family would condemn the man, but upon her
return what would they think of her thereafter, for complying with him?
Understanding she wasn't taken against her will, they wouldn't exactly see her
as a victim. But he's making sure this won't happen, she countered herself.
Jaw tightening as she began to believe she was actually going mad, Anne was
taken away from the war in her mind, back to reality when she noticed Derby’s
ears had pinned, head raised. All of a sudden he threw a swift kick out behind
him, throwing her forward in her seat. Sitting back up straight, she whipped
her head around to glare at Jackson. "Will you get your horse off mine?" she
shot.
"Gee, sorry," he rolled his eyes and pulled back on the reins to create some
distance between the animals. To her, Jackson’s attitude always showed a sharp
contrast from her mother’s, and her bitterness began welling up inside more
than it already had been.
"Don’t let them get too close!" the trail guide called from far up front,
"Nobody likes having someone else’s nose up their butt."
With her train of thought having been jostled, she allowed herself to zone out
again as the trail made its way down an incline, the horses and riders slowing
to follow it carefully. During the ride, she expected to come to a conclusion,
but was afraid she couldn't, though it still tormented her. Already growing
tired from thinking about it so earnestly, she let it go with a sigh, and
instead focused on the other aspects of her plan for the rest of the day. Later
on, she remembered she would need to take a shower and change into different
clothes in order to get the smell of horses, dust, and the outdoors off; it was
a less than enticing scent for either fellow guests at a restaurant or Mr.
Moreau.
And after they would all finish dinner that evening, possibly their 'Last
Supper', Anne thought of it dryly, her parents had told her and Jackson they
would be leaving to visit the spa for the night. She determined she would go to
see Mr. Moreau then, though without her verdict prepared ahead of time like he
had asked. She noticed she had created a pattern over the week by visiting the
man later and later in the day, wondering how much it worried him each time.
For either choice she made, however, after that day she wasn't going to make
him hold his breath any longer.
===============================================================================
Six o'clock. It was supposed to be judgment day for the girl, or for Mr. Moreau
rather, he realized - he was going to be judged before her, a lowly serf
brought before the Virgin Mary in Heaven, to be either received or denied a
life everlasting with her. But so late that afternoon, entering the evening,
was she even coming back for him? It was like his proposal, or perhaps his
tasteless act against her beforehand, had scared her away for good, and this
was her harsh rejection of him. He remembered with dread how she hadn't given
him any thoughts on it after he asked.
Had she really built the courage to report him for his depravities, and the
police were coming for him any moment now? It was hard for him to fathom after
she had never shown any signs of unease around him, but maybe she was a
talented potential actress. It seemed more and more plausible that the minx
just pretended to return his feelings, getting close with him to see just how
far his crimes would go, and eventually warranting an arrest. He remembered
with a chill of hearing of To Catch a Predator on TV some years ago. Though
that show had been canceled, entrapment was a scheme some law enforcers still
used.
After operating for so many years under the radar, Claude Moreau had finally
been duped. By a young girl, no less, not the government agent that he had
always been so well-prepared to face. He should have been able to tell.
The man bent over almost all the way with his head held in his hands as he sat
on the couch. A bead of sweat formed on his brow when he imagined rough knocks
at his door, with him opening it only to be shown a warrant, subdued and cuffed
by officers in uniform, ready to be taken away and institutionalized for who
knows how long. Well, maybe not too long, but the losses that came with it
would stick with him forever.
Then there they were, a few familiar gentle raps, far different from the ones
expected, against the door outside that relieved him of his vexes and lifted
his spirits faster than much anything else in his life. He let out a wavering
breath as he got to his feet to answer to it.
So it had all been real. As soon as the door was opened, before he could even
see her face clearly Anne threw herself at him in a tight embrace, making him
think blissfully for a moment that she was overjoyed in a decision to choose
him. At first she was silent, but then to his concern he could hear quiet sobs
coming from her, her shoulders shaking. Oh, non...
He tensed under the firm grasp of her arms around him as her unseen tears
dampened the lapel of his suit. What had he done to her? The loss of innocence
yesterday along with the sudden, strenuous offer must have been too much for
her to process. He felt like a fool for it.
As it was still swung wide open, he hastily reached past her to take the 'Do
Not Disturb' sign off the inside of the door's handle and hooked it to the
outside before shutting it. "Come here, Anne..." within his arms, as she seemed
to use him like a crutch, he guided her over to the bed for them to sit. They
rested on it together, and Mr. Moreau lowered his head closer to hers as he
asked, "Why are you crying?"
But he could see exactly why; she had never been faced with a dilemma like
this. After she was given over twenty-four hours to think it over, he thought
she would have been able to decide by then. He knew, though, that he already
didn't like to see her upset.
Anne sniffled. "I don't know, it's just hard..." she rolled her eyes to gaze up
to him, choking, "Should I - with you...?"
"Oh, ma chérie," he drew her deeper into his embrace, setting his chin on her
head, "I'm not going to tell you which way to choose." He regretted that his
answer wasn't helpful to her, but only the girl could provide the best judgment
for her own future. Of course he wanted her to choose him, but if he
specifically told her to come with him and later in life she wished she had
never done so, she could use that against him. He heard Anne's sobs begin to
ebb as silence fell between them.
"Why did it have to be me?" she softly broke it, "You could have asked anyone
else."
That pierced him like a knife.
Mr. Moreau wondered why she would dare to question all that has happened
between them so far, whether it was only the impulsive angst typical to a
preteen, or if she really felt she wasn't worthy of him. He hoped it was the
former.
Blinking, he cradled her, lips upon her hair, "I couldn't have asked just
anyone, Anne...I chose you for a reason." Many of the other girls he could have
just as easily gone after would have managed to see him for what he really was,
sooner or later. Choosing exactly right, he had recognized, sought out, and
eventually preyed on Anne’s naivety as well as her body, taking full advantage.
Now that he thought about it, he wondered which of their traits had fueled the
fire the most - his desperation, or her clueless acceptance of it.
She never asked for his reason, letting them ease among the quiet of the room
for a few more moments. Mr. Moreau held her tightly as he peered out one of the
windows, "Do you love me enough?" There seemed to be hesitation, but she
nodded, him feeling the movement of her head against his clothing. He made no
reply, deciding he was going to give her one more minute to be alone with her
thoughts before he would ask a final question.
It was a long minute to him, where one might feel the need to count each second
that ticked by, but seeing the stress Anne was under, he couldn't be certain
how quickly the time had run out for her. "What have you decided now?" he still
murmured.
She continued to stare into an unclear point in space as she drew in a shaky
breath, her voice threatening to crack, "I'm going with you."
He had never heard more pleasing words. His lips curled, Good.
Mr. Moreau no longer would have to brood over women, the focal point of the
frustrations he had been facing for several months since ending his final
relationship with one. To any whore who asked him from that point on - single,
but not looking. What a shame for them. Seldom would they ever know, he was
taken in secret by a very lucky little girl.
But he was getting ahead of himself. Now a criminal who would be charged with
several felonies, one wrong move from then forward could never be risked; even
if his main objective to obtain the girl had been met, he still couldn't treat
his 'mission' as if it were finished, at least not until she was presumed dead
in absentia.
He gently pried her head away from his chest, holding it in each of his hands
and looking her in the face. "Then I don't think there's a good reason for this
anymore," he thumbed a last, rolling tear away from her cheek and grinned,
hoping it would cheer her up, "Is there?"
She shook her head and managed a smile at him under her puffy blue eyes.
The man sighed happily and let go of her, allowing her to sit and wipe away any
other remnants of her sadness herself. He rose from the bed and watched as she
pulled her phone out from her pocket and checked her appearance in the front
camera with a look of insecurity. He frowned; as she seemed to find so much
fault in herself, to him she still looked perfect.
Now it was carefully on to their next step. "I need you to get your luggage out
from your room," he told her, "Leave your phone behind there." He eyed the
device in her hand warily.
"Why?" she closed out the camera and looked up at him.
"The police have ways to track it. If you keep it, we would probably be found
just tomorrow," he muttered, looking over his hand.
That would have been their first grave mistake if he had been so careless to
overlook it. She probably had pictures that would have been her only reminders
of her family and friends if she kept it, but aside from the tracking issue, at
the same time she could be faced with the temptation to continue using social
media or to text them as she lived with him, perhaps to let them know that she
was alive and unharmed, not to worry too much. He felt a pang of guilt for
denying her from ever speaking with them again, but what else was he supposed
to do if they didn’t want any chance to be hunted down?
Anne didn't appear to be too bothered, not questioning it further and finally
standing up to approach the door with it in hand. "Ok...be right back," she
said, and headed out to the hall.
This is it, she thought as she made her way to the elevator, there was no going
back after this. She wished she hadn't gotten so upset in front of him, but at
least now the burden of making the decision was over and done.
As the doors to the elevator slid open and she stepped inside, Anne paled. She
remembered how Jackson would be in the room for her to deal with, asking why
she was taking her things, or even why her face was so red. To her dread, she
wasn't sure if any amount of persuasion would convince him to let her go and
later cover the reason for her disappearance from the police and their family.
He may have often acted as if he hated her, but she knew well enough that he
really didn't.
Arriving at the higher level, she counted each of the doors with impending
anxiety until she came upon the one leading to the Clarkes' room, unlocking the
door as quietly as possible. She anticipated to find him still mindlessly
sitting in front of the TV, but instead she had opened to hear the shower
running along with rock music that was blaring from the cheap speakers of
Jackson's phone in the bathroom. She couldn't name the artist, nor cared to.
She had hated it whenever he did this back home; it often woke her much earlier
than she had to in the mornings before she needed to get ready for school. This
time, though, and with it being the last time she would put up with it, she was
more than thankful for his obnoxious habit. He seemed to be lost in his own
world of rock and roll in there, and she was going to be able to quietly slip
in and out with her things without him ever knowing.
Sighing and shutting off her phone for the last time, she went to set it down
on the nightstand along with the key card that would no longer be of any use to
her. Then, she turned to look at the family's luggage spread out on the floor,
picking out her duffel bag and kneeling in front of it to sort through and
check what she had and what she hadn't.
She didn't have her toiletries - they had been left in their own pack in the
bathroom.
This was exactly where she could be compromised. Standing up and inching toward
it with her teeth gritted in unease, she slowly opened the door to the
bathroom, and gradually the sounds of Jackson's music and running water became
much clearer. Her eyes darted between the shower her brother was in and her bag
of toiletries that laid waiting for her on the counter as she carefully stepped
and leaned past the doorway. Don't come out, don’t come out, she prayed.
In the next moment a new song came on, and it must have been one of Jackson's
favorites, because shrouded behind the curtain and steam he had begun to sing
along with it off-key, and she cringed as his voice resonated harshly off the
bathroom walls. You can't sing! she normally would have shouted at him. Wasting
no time as the added noise obscured her efforts more, she reached as far as
possible to get a hold of and drag the bag off the counter before swiftly and
silently shutting the door again, leaving her brother without an audience.
Leaving behind some sweat as she let go of the knob, Anne wondered how Mr.
Moreau could ever handle the uncertainty of sneaking around people like this,
and at much higher stakes. She returned to her bag to pack the smaller one
inside, for sake of convenience when taking them back. Anne glanced, trying to
figure out if there was anything left to bring. As her eyes passed over it, she
suddenly remembered to take her special white dress off from the rack near the
front door where it had been hung separate from her other clothes, folding it
carefully and placing it in her duffel bag to join everything else. Eventually,
she wanted Mr. Moreau to see her in it, if no one else was.
She then bent down to the bag containing their food and grabbed a few snacks
for her to eat later, finding some space barely left among her things and
zipping them inside. She believed she was all set.
Anne lifted the bag and swung its strap over her shoulder, looking at the
bathroom's door that averted her brother from ever knowing anything. "Bye,
Jack," she breathed somberly to herself and left, ready to start anew.
Mr. Moreau had been waiting near his door when Anne returned a few minutes
later, surprised there was only one relatively small bag she had walked back
into his room with, or rather their room, now. "That's all you have?" he asked
just to make sure, shutting the door for her as she carried it past him. It
appeared light, too; she didn't seem to have trouble bearing it.
"Yep," standing in the middle of the room with the strap let off her shoulder,
she glanced at him briefly.
"Put it near my things," Mr. Moreau insisted with a small smile. The girl went
to the foot of his bed where his suitcase and pairs of shoes were kept; there
was still some space on the ottoman just large enough for it to rest on. "So
are you taking me home...?" she looked up after setting her bag down to find
his back turned against her.
He was taking his watch, wallet, and phone off his person to lay them on the
nightstand when he replied, "...No, I still have business here. We’ll be
staying for a while longer." Business of tracking the investigation incognito -
over the next few days he needed to make sure their tracks had been covered to
where they were currently standing before they could move on any further. He
didn't feel it was necessary to explain this to her, though, because she should
have to worry only about whatever happened between them from then on, nothing
else.
"But in the meantime..." he turned to face Anne with a simper, who had crept
closer to him when he wasn't looking. She returned the expression as she
reached and pulled him by the wrist toward her and the bed. He was about to
swoop in for a kiss when she unintentionally evaded it by letting go of him and
backing onto the bedding. She turned over to prop herself on her arms as she
scooted across to the further side, saving Mr. Moreau a spot as she settled
down on her stomach like a reversed snow angel.
His eyes grew heavy with lust as he crawled over to join her, laying on his
side. It would have been nice to imagine she was ready for him to claim, so
graciously resigned to him, now and forever. But with the restfulness of her
body and the lack of red that would otherwise be coloring her face, she didn’t
look physically aroused. All she seemed to have in mind for them was to lay and
rest beside each other.
He didn’t mind; there was going to be plenty of time for more risqué activities
later on, as long as everything went as they both envisioned. Without her
phone, now, there was no family of hers to disrupt them - for a while, at
least, they could pretend that nobody else besides them and nothing else
outside their hotel room existed.
Shifting a little closer to her, it wasn't long until their warm breath could
be felt against each others' faces, and their mouths connected. Mr. Moreau
hummed his satisfaction as their lips made soft smacks, and the girl turned on
her side as well to copy his stance. He brought an arm around her shoulder and
held on to the back of her head as his thin lips became more possessive over
her youthful ones, and she whined softly into his mouth. He began to wonder if
he was overwhelming her, but that thought was shoved to the back of his mind as
he only focused on drawing more of those pleasing sounds from her.
Anne was the one who broke the kiss moments later, laying her head back down on
the comforter, weary with affection. Removing his arm from around her, Mr.
Moreau did nothing to prevent when she pulled the silver striped tie out from
his jacket to handle it and touch its silky fabric, like a kitten with yarn. He
watched closely as she glanced in thought, looking anywhere but into his eyes.
"Could we have...like, a fake wedding?" she mumbled.
"Fake wedding?"
He caught himself disappointed when she suddenly got up and shuffled away from
him off the bed to head toward her luggage left at the foot of it, "Like I
brought this dress I could wear-"
"You want to celebrate us being together, as if we're man and wife?" he replied
with interest, languidly turning to sit up on the bedside and fix his tie.
"...Yeah," not yet taking out the dress, she looked away and fidgeted bashfully
as he stood from the bed and approached her slowly. He recalled two days ago
how she had asked him whether he had ever wed anyone. Even if it wasn't real,
maybe she still wanted them both to gain that sort of experience, and make
things feel more official. It was a wonderful idea - not only would it help
keep his mind off his nerves from taking the girl for a while, but it was a
great opportunity for them to bond. "Then we shall be 'married'," he smirked,
and bent over to pick up and kiss the back of her hand.
Anne smiled as her hand was released, opening her duffel bag to pull out her
folded dress along with a few toiletries. It prompted him for a second to think
of how he was going to dress for their evening, then remembered he wouldn't
really have to. It was a shame he hadn't packed a bow tie for him to make a
sort of pseudo-tuxedo; the normal suit he was currently wearing would have to
do.
She giggled, turning away from him with her things, "Give me five minutes."
Anne disappeared behind the bathroom door, and Mr. Moreau went to wait
patiently from the bedside. As he sat and watched the door, he began to
daydream of her undressing just behind it, slipping the shirt over her head to
show him her bare midriff...with a furrowed brow he willed those thoughts away.
She hadn’t used the full five minutes, and soon the door opened to reveal the
girl adorned in her new dress for him, beaming. It was a tricky off-white in
color, a shade of cream that was barely distinguishable to the eye. His gaze
carefully followed over the details; some lacy elements were embroidered along
the trim of the skirt, straps, and neckline. It wasn’t long, like a gown. The
skirt barely reached to her knees.
"Do you like it?"
His want could hardly be expressed, "Charming..." He somehow felt sorry that no
one else would have the chance to see her in this.
Anne twirled once in front of him as he stood up, looking down at the dress, "I
was supposed to wear this to dinner for my birthday tomorrow..." She then let
go of the skirt and looked at him expectantly, as if silently asking him what
they were doing next. With them both ready but without much of a plan, he
thought for a moment - for the first part of their little ceremony, Mr. Moreau
decided they would make their 'vows'.
"Here, my 'bride'..." he took her by the hand and led her to the chair, similar
to the day before, "at the beginning of a wedding the couple makes their vows
to each other, yes?"
"Oh, yeah," she answered. The man hadn't seen her expression, but she sounded
enthusiastic for it, if a little shy. He let go and sat down, allowing her to
follow into his lap without guidance, white skirt spread out over him as she
faced him eagerly. With a sigh after she had settled, he began, "You understand
we will always be together, so long as we get away with this?"
Anne nodded and shifted within his lap to get more comfortable.
"Because I can’t let you go if I don’t want to lose everything else in my life
as well. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you?"
She shook her head, biting her lip, "Mm-mm."
Just realizing how remarkably fast everything between them had happened, he
speculated whether either of them would come to regret this in the long run -
they had known each other for less than a week, and who could tell how their
relationship would develop from there? They both seemed too invested in the
moment.
Mr. Moreau took one of her open hands in his, bringing it close to his lips. He
had discussed his promises with her yesterday, but felt the need to place
further emphasis on them, "I promise I will take care of you until I can no
longer, whatever circumstance that may be." He kissed each of her fingers, to
which her face reddened.
The man looked her in the eye and continued seriously, "And you promise you’ll
do whatever you can not to expose us, just as I will?"
"I promise."
"So do you take me as your 'husband', in sickness and in health?" he grinned,
still playing along with the wedding theme.
"I do," Anne laid her head on his shoulder and hugged. A moment after she
pulled away and asked, "Do you promise you'll love me forever, for better or
for worse? Is that how it goes?"
It was good enough for him. "I do," he leaned forward for them to kiss,
stealing a taste of her cherry lip gloss. It didn't last long, and Anne made a
soft whimper when their lips separated. "This is still our secret," he
whispered as if they were surrounded by strangers.
The girl turned on her side and relaxed against him, legs folded closely into
his lap. Mr. Moreau continued to rest beneath her for a minute until a question
occurred to him, "Did you already have dinner with your family?"
"Yeah, why?"
He replied softly, "I would have ordered food for you if you hadn't." However,
what she told him came as a relief to him, since those who worked in room
service probably would have thought it was odd if he ordered a second meal in
the same evening, after having fed himself earlier.
So dinner for their ceremony had been ruled out of the question, and the man
tried to think of something else that didn't necessarily involve lovemaking,
not yet. After moments more of silence, Anne exhaled softly against his neck
with her own idea, "Could you teach me how to dance, like they do at weddings?"
Spacing out into the room with a smile, distant memories of him taking past
dates for a night out at formal clubs or receptions returned to him in a
pleasant flurry. She must have forgotten he had never danced at a wedding,
though, but he didn't believe the nature of it was too much different. "I
suppose I could," he murmured.
Sensing a shift, Anne moved off his lap to let him stand. She followed him to
the area in front of the entertainment center; there wasn't much clearance
between it and the bed, but they could make do with what they had. He found the
remote and turned on the TV to switch between channel until he could find one
that played music that suited their theme, keeping it at a lower volume.
Turning back to her, Mr. Moreau took her hand in his own and the other around
her waist to begin a basic waltz.
Neither of them could tell how long they frolicked in their small space in the
back of the room. Anne was clumsy sometimes as opposed to his refinement, but
she and Mr. Moreau still laughed through all her mistakes. Despite it, she felt
as though they were Cinderella and the prince, dancing at their own private
ball that nobody had been invited to see.
After a while, having gone through countless songs, they slowed to a near stop
in the center, rocking in each others' arms. Some time ago she had shut her
eyes, head laid against the man's chest. He stroked her hair and lowered his
head close. "Tired?" he whispered. She nodded, never opening her eyes.
He withdrew his arms from around her to shut the TV off with the remote before
setting it on the desk. Her mouth opening wide in a yawn, Anne took initiative
leading him back to their chair; she really liked resting with him in it, he
thought with a smile. As Anne crawled on top of him, he laid his head back and
sighed, feeling as if he could sink into it happily under the girl's weight.
A few minutes later through the windows, the man noticed the world outside was
beginning to grow dark. He reached behind to turn on the standing lamp next to
the chair to provide some new light in the room as the sun was retiring for the
day. It seemed to cast a sleeping spell on them both, but as nice as it may
have sounded, he wasn't going to allow them to fall asleep in the chair
together. There was one more thing left for them to do, as a closure to the
night before they could finally rest.
He moved to sit upright again, "Now...I think it's time we consummate this
'marriage'."
Anne's weary breath caught when Mr. Moreau stood from the chair, straining to
lift her off his lap with him. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck,
legs around his waist and looked down at the floor far below as he carried her
across the room toward the bed, "What does that mean?"
"I'm about to show you," he purred into her neck.
She butted her head against his shoulder and laughed, demanding, "But what does
it mean?"
"You will see!"
Mr. Moreau approached and gingerly laid her down on the bed, her hair fanning
over the pillow, "This is what a groom does to his bride..."
Anne's smile disappeared, and with widening eyes she watched as he clambered
over her, appearing so much larger, "Wait, do they, uh...?"
Her unfinished question would go unanswered. Mr. Moreau felt, and must have
looked, drunk with desire as his gaze wandered over his girl. Laying beneath
him in white, she was like an angel without wings, at his mercy entirely. He
bent down close until his lips were laying claim to her throat, sucking on it.
"I think you know," he breathed. She was old enough to understand; otherwise,
he wouldn't have intended on doing this with her.
And she did understand, what men and women did with each other, but it was
still a new horizon - learning about something from a book or class was never
going to be the same as experiencing it for herself. Still, she didn't object.
She trusted Mr. Moreau would take good care of her and want nothing more than
for her to be satisfied like he had said, and shown her, over the last two
days.
"Would you be comfortable if we were naked?" he ran a hand over her shoulder,
dreaming of removing the dress from her lithe form to make all of her known to
him. Stilling his fingers at the strap, with patience he allowed her to think
over it for a moment. After glancing briefly, she gave him a look of unease and
shook her head once.
"Very well," he slowly brought his hand down beside her. "Then we don't have to
worry about that tonight...but you'll still have to take these-" in an instant,
he reached under her skirt and blindly pulled down the underwear, "-off, I'm
afraid."
Anne drew her legs up for him to take them off all the way, and he tossed them
somewhere she wasn't looking, transfixed by his bedroom eyes. Before he would
shrug off his jacket, he pulled the white handkerchief from its front pocket
and unfolded it once. "We can't afford to leave anything behind on the
sheets..." he muttered and reached down to tuck it between her legs under the
skirt, his thumb briefly pressing against her sensitive clit.
That short-lived motion of his hand between her legs had begun to excite her,
but she managed to lay still and keep quiet, knowing there was something much
more considerable to come. She swallowed when she peered and noticed the bulge
in his pants, pointed directly toward her, lying in wait to take its prize.
Mr. Moreau held his alluring stare as he unfastened his belt's buckle and
pulled it out from the loops of his pants, laying it on the bed beside them.
Anne watched with intent when his fingers crept to unzip the fly, then unbutton
his underwear beneath to reveal his hardness to her at last. Fluid beaded at
its tip before trailing down the head, and the girl's stomach could have
flipped at the sight. Most grown women had never thought him to be particularly
large, but for Anne, he was going to be more than enough. It was difficult for
her to imagine it fitting well inside, yet she still felt some wetness seep
from her slit in anticipation, instinct defeating all logic.
Meanwhile his erection raged with impatience, but its owner betrayed it,
hesitating. Whatever exuded from her would provide their only lubrication, Mr.
Moreau realized with a frown. Letting his hand beneath her skirt again, he
probed her folds with his finger as they became gradually wetter.
Experimentally, he stuck the very tip of it inside, to which she gasped
wantonly and clenched around the digit until he shortly withdrew. It wasn't
going to be the most comfortable experience, but he believed she was ready to
endure it.
He moved up to position himself between her legs, glancing down, "Ready...?"
She nodded and swallowed, putting her arms around his neck before spreading
them further to allow him easier access. Both shuddered when their parts met,
the head of his cock being gently pressed against her vulva, coaxing her folds
apart beneath her skirt. Watching her expression, he was as soft with it as he
had ever been as he applied a little more pressure, though she still keened.
There was certainly much resistance in her, physically, but brave willingness,
emotionally.
With a sharp inhale, she opened up for him almost like a rose - the head of his
length had delved inside her.
Before she had even known it, Anne's virginity was gone, stolen from her the
night before she would turn twelve. The girl questioned how she could have no
regret, what anyone else would think of it, but quickly refocused on what was
currently inside her; there was still a ways for it to go.
Mr. Moreau had made himself her first, and he prayed, her only. Even if they
ended up separated, she was never going to forget this moment; in a way, he
would still be staying with her forever. Whether or not that would manifest
into something of remorse for either of them was what strangely thrilled him
about it the most. Giving her a peck on the lips in reassurance, he had stopped
at that point for a few moments, hopefully allowing for at least some of the
initial discomfort and shock to fade. From there he was going to take it as
slowly and easily as he could, no matter what his body urged of him. Under Mr.
Moreau laid a small, fragile thing in comparison to him, and he could never
afford to hurt her.
He penetrated slightly deeper and mouthed at her neck. "Tell me if you want no
more of this," he reminded her, wincing pleasurably at her tautness. If she
ever did ask him to stop, however, it would be nearly excruciating for the man
to follow through. He didn't believe he had ever felt more enamored than he was
right then.
Anne said nothing, still complying even as her insides stretched painfully to
accommodate him as he pushed further. "Shh..." he cooed when she whimpered
beneath him, "I know." His breathing became more labored as he continued to go
as deep as it would allow. Finally, the man had buried himself inside to the
hilt, and he rested atop her, marveling how he had never felt anything so tight
around him. This was already so much better any of his romps with women long
past; he would never go back, never give Anne up, even if it would give him the
world.
With his mouth on her throat, Mr. Moreau adjusted himself slightly above her,
unable to decide whether it was meant as preparation for himself or the girl of
the electrifying pleasure that was soon to begin for them. He would have liked
to think this was all for her, but his carnal, sickly desires slowly took
control - he would be satiating himself most of all. Slowly, he began his
thrusts.
He planted what must have been dozens of small kisses along her neck as he
rocked his hips, hiking her skirt all the way past her waist. Mentally, it took
all of Mr. Moreau's might not to plow the girl in her tight heat, but this
alone still felt heavenly to him. "Oh, Annabelle..." he moaned out, burying his
face into her shoulder, "Je ne désire rien d'autre."
Despite not being able to understand what he said, the sound of French itself
rumbling through his chest, along with her full name which he had never called
her by, sparked Anne's arousal more. "Mmm..." she whined as the friction grew
inside her, pleasure eventually rivaling the discomfort.
It took only a few more of his gentle thrusts before she could sense heat and
euphoria building deep within. Removing her face from his shoulder, a wail
almost made its way from the girl's throat before Mr. Moreau hushed her,
frantically smothering her open mouth with his own. It wasn't long after until
Anne's climax ripped through her, and he growled as her walls contracted
violently around him and her small fingers dug into his back through his shirt.
The fact that he had managed to satisfy her in spite of the pain of her first
time was driving him closer to his own release; no matter what she might have
asked, begged, he wasn't going to stop there. He couldn't.
As she listened to each of his grunts and shallow heaves, Anne whimpered when
pain developed in her lower abdomen as the man above her had begun thrusting
harder than he originally intended to, hopelessly lost in the pursuit of his
own pleasure within her. Feeling his orgasm impending like a bat out of hell,
he moved his arm to wrap it around her shoulder, which he swiftly bit down on.
Then, muffled by her skin, he groaned as he spilled forth inside her for the
first time.
Anne gasped severely and clung to him as tightly as he did her when she felt an
unfamiliar liquid fill her in several surges, going as far as it could before
it ran back down her walls. Soon enough, it was all over. His spasms came to an
end as he grew exhausted, and he finally lowered his body. being careful not to
set his weight on the little girl beneath him. With a quiet moan, the man
placed a kiss on her jaw before resting his head against her neck, regaining
his breath as she did the same. Slowly, he pulled his limp cock out.
Her hole had been left gaping open, feeling sore and oddly empty. She blinked
away the remaining stars from behind her eyes.
Zipping his pants, Mr. Moreau moved away to look under her skirt and inspect
the mess that was made on the handkerchief, if any. A little misplaced from the
action before, he wasn't fazed to see some of her fluids along with his semen
dripping out onto it, but to his discontent also made out something darker,
spots of blood. "Anne..." he hummed with pity, taking it in hand and gently
dabbing away whatever was left between her legs, "I'm sorry."
Backing out with the ruined cloth, he kissed her flushed cheek before gathering
his belt and jacket and leaving the bed to go to the bathroom. After the door
was shut and she heard the shower faucet turn on from inside, she sat up
stiffly.
The experience had been confusing, with intermingled pain and pleasure, but it
was exhilarating either way. With some dismay, she thought back to his finish
inside her, Is this what makes me pregnant? As she had earlier that morning,
Anne tried to recall what else had been taught during that brief sex ed course
besides masturbation. Of course at that point she knew the parts of the two
genders and what they did with them, but still did not fully understand how a
woman would conceive. Mr. Moreau wanted a baby with her? She was far too young
for it, not even grown up herself.
While the man was taking his shower, she took back her discarded underwear from
the other side of the bed and got up to change out of her dress into a more
comfortable nightgown. She pulled down the comforter to tuck herself in,
settling into the pillow and sheets wearily.
Several minutes later, Mr. Moreau came out from the bathroom in a loose-fitting
shirt and his underwear, holding his bundle of old clothes and disposing of
them in the laundry bag near the luggage. As he approached and rested on the
side of the bed, she looked at him with question, to which he quickly caught on
and waited for her to say whatever was on her mind. He dreaded she would tell
him she much didn't care for what they had done, at least not as much as he
clearly had.
"Um..." she shyly began, "what you just did inside me...is that what makes me
pregnant?"
He wasn’t sure whether she was thinking of the act altogether or what he had
left behind, but answered nonetheless, "You won't get pregnant because I took
contraception."
Anne cocked an eyebrow, “I thought only girls took that.”
Having forgotten before, he left her side to turn off the lamp across the room,
"This is...something else, for men. It isn't available in pharmacies." After it
was switched, only what little sunlight remained illuminated the room through
its windows. She struggled to hold back a yawn as he returned to the bed, "I
never knew about it."
He sat, ready to pull down the bedding to join her, "Hardly anyone does."
"Like us?"
"Indeed..." he leaned to kiss her forehead, and she smiled. Though as far as
they were concerned, no one did, and it was going to stay that way.
She sank deep into the bedding until her face was nearly buried under it,
mumbling, "There’s something in my bag...can you get it? Please?"
"What is it?" he got up again to go to the foot of the bed, where it was kept
with their other things.
"My stuffed animal..."
Unzipping it open, he reached inside the duffel bag to find a white plush horse
buried among her clothing. Being her favorite stuffed animal for the several
years she had it, out of a collection she had kept under her bed at home, Anne
couldn't bring herself to abandon it for her family's trip. "His name is
Knight," she quipped.
"Night? Like the time of day?" he stood in place, lifting and looking it over
closely with doubt.
"No, like a 'knight in shining armor'."
The dozens of homonyms in English were things that had always confused him
about the language when he was learning it as a teenager, but French wasn’t
without its oddities either. He could see part of the irony in the name, with
'Night' being one anyone would expect for a dark animal. He liked her sense of
humor.
Obliged, Mr. Moreau returned to the bedside to hand it to the girl, and he gave
a gentle smile as he interrogated her, "Why do you need this for comfort, when
I'll be in bed with you?" He thought he could be her new 'knight'.
"I just like having it!" she laughed, hitting the toy against his arm
playfully. In a rebellious manner she then took Knight up in her arms and
turned over to flop into the mattress, facing away from him as she laid. Eyes
shut tightly, she snuggled it with a smirk, probably to see how jealous the man
might become.
Mr. Moreau never thought he would have to compete with a stuffed animal for a
girl's attention - maybe it was what he got for pursuing her instead of a real
woman. With a soft chuckle, he finally crawled into bed to huddle his body
beside hers. He still allowed her to keep Knight as he laid an arm around her
torso and nestled his face behind her neck, overjoyed to have her in his bed at
last. It was just their first night out of many.
With eyes falling half-lidded, he wondered when her parents would return to
find her missing and report the incident to the police, if they hadn't already.
As sleep took him over, though, Mr. Moreau's concerns about the beginning of
the inevitable search for her would have to wait until tomorrow, when he
expected the whole resort to be perplexed by the girl's vanishing act, staged
by none other than him.
===============================================================================
Lazing on the bed nearest to the window in his pajama pants, Jackson had
flipped between many channels on the TV to a national news one out of sheer
boredom after being left all alone in the Clarkes’ room for what felt like
several hours - he hadn’t bothered keeping track. His mind eventually wandered
elsewhere as it numbed to the heated political rhetoric being presented before
him on the screen, and he began to question what Anne was really out doing at
the moment. He glanced to notice how dark it had become outside since she had
left.
Does it really take this long to look through a store?
He always believed women were incredibly slow when they shopped, but this
seemed excessive. Maybe she had met a new friend there, and decided to fool
around with them in the shop, or someplace else in the hotel for a while. He
was never one to worry too much, especially about his annoying sister.
His mouth stretched wide open in a yawn when he heard the door heave open, and
readied himself to ask the girl in question for some sort of explanation. But
before he could do that, he instead heard the voice of his father say with
exhaustion, "We’re back, finally...way too many people there, honestly." He had
never expected them to return before Anne would. Jackson swallowed, hoping
their relaxing evening at the spa would have somehow calmed their nerves well
enough that they wouldn’t worry any more than he did. He was doubtful, still.
As he and his wife casually walked further inside, Mr. Clarke glanced through
the bathroom doorway, dark and empty, before looking back at his son, "Where’s
Anne?"
The teenager shrugged and stared at the TV, not even taking a glance at his
parents. He mentally prepared himself for a chew-out - three, two, one...
"You were supposed to be watching her!" Mrs. Clarke said, predictably. At least
she still had no idea he had been letting Anne do her own thing separate from
him whenever they were gone for several days, now - his mother would really
blow a fuse, then. He rolled his eyes, "...She told me she wanted to go look
for something in that store or whatever in the lobby."
"That's what she told you? When?" she insisted.
"Like, right after you guys left."
His mother's eyes narrowed as she glanced about the room, "What could she still
be doing there? It's been two hours!"
"I literally don't know," he said dismissively, tossing his hands.
Bristling, Mrs. Clarke went to set down her purse among the luggage, only to
notice a certain spot on the floor was vacant. She glanced between bags, "Where
the hell-?"
"Hm?" her husband turned to her to see her bent over and rummaging through
their things with her hand.
"Uh, her bag's not here."
Jackson sat up straighter and peered down at the floor from the bed, truly
befuddled. He said nothing; he could have sworn it was there earlier, even
after Anne had left. Or with his mind muddled by the TV since, had he just
remembered inaccurately? "Why would she-" his mother's mouth was slack as she
continued to gaze down, her eyes darting around the floor in building panic.
Mr. Clarke turned back to his son with a glare, "What in the hell do you think
she is doing right now?"
He tore his eyes away from the things dispersed on the floor and furrowed them
at his father. "Who knows? Why don’t you just text - her...?" he happened to
look beside him to see that her phone along with her key card had been
deliberately left on the nightstand. Oh, shit...
Both parents had followed his gaze, and Mrs. Clarke approached the items like
they were relics, "No. No, no, no..." She never looked away from them, hardly
believing what she saw, but beginning to assume the worst. Anne had essentially
locked herself out of their room, they all realized, and she hardly ever went
anywhere without her phone.
"This means she isn’t coming back."
The boy could catch a glimpse of grief mixed with the outrage in his mother's
eyes, as if she was questioning why Anne would choose to run like this,
especially when she had seemed so carefree during their vacation, when they
thought she would be the least troubled over anything. For whatever reason, she
could never have let them know how she actually felt. With guilt beginning to
develop in him, Jackson knew he did not always treat his sister as well he
could have, but had it really been so bad? No, there must have been an
underlying reason for this, something that was kept shrewdly invisible from the
family.
Mr. Clarke chastised him, "Why didn’t you ever try to text her? If you saw this
before and told us we would've come back immediately and probably have a better
chance of finding her than we do now. You never did!" Not even bothered to wait
for an answer from the boy, he swiped both of his daughter's things before
heading to the door, muttering, "We have to go to the front desk...tell them to
get police over here. This reeks."
His wife followed him briskly, and after opening the door and letting her out
into the hall before him, he turned back, "Jackson, you’re getting dressed
again and you're coming with us! You’ll tell them everything you know."
When the door was shut, the boy turned off the TV and quickly climbed off the
bed, grabbing some clothes from his luggage and shutting himself in the
bathroom to change. Anne usually preferred to stay out of trouble, but now she
was going to be in a world of it, if she wasn't already. Looking over the
counter as he set his clothes down on it, Jackson just noticed that her bag of
toiletries had disappeared as well. She really had packed for the long haul.
He shuddered as his mind ran through all the possibilities of where his sister
could be at that moment, and with who. Nothing good ever came out of strangers
who tried to entice children away with them - how could she be so foolish as to
fall for one of their tricks?
Throwing on his pair of jeans and hoodie with haste, he shut the bathroom light
off and headed outside to join his awaiting parents. They had been standing
restlessly just in front of the door, and Jackson was shutting it behind him
slowly when his father walked off, wasting no time. The family rushed down the
hall to take the elevator to the main lobby, with Mr. Clarke practically
storming ahead of the others, "The freak who took her won't be able to tell
left from right when I'm finished with him; I don't care if I go to jail also!"
Behind him, Mrs. Clarke blanched some at his threat, even if it was more than
likely an empty one.
"How do you even know it's a dude?" Jackson drawled, catching up beside him.
"Do you see strange women taking girls?" his father retorted as they stopped
before the elevator door and pushed the button. Jackson made no reply, stepping
inside first followed by his parents - the heart of the matter was that they
didn't know anything about this person she had gone with, and in his opinion
this was probably the most worrying part of their situation.
Upon taking the short ride down to the main level, the family had to push past
a group waiting in front of its doors to return to their own rooms for the
night before they started toward the lobby. As they went, Mr. Clarke paused
abruptly to peer into the French Lick Mercantile. He stood in the doorway with
the others waiting closely behind as he glanced between shelves. Despite
knowing now there was no chance she could be there, he wanted to prove a point,
"No, not here, Jackson!"
"Like, 'this is what she told me', bull!" he mocked his son, unbothered to even
look at him. Some other guests in the store glanced at them curiously before
they moved on, and they eventually reached the front desk where a young woman
in a bun occupied herself. She appeared entirely absorbed in some paperwork
laid out before her along with some kind of task on the computer's screen next
to it. Upon looking up, instead of the wide, plastic smile that would normally
be given to the guests who approached her, she shot the Clarkes a look of
confusion, as if already sensing something was wrong.
She said nothing, expression going blank as Mr. Clarke explained in a ramble
from across the desk, "Hi, we need help from police; my daughter just took off
from the hotel and we don't know where she went..."
The clerk seemed to be inexperienced in her position and didn't know what to
respond with, likely never having dealt with a guest's issue such as this.
Anxiously, she looked behind her toward a man with his work pack slung over his
shoulder, leaving an office behind the desk for the night, "Sir?"
"Hm?" with wide eyes and his grabbed attention, he approached the clerk and the
group before her. The tag on his dress shirt read 'General Manager' - Jackson
presumed he would be the one to allow police to be summoned to the resort to
help them.
Looking back at the troubled family, she said timidly to her boss, "They’re
telling me something happened to their daughter..." The man only glanced
between them until out of concern, an older, seasoned security guard who had
been planted in front of the staircase nearby came over to them, "What
happened?"
Mr. Clarke pointed at him, "Do you watch the lobby?"
"Yes, I do-"
"Have you seen-" he quickly opened his phone and showed him a recent picture of
his daughter, "-this girl at all, going out that door with a blue duffel bag
earlier?"
The other man squinted at the image, "No...I'm afraid not." Guilt crossed his
face when Mr. Clarke withdrew his phone and put it away in disappointment.
Given his age, Jackson wasn't surprised that this man may have just stood by as
his sister and her captor made their escape, well-disguised as normal guests
leaving the hotel, and that he had been forgetful of her appearance. He looked
to him like he was thinking about the same thing.
Leaning over the desk, the manager intervened, "But do you know who might have
taken her? Any family friends, other relatives staying here with you guys...?"
Mrs. Clarke shook her head, "We have no idea who she went with. There’s nobody
else here we know and we literally know nothing about this person."
"A complete stranger, then..." the guard looked to the manager and clerk with
worry, who both mirrored his expression. Makes this a hell of a lot harder,
Jackson thought. Cases with there being known details about the perpetrator
were often solved rather quickly - if only the Clarkes had some of them.
"Do you know whether she's in immediate danger, by any chance?" the guard
continued to question.
"I don't know, can't we just assume she is?" Mr. Clarke was rightfully growing
impatient. For all they knew, Anne may have been lured by a serial killer, and
each wasted moment could result them in bringing back her defiled corpse rather
than the daughter they had always known.
"When was the last time you saw her and where?"
"When she and her brother here went up to our room before my wife and I went
over to the spa, must have been around six o’clock."
The guard looked up and thought for a moment, "...Yeah, I was standing here
watching at around that time, but I think I went to take a short break soon
after, and I regret to tell you that could've been when she slipped out..."
With a sigh, the manager set down his work pack on the floor and went to grab a
pen and notepad from another desk behind him, "I think it’s a little early to
file a police report, but..." Laying them on the front desk, he turned his
attention to the clerk’s computer, typing in an address and clicking around
some few times before leaving it like so. "It smells...bad," Mr. Clarke
finished his sentence for him and turned away, glancing at his wife and son and
saying further, "but I swear, when we get her back she will be answering to
me."
Upon receiving no replies from anyone, whether out of agreement or
indifference, he continued with snark, "Seriously, why would she run? Out of
anything other than complete disregard for how we might feel? No reason for
it."
Meanwhile the manager had picked up the pen and poised himself to record
whatever information he asked for, "Full name?" Mr. Clarke turned back around
and gave the girl's name plainly, spelling it out for the other man.
"And how old is she?"
"She'll be twelve tomorrow."
Something lit up in the manager's lowered gaze, "That’s interesting...wouldn’t
be surprised if that has to do with it." Doing the math in his head in an
instant, he recorded the date of birth, "Height and weight? The police will
want that, too."
"She's about 4'10", eighty pounds...?" Mr. Clarke looked to his wife for
assurance, and she nodded. The last time he could recall those being measured
was whenever she had been last taken for a check-up at the doctor's office. It
wasn't recent, but he doubted those measurements had changed too much since.
After writing that down, the manager directed his attention to Jackson, "I want
to hear your side now. Weren't you there at the time of her disappearance?" The
teenager nodded and explained to the man where Anne had told him she had gone,
and how he had seen her leave their hotel room with his own eyes.
"That’s what she actually said to you?"
"Yeah."
"But didn’t you see her take her bag?" the guard looked at the boy skeptically
as he asked. As he went back in the recesses of his mind, Jackson hesitated,
still recalling with wonder from before, "She didn't go out with it..."
His father leaned over the desk and gaped across at him, "What?"
"She had to have!" spoke Mrs. Clarke.
"I swear to God, she didn't. I watched her go out and she wasn’t carrying
anything."
With anger that was seldom ever seen in her, his mother's voice rose, "There is
no way she walked out that door without that damn bag!"
"But-" the boy faltered as his mind reeled to that exact moment he had last
seen her earlier that evening. He distinctly remembered it being left on the
floor like it was supposed to, never hanging from Anne's shoulder as she had
left the room. Glancing, he was stuck with no explanation for them.
"You're trying to tell me things disappear into thin air now," grinding his
teeth, Mr. Clarke turned red at what must have been none other than his son's
blatant lie to him, "Jackson, I swear...if you just allowed her to run with
someone and you're covering them-!"
"I fucking didn't!"
His language had turned the heads of several people out in the lobby, earning
them all disapproving eyes from afar. His father turned to him and said lowly,
"You'd better watch your mouth."
Jackson blinked and returned his glare, wondering how he could ever assume he
would let his sister go off with a potentially - very likely - dangerous
person. It didn't matter that they often didn't get along very well; she was
his own flesh and blood as well as their parents'. Leaving him be with those
inner rants, Mr. Clarke returned his attention to the manager and security
guard, "She only left her phone and her key card behind." He pulled the things
out from his pocket and placed them on the counter.
The security guard reached for the phone and gestured to the family members
with it in-hand, "I bet you that whoever she went with told her to leave this,
'cause most kids who leave and don’t want to be found don't actually have the
common sense for it...these devices are how a lot get brought home."
"So...they must've both agreed to make this as difficult for us as possible.
She knows exactly what she's doing, too-" he stifled what would have been a
delusional laugh, and his wife and son both gave him looks of displeasure. The
guard appeared a little taken aback as well, but replied still, "Yeah, I mean,
I don't have experience as a detective or nothing, but I have this feeling we
might be dealing with a pretty conniving son of a gun.”
And Anne probably knew it very well - she must have been assured by this
stranger that she would not be found. He couldn't imagine she would ever want
to be taken by someone who didn’t know what they were doing, only to be found
and taken back to them to face the music.
Mr. Clarke slumped over the counter and ran a hand through his hair, thinking
aloud, "All we know is the guy is smart..."
And nothing else. A few moments of silence followed, with each person around
the front desk seeming to struggle to even process the current standings as
they kept their troubled thoughts to themselves. Jackson quietly watched as the
manager took some time on the computer to file a report to the police online.
"Ok, I think this warrants an investigation..." he sighed once finished,
leaving the computer and picking up the notepad, "we can chit-chat more with
the officers when they get here."
Along with the other man, the security guard began stepping away from the desk,
"Yeah, I'll have them look through this phone, also. She must have at least
texted the guy to arrange this, anyway. They can track them down from there."
They both left the Clarkes to disappear someplace in the back.
A minute later, from his office, a call was made to the local police department
by the manager, some of the details he explained to them barely audible by
those standing outside. Trying to listen as well as the guests, the clerk
resumed her position at the desk and said softly, "Try not to worry too much,
sir...I’m sure she’s alright; she should return safely." By her expression she
seemed to think otherwise, however, and the family could find no relief in her
words. She had only done what she was trained to do - giving whoever she served
an illusion of reassurance no matter the outcome they were more likely to face.
With great unease, the Clarkes wandered away from the desk into the sitting
area of the lobby, unable to do much else except to wait. The three chose to
sit in separate places to ruminate, with Jackson settling in a spot on a couch
closest to the hotel's entrance, and he could hardly believe when a lump was
beginning to form in his throat. Without having a single clue of her intentions
until it was too late, he had allowed his own sister to slip through his
fingers.
It hadn't been long until police cars bereft of their sirens or glaring colors
showed up at the resort in the twilight.
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