Moriarty's Musician

Masquerade, Part 4

Annabelle looked at him, incredulously. "What do you mean, why did I cut my hand? I did it cleaning up your mess." She yanked her hand out of his, her temper raging. "Don't touch me, Nicholas! Haven't you done enough to me?"

A sharp slap to her face sent Annabelle careening against the wall. She tried to grip the wall for support, pressing her face against it, the throbbing pain in her head making her dizzy. She couldn't move as a metallic taste started filling her mouth. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to keep her head still to fight the wave of nausea.

After a few moments, she was gently pulled from her support against the wall and wrapped in arms she hated. Nicholas held her head as he pressed her face against his chest. Annabelle's arms hung listlessly at her side. She had no resistance to his hold as she battled the excruciating pain in her head.

His hand came up to stroke her head. "Shhh, love. I'm so sorry," he cooed, as he rubbed his face against the top of her head. "You just made me so angry."

A renewed flame sparked in Annabelle's mind at his words. She pulled her hands from her sides, flattened them on his chest, and pushed against him. He released her and she managed to stagger to the sink. Her hands clutched the cold steel as she spit a mouthful of blood into the waiting basin.

Shaking his head, Nicholas left, then returned shortly after with a small medical kit. He set the box on the kitchen table then pulled out a chair. Walking over to Annabelle, he gripped her shoulders, feeling her immediately tense.

"Let me take care of your hand. Come sit down."

"I don't want your help. I just want you to leave me alone." Her head was pounding as she reached up to touch the tender spot on her cheek with her bloodied hand.

Nicholas's jaw tightened as his fingers pressed harder into her skin.

Annabelle sighed. How much more could she take? She let him direct her to the chair, not having any strength left to fight him. Putting her arm on the table, she leaned her forehead on her hand. She kept her eyes closed as he lightly touched her cheek with a cloth to wipe off her blood. She cringed at the pain but refused to open her eyes.

Nicholas took her injured hand and as he began tending to it, Annabelle found her place to retreat.

She was in the library, curled up across from the fireplace, leaning her head against the back of the wing chair as James spoke. She smiled as she watched the firelight play off his dark brown eyes. How soft his features were when he smiled. She sighed happily as he placed the red throw over her lap, tucking it around her and telling her how glad he was that she had stayed.

But she hadn't stayed. She had run away from him, from his protection. A little whimper escaped her throat.

"What is it?" Nicholas said, studying her face, seeing the changing expressions floating over her features.

Annabelle's eyes flew open, meeting his. She shook her head and looked down at her neatly bandaged hand, refusing to answer him.

"So, what were you thinking about, Annie?" he repeated, his eyes narrowing.

Annabelle's mouth set in a tight line as she turned her head away from him to look at the wall. A cool gleam entered his eyes as he stood up and walked to the refrigerator. He pulled open the freezer and took out an icepack. Massaging it a little in his fingers, he came back and placed the icepack against her bruised cheek.

Annabelle jumped off the chair. "No! Don't touch me!" At the sudden movement, she almost lost her balance, grabbing hold of the table just in time.

She lifted her eyes to her captor's. "If you want me to hate you any more, it's working."

"You need to lie down before you fall down, Annie."

Her grasp tightened on the edge of the table. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I have to go to town and get some supplies."

Annabelle stared at him. Were they going to town? She tried to keep the joy from her face as she lowered her eyes. Surely she'd be able to escape if she could get a moment alone or at least, beg someone to help her.

"You need to lie down for a little while, Annie. I'll help you get to your room."

Nicholas reached for her but Annabelle flinched, drawing back against the wall. Sighing, he took two quick steps and effortlessly scooped her up in his arms.

Annabelle squirmed to try and break his hold but he was too strong. As he entered the room and placed her down on the mattress, she immediately bolted to the furthest edge of the bed from him, bringing her legs up and hugging her knees. He frowned as he turned and marched out of the room.

Annabelle rested her head against her knees. Today she was going to escape. She was sure of it. She would have to figure out a way to alert someone in the town to get their help. Surely, someone there would know James Moriarty.

Nicholas came back into the room, a grim look on his face as he slowly walked to the bed. Before Annabelle could react, he reached out, grabbed her wrist and pulled her to the bed's metal headboard. In one quick motion, he flipped and closed the end of the handcuff around her small wrist and then locked the other end around the headboard's metal pole.

Annabelle gasped in horror and tried to pull her hand out of the handcuff. She turned to glare at Nicholas. "Why?" she managed.

He gave her a wry smile, shaking his head. "You honestly expect me to believe you'd stay put while I'm gone." He chuckled, savoring the range of emotions flooding her face. "You belong to me. And until you accept that, Annie, this will be the new normal in our relationship."

Annabelle saw red. "I'd rather die," she said vehemently. Had he been closer, she would have spit in his face.

He reached out and touched her bruised cheek as she jerked her face away. "I don't want to hurt you, love, but you keep giving me no choice."

At that, he turned and left the room. Annabelle watched his back as he shut the door behind him. She looked down at her hands, one handcuffed to the bed, the other encased in bandages. Exhaustion started to wind itself around her, but she waited until she heard the close of the front door.

In misery, she did her best to position herself so she was lying down, even though her hand dangled in the air. A single tear traced down her face, but she angrily brushed it away. No! She was done with this masquerade. Now, she would ready for war.

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