XXII

"women

don't endure

simply because

we can;

no,

women endure

because we aren't

given any other

choice.

- they wanted us weak but forced us to be strong." Amanda Lovelace, The Witch Doesn't Burn in This One

----

XXII.

Peter's eyes fluttered, and he felt the odd sensation of something cool, yet rough against the side of his face. There was a loud, thumping noise, sounding from the back of his head. It was as though church bells were ringing from inside his skull.

He groaned, finally able to open his eyes. It took a long moment to realise that he was laying down. He was lying face down on the ground against the short blades of grass. What on earth ...?

Peter slowly moved his hands to place them flat against the earth so that he could push himself up. He was able to move his torso and legs quite easily, but the weight of his head was almost unbearable. It was throbbing uncontrollably. Not only did it hurt, but he felt groggy and slow, as though he had been indulging all evening when he knew that he had not touched a drop. He sat up very clumsily and reached behind his head to press his hand against the site of the pain. The moment Peter's hand touched his head, he gasped, wincing at the pain of an open, weeping wound. His finger felt the wetness which could only be blood.

What had happened to him? Who had done this?

He blinked his eyes over and over, trying to focus on his surroundings, and the moment he realised where he was, he remembered what he had been out here doing, and who he had been out here with. Peter's head snapped around, the pain protesting the sudden movement. Though it was dark, he could still see that he was clearly alone in the garden.

Someone had struck him. Someone had knocked him unconscious. And someone had taken ...

"Belle," gasped Peter.

Panic set in as Peter frantically looked around, searching for any sign of her. As he scrambled to his feet, pushing the pain aside, Peter's hand brushed over something soft on the grass. He seized it, immediately bringing it close to his face so that he could see what it was.

It was a lilac ribbon, the same one that Belle had been wearing in her hair.

"BELLE!" Peter's panicked voice practically screamed her name. Whatever demon had knocked him unconscious had thus been alone with Belle, and she had now vanished.

Peter ran, stumbling with the fogginess of his head, as he desperately searched for any trace. As he ran alongside of the assembly hall, back towards the door that they had come out of, Peter nearly tripped over something on the ground. He seized it, taking hold of a dainty, heeled woman's slipper. He had not seen what sort of footwear Belle had been wearing, but women did not leave their shoes about in public gardens.

"BELLE!" Peter screamed once more. For how long had he been unconscious? She couldn't have got far. Someone had to have seen her!

Peter stumbled around the front of the assembly hall, still clutching Belle's ribbon and shoe, and was confronted by the sight of the parishioners leaving the ball. The business was hectic. People were everywhere, chatting animatedly, footmen and servants were attending to carriages, and Belle was nowhere to be seen.

Peter grabbed hold of the first man he saw and asked him, practically hysterically, "Please, Belle Desjardins, have you seen her? She is missing!"

The man was considerably confronted by Peter's frantic behaviour, and shook him off, before hurrying away. Peter raced as quickly as his unsteady legs would carry him to the nearest carriage.

"Help me, please!" he cried to the driver. "Belle Desjardins, she is missing! Have you seen her? She was taken by a ... well, I don't know by whom ... but she was taken a short while ago. Please, did you see anyone take a woman?"

"No, lad," replied the driver. "It's the end of the ball, isn't it? We're a bit preoccupied. I'm sure your missus is around here somewhere."

Peter swore. Loudly. A nearby woman looked at him with a most affronted expression. He persisted, begging anyone who would listen to tell him if they had seen Belle, all the while keeping an eye out for her. The pain in his head seemed to vanish as he anxiously searched. Peter's heart thundered so loudly it might have alerted onlookers.

No one had seen Belle. No one had noticed her go. No one had noticed the man who had taken her. How could that happen? How could one simply vanish? How could so many people be so oblivious? How was it possible?

Peter was a hysterical wreck by the time he nearly crashed into his own family, who appeared to have been searching for him as well. Jem gripped hold of Peter's upper arms, and his brother appeared quite startled at Peter's appearance.

"Peter, what's the matter with you? You look dreadful! What's happened?"

"Peter? Peter!" cried Mrs Denham from some twenty feet away. Spotting her sons together, she hobbled over as quickly as she could.

Peter searched his family party, spotting Cecily, Adam, and Grace all following Mrs Denham towards Peter. Belle was not with them.

"Belle, have you seen her?" Peter asked desperately, calling out to all of them. "Please, tell me you know where she is!"

"Peter, what's happened?" stressed Mrs Denham.

"We were just looking for the both of you," replied Adam, frowning deeply. "What's happened to you?"

"Peter, what's wrong?" worried Grace.

Peter felt like he was going to be sick. His breathing was entirely erratic as his head grew heavy and his eyes clouded with tears. "Belle and I ... we were in the garden. Someone hit me and knocked me out ... and when I came to, Belle was gone!" Peter held out the ribbon and the shoe in his hands. "Someone has taken her!"

Mrs Denham spied the back of Peter's head and gasped. "Oh, good God! He needs a surgeon!"

Mrs Denham's reaction prompted Jem to look as well, and he shared similar concerns, turning to Grace and saying, "We need to send for a doctor. He's bleeding down his back."

"We shall all go back to Ashwood House, and shall send for the doctor myself," Cecily declared.

"I don't need a bloody doctor!" Peter exclaimed hysterically. "I need a horse! I need to find her! Someone had taken Belle, and God knows what they could be doing." Peter did not need to try hard to imagine. Belle had trusted him with some of the horrors of her past. Peter knew all too well the evils of men. Peter didn't know why she was taken, or by whom, or anything, but he did know that no woman deserved to be at the mercy of a man.

"You are not going anywhere on horseback like that!" Mrs Denham stated firmly.

Peter had never had an ill thought towards his mother, but at that moment, he wanted to throttle her. Did she think that he cared about what had happened to him when Belle was missing?

"I will look for her," Adam interjected. "I will search the village, the surrounding roads. She can't have got far, wherever she is. You need to take care of yourself, Peter. You are no use to Belle, bleeding and as unsteady as you are."

"You will have to tie me down if you think I won't go out looking for her," Peter all but growled. "I promised her that no one would ever hurt her." The words came out of Peter's mouth before he realised what he was saying. A new sort of despair filled his senses as he swore again. He had promised Belle that no one would ever hurt her again, and he needed to find her before that promise was broken.

***

Belle felt her body rhythmically moving to the jostle of a carriage. She was sitting on a padded seat and leaning against the soft wall of the side of the carriage, her head gently tapping against the window each time the wheel rolled through a divot in the road.

She frowned before her eyes opened, her mind slowly returning her senses to her. Belle inhaled through her nose, taking in the scents of the carriage. The air was stale, but something lingered, something familiar.

"You are quite the elusive one to find."

Belle's eyes snapped open as her blood ran ice cold. Her heart stopped in her chest and her breathing ceased. The few seconds it took for her vision to focus both frustrated and frightened her. Belle could see a blurry figure opposite her, and the familiarity of his scent became clear.

His voice was cool and formal, speaking French as though he belonged with the nobles and grand blancs. He was a grand blanc.

Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, her vision settled, and the blurriness cleared as the figure across from her revealed himself.

His large frame eclipsed much of the opposing bench, and he sat casually, cockily, with his legs spread and his elbow hitched up and resting on the back of the padded seat. His belly appeared rounder and was highlighted by the deep purple waistcoat he wore, its buttons protesting their master. One of his meaty hands rested on his knee. His thick fingers, which resembled sausages, were still and idle, and yet were capable of inflicting severe pain.

Belle's eyes unwittingly travelled north against her own accord, almost needing to in order to truly confirm it was him. If she didn't look into Satan's eyes, she couldn't know it was him. At first, she saw his jaw, cleanshaven, full and round. Next was his mouth, his thin lips upturned into an amused, ominous smile. His teeth were crooked and were stained yellow by his indulgences. His cheeks matched the roundness of his face, and his nose was long and straight. She could see the lengths of his sandy coloured hair tickling his ears at the side of his head.

And then she found his eyes. Cold, grey, the colour of a dead corpse. He looked upon her with amusement. Those eyes had followed her since she was five years old, and they had haunted her every day since.

Belle looked up the face of the devil, but she would not flinch, no matter how terrified she was.

Jean laughed lightly, musically, as he ran his hand over his jaw. "You certainly appear surprised to see me. Did you really think I wouldn't find you? Did you really think that you could run away and that I would stand idly by?" Jean placed his hand back down on his knee and the leaned forward, the timber of the wooden seat underneath the cushion squeaking under his frame. "I could have you killed for running away, you know." His voice dropped, and his eyes narrowed upon her as he meant to frighten her.

And he succeeded. As much as Belle didn't want to be afraid, she recoiled in her seat, pressing herself as far back into the wall as she could. She had been determined that she would not flinch, and she had failed in mere moments.

"I could have you strung up, a rope around that pretty neck of yours, and the last thing you would hear is the snap," Jean clicked his fingers, "as your neck breaks."

Belle's breathing was shaky and uneven. Her heart beat erratically in her chest. She knew that Jean was not serious. She knew that he would not kill her like that. It was too quick. He would not enjoy that. He would not have tracked her down thousands of miles away simply to kill her.

Jean had other plans.

Belle's memories vividly returned, of every moment that she had begged, pleaded, and wished for death at the hands of Jean, and of men like him. She had wanted to die so that she would not suffer anymore. She had wanted to die so that she would not ever have to be at the mercy of a man again.

Belle could not look away from Jean's cold, cruel eyes. She could see exactly what he was planning just by the way he focussed on her. She could see what he wanted. She had known that look many, many times before.

Every time, every time, she had wished for death. As soon as he would look upon her the way he was now, she would wish for death so that she would not have to experience it another time.

But no such prayer came to Belle then.

Belle didn't want to die.

Belle wanted to live.

She swallowed, inhaling the steadiest breath that she could, and she straightened her posture, coming away from the back wall of the carriage. Belle might have wished for death countless times throughout her life, but she had survived everything that she had been through. She was a survivor, and this man would not take one ounce more of her will from her. Belle would survive this man, and she would get back to Peter.

Jean's eyebrow arched at Belle's shift, and his sinister smile grew more apparent. He almost appeared impressed. "Little mouse thinks she can fight the bear?" he mocked.

"She will try."

Jean grinned, before raising his arm and slamming his fist down against Belle's temple, silencing her, and sentencing her back to the world of darkness.

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Pssssssttttt ... you guys, I think we guilted this evil author! I think she felt bad for leaving you on a cliffhanger, and she wanted to give you one last chapter before she went away! HOWEVER SHE OBVIOUSLY DID NOT SHAKE OFF HER EVILNESS ENTIRELY AS SHE STILL LEFT US LIKE THATTTTT WTFFFFF LAURA!!!

Hahaha, I did feel bad! I squeezed in one final chapter before I go away. I'll be back Thursday!

I hope you enjoyed it!!

Vote and comment xxx