Open, Charlie

Chapter Nine ~ Confrontation

Charlie froze. "You killed him." Her voice shook.

"Not yet," Aaron drawled, "but I will, if you don't cooperate. Come quietly, little whore, and I won't shoot your swain."

He silhouetted sharply against a window, the gun in his hand motioning for her to move, to obey, to approach him, but she couldn't. She backed away until her spine pressed into a corner. Aaron smirked unpleasantly, his eyes drilling into her, promising dire retribution. Behind Aaron's back, Slade on the floor didn't stir.

"You two were so obliging in coming here. I didn't believe my own luck. No one is around, no one will hear you scream, my dear. I look forward to bloodying your backside. I'll be merciful." Aaron crowed at his own wit. "Within reason, of course. Disobedient daughters should be taught a lesson." He started unbuckling his belt. "Harry, get the cow here."

Only then Charlie noticed Aaron's second, Harry, on the opposite side of the room.

"Sure, boss." Harry started unhurriedly towards her, his cadaverous body throwing a macabre shadow across the stripped floor of the pavilion. "Can I have her first, before the beating?"

"Maybe," Aaron said with a snort. "I'm thinking I should have her first. She is my daughter after all. Parental rights, you know. You'll have a go after me. We can always tan her pretty hide later."

"No!" Charlie said, surprising herself. She was suddenly calm and furious. Aaron would never touch her again.

"No?" he asked in mild surprise. His gun rose, pointing at her chest.

Pull the metal to yourself, Slade had said. Charlie concentrated on Aaron's gun. Pulled. It flew out of his grip into her waiting hands. She almost dropped it, as her shaking fingers strived to point it in the right direction. Aaron swore viciously.

"Huh? What's happening?" Harry halted in mid-step.

"Go away," Charlie said. She finally managed to put her finger on the trigger. "I'll shoot."

"You, bitch. Harry, shoot her," Aaron ordered.

Harry's hand dived for his gun.

"I will melt all the metal on your bodies, I swear," Charlie threatened. When none of them reacted, she sent a pulse of her magic towards both men, the same way she did on the dirigible, when she had fused the cable, only here, they were much closer, a few measly steps away. She felt the disparate pieces of metal melting under her magic. The guns. The knives. The watches. Harry gurgled and fell. She didn't know why and didn't care. Aaron flapped a hand with a melting watch, his sleeve smoking, roared unintelligibly, and charged towards her.

Charlie pulled the trigger, and the gun recoiled in her unsteady hands. She couldn't have missed at such a short distance, but Aaron didn't stop. He kept coming, so she shot him again. This time he stopped, only a couple yards away from her, lurched, and crumpled to the ground.

Shaking hard, the gun heavy in her hand, Charlie stood in her corner, her eyes switching between the dark forms on the floor. Harry was twitching, his feet and hands jerking uncontrollably. He still clutched his gun, and it thumped on the wooden floor every time the hand flopped, like a slow, scary drumbeat. He didn't attempt to get up. Aaron lay unmoving. Slade at the opposite wall...

Slade! Charlie darted to his side and dropped to her knees beside him. "Slade! Please, Slade, don't die. Slade, wake up," she pleaded. She shook him. In the darkness, she couldn't see where he was hurt but she knew Aaron hadn't shot him. The sound of her own shooting was much louder than the blow that had felled Slade. Aaron had probably hit him with the gun's butt. "Slade, please, wake up. I'll do anything you want. Just please, wake up."

"Charlie?" Slade's vowels slurred. "What happened? Why am I on the floor? My head!"

"Can you stand? Can you walk?" Charlie's heard outright terror in her screeching voice. Strange. She hadn't been afraid before, not when she stood up to Aaron. Then, she had been numb.

"Let me sit first," Slade said slowly, matching his words to action.

"Slade, please." Charlie's bile rose so suddenly, she only had time to scuttle sideways before she threw up. She trembled so hard, the gun fell from her quivering fingers and landed, by a freaky coincidence, in a puddle of moonlight.

"Why do you have a gun, Charlie?" Slade asked faintly.

"Aaron." Her teeth chattered. "I... shot... him."

"What? Where?" His head swiveled around, searching for an enemy.

Charlie couldn't answer. She heaved again. By the time her paroxysms of retching subsided, Slade clambered to his feet, still unsteady but resolute.

"Come on," he said, towing her out of the pavilion, along the dark path of the park into the city proper. "We have to get out of here." This time they didn't promenade along the charming streets. Slade kept them to the dark narrow alleys, and Charlie stumbled unseeing after him, shuddering constantly.

"Where are we?" she asked, when he finally stopped in front of a small one-story house. Its neighbors had lit windows, but this one was dark.

Slade unlocked the door, ushered Charlie inside, and closed the door firmly. "My house," he said. "It was closer than the apartment you rent. Come, sit down."

He pushed her to a sofa, turned on a weak kerosene torchiere, and rummaged somewhere on her left. He brought back two glasses of dark amber liquid and thrust one into her hands. He sipped from another. "Brandy," he answered her unasked question. "Sip. It will calm you down."

He lowered his big frame beside her and took another sip from his glass. "Tell me what happened there." In the dim light of the torchiere, his eyes were shadowed, and a big lump grew reddish on his temple. He touched it and winced.

Charlie tried the brandy. It burned going down. She gulped some more. The burning was good. It distracted her from the horror of the pavilion. Perhaps all those drunks at Aaron's parties knew what they were doing.

"Aaron found me," she said. "He hit you in the temple with his gun's handle. Then he threatened me with the gun. I remembered what you said—to pull metal from a distance—and I pulled the gun out of his hand. It's metal." She shrugged. "It flew to me. It wasn't hard at all. Then I melted all their other metals: the knives, the watches, everything. Aaron kept coming at me, and I shot him. Twice. I didn't shoot Harry. I don't know why he fell." She kept on talking, repeating herself, trying to explain everything. Slade listened without comment, until she ran out of things to say.

"You melted their metal," he muttered at last. "On them. Remind me to never piss you off."

Charlie nodded. "Aaron wanted to whip me. He already started unbuckling his belt. The buckle probably melted too." She giggled and sipped more brandy. It seemed to be helping, just as Slade had promised. "He wanted to rape me first, both of them." She was almost sick again at the memory but managed to swallow. She didn't want to vomit the brandy. It made her feel almost normal. "Do you think I killed him?" For some reason, the prospect cheered her. "I'm not sorry." She tried to sip more brandy, but her glass was already empty. "Could I have more?"

"No." He took her glass. He looked too grim for her comfort. "You've had enough. Now, you should go to sleep."

"Okay," Charlie said. She tried to get up, but her legs refused to hold her. Slade carried her into his bedroom and tucked her under the covers in her clothing, removing only her coat and shoes. "Good night, Charlie," he said and kissed her on the forehead.

She smiled and slept.