Behind The Mask

by Marianne Petit

  Yvette rolled over thinking to find André’s warm body beside her and came face to face with an empty pillow. A wave of panic sped through her, then she saw the note. Inside the inked heart, the words: Back soon. Be hungry, were scrawled in his handwriting. Knowing him the way she did, especially after yesterday, his referral to hunger had nothing to do with food. She smiled and traced the heart with her finger.

  Suddenly the world had possibilities. She felt alive and somehow different, like she wore another woman’s body. An empowered woman she thought, recalling how André’s body had responded to her touch, how his groans of pleasure was the encouragement she needed to push past her nervousness and make him want her.

  Tossing the sheets aside, she slipped out of bed and then saw another note on the bedside table. She stared at the delivered message scribbled in her father’s handwriting and shook her head at the news that should have brought elation, but only evoked a pang in her heart. Family in route: stop: papers secured. How ironic. All these months she’d hoped for the day they’d be united, imagining the moment she could hold her little brother and plant kisses on her sister’s freckled cheeks.

  She sighed. Parting would be so difficult. The thought that she may never see them again formed a knot in her chest. Father is going to be furious. She’d told him his responsibilities lie with his family. Without a ring on her finger, she could just image the lecture she was going to receive when she told him she was staying with André.

  She glanced at the tousled sheets, indented from their passionate lovemaking, then toward the clock on the mantel. Breakfast and her lover, she smiled, were due here any moment. Memories of sexual nirvana pulsed in her neck and a lot… lot lower.

  A knock at the door, heightened her libido as thoughts of André, naked and holding a tray of croissants and jam, came to mind.

  Yvette flew to the door and flung it open.

  Géry burst into her room before she could stop him.

  “What are you doing here?” Very aware she wore nothing but a flimsy silk gown she’d donned for André, she turned to get a robe, but he grabbed her arm. Startled, she yanked back. “Let go. You’re hurting me.”

  “You are coming with me.” He tugged her arm.

  “Géry you are talking nonsense. I’m not going anywhere.” A warning sounded in her ear.

  “Crazy. You think I’m crazy?” He released her. “Crazy for you. That’s all.” He started to pace, fisting and unfisting his hands. His eyes appeared glassy like he’d gotten no sleep. His face wore the intensity of a man obsessed. She was very aware of the hungry, depraved lust he cast in her direction.

  She had to get dressed.

  “You make me do things. Things I shouldn’t.” He swiped his mouth and continued his ranting as she slowly made her way to the bedroom. “Nothing’s turned out like I planned. Don’t make me hurt you.”

  He flew upon her, halting her steps. She screamed.

  His hand slammed over her mouth. “Shh, baby, don’t cry. I won’t hurt you.” He ran a repulsive finger down her cheek and she cringed. “I’m here to protect you. Take you away. Do you understand?”

  Yvette nodded.

  “No more crying ok?”

  Again, she nodded.

  “Good girl.” He released his hand.

  Though instinct warranted protest, she remained silent as she plotted her next move. “I’m cold.” She faked a shiver. “Do you mind if I get my wrap?” To her alarm, she felt his threatening presence behind her as she stepped into the bedroom. All thoughts of locking the door and leaving him in the living room buckled.

  A steely hand spun her around. His wide-eyed look went from crazed, to once again, sickening lust, then raging anger as he glanced to the bed and tossed clothing on the floor. “I see you’ve been busy.” Géry’s fingers pinched her skin. “Him. Always him.” He kicked aside André’s shirt, dragging her closer to the bed.

  Panic tightened her chest. Her pulse pounded in her throat as she dug her heels into the floor.

  “Nothing I do for you is good enough.” He yanked her arm. “You keep running back to him.” The murder in his eyes made her knees quiver. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to go.

  “Did he get your cousin released? Do you know all the planning that went into setting up Louise’s arrest?”

  “What?” Despite her fear, Yvette’s jaw dropped. “You denounced them? Why?”

  “She was supposed to be your Christmas present. What don’t you get?” he yelled. “All I want to do is please you!”

  Calm him down. Do something. Anything. “I do understand,” she said softly and stepped in front of him. Think. He’s definitely on the verge of madness. Her forced smile felt stiff, awkward.

  “And I am forever grateful.”

  “You are? Right?” Her words had the effect she’d hoped for. His eyes no longer bulged. His stance relaxed. He ran his hand across her face and she tried not to cringe.

  “Where are we going?” she said, trying to keep her tone light.

  “North to Vichy.” His gaze kept darting to the bed and she held down her panic.

  “That’s splendid.” Vichy? “If you let me get dressed, I will pack a few items and we can leave.” Why Vichy? She had to get him out of the bedroom so she could get to the phone.

  Reluctantly his grip lessened, but he wouldn’t move.

  “A bit of privacy, please,” she said, smiling through cheeks that felt locked.

  He picked up her bra, fingering the lace, caressing the garment like one would a lover and a sense of violation suffocated her. “Get dressed,” he ordered, dangling the garment before her.

  She bent and grabbed some clothing. “I’ll be right back.”

  “No.” He grabbed the clothes from her arm and tossed them to the bed. “Right here. Right now.”

  Panic tightened, making it difficult to breathe. Leaving her no choice, she took her bra, turned, her heart racing and slowly untied the satin ribbon at her breasts. As she dropped the gown and it slipped to the floor, she felt sick.

  He sucked in his breath and she quickly reached for her underwear, praying he would do nothing more than look.

  Her body jerked as his hand clamped over her shoulder. The feel of his intrusive fingers running down her back stiffened her spine. She squeezed her eyes shut as his hand skimmed lower and stopped at the top of her buttocks. She willed herself not to cry. Wouldn’t he just love to see me cry.

  “Lovely. Just like I imagined.” His foul breath, so close to her neck, pricked her skin.

  Breathe. She wanted to move away, but afraid of riling his temper, she forced herself to remain calm. Just Breathe. “If we are to leave before Andr--”

  He hissed in a breath. His nails dug into her shoulder. “Continue and make it fast.” He stepped back and she held back the urge to bolt.

  She slipped on panties. Her fingers shaking, she tried several times to close her bra that felt filthy against her flesh.

  “Let me.”

  “I’m fine,” She took a step forward, only to find herself against the night table with nowhere to go. “Really.” Her stomach clenched.

  “I insist.”

  When he kissed the back of her neck, she stared at the wall and bit her lip, suppressing disgust threatening to choke her. He closed her bra, then cupped her buttocks and fearful tears, mixing with repugnance, welled within her. She blinked them away, refusing to let him see the effect he had over her.

  “Although I am enjoying this,” he sucked in a breath sniffing her neck like a hungry predator, “finish up.”

  Yvette swallowed the panic in her throat and grabbed her clothing. Every quick movement, a stocking slipped on, her dress slipping over her head, seemed to take forever. She felt his eyes on her every move and knew her clumsy attempt at hurrying was nothing more than a sexual show in his eyes. Even the bulky sweater did nothing to hide the lustful craving darting at her as he stared at her chest.

  She had to get out of the bedroom. “Tell
me why,” she took his hand and nudged him towards the living room, “why can’t we stay here?” Her trembling knees threatened to give way.

  “I can’t protect you here.”

  “From what? I’m in no danger.” André where are you?

  “Not what.” He snapped. “Who. And you know very well, who. I’ve told you over and over. You never listen.” He grabbed her shoulders and shook. “Get out you told me. Be gone. You think I’m a big joke.”

  His words made no sense. His wild fixed stare did. Dear Lord. He’s out of his mind.

  “No Géry,” She placed her hand over his heart feigning concern, praying André wasn’t far away. “I don’t. I don’t.”

  He looked at her with confusion on his face as though he just realized who she was. “Eva?” He drew her to his chest and she tried not to flinch. “Promise you won’t abandon me.”

  “I’m going with you, remember?” André hurry, please.

  He clung to her like a child needing comfort, odd as that was, given his behavior. Remembering he’d told her his mother had abandoned him, she realized, in his mixed up mind, for a moment, she had become his mother. For what felt like an eternity, Géry held her, finding solace, when all she wanted was to flee. When she couldn’t stand his touch a minute longer she pried herself away. “Let’s go inside and talk. Tell me your plans. We don’t have to leave just yet.”

  “Plans.” He grabbed her hand. “Yes. I made plans.” A sinister smile contorted his features, smothering the hope Yvette desperately clung to.

  “Darling… I’ve brought breakfast.”

  André’s words, coming from the living room, tightened Géry’s stance. He pulled out a gun and her heart leapt. He jabbed the weapon into her side. “Move,” he hissed near her ear.

  “Géry…” He forced her through the door. “Please don’t.” She tripped and he yanked her up.

  André’s eyes widened, the only indication of his surprise, then his face took on that nondescript emotion she’d come to recognize as an attempt to detach himself and lure his opponent into a false sense of calm.

  “Are you all right?” He placed a bag on the table. She could see calculation seething with fury in his eyes as he studied her.

  Yvette nodded, unable to speak lest her voice give away her fears.

  “Géry, so… you want to tell me why there is a gun in her back?” he asked, his voice hypnotically even.

  “She’s coming with me.”

  “Hmm. Forcefully, I see. And there’s no talking you out of it,” André said nonchalantly, though she knew there was nothing relaxed about his mindset.

  “She loves me. Not you.”

  “Really? You think so?”

  “You sound just like my father. Drunken bastard. Took care of him, I did.”

  Yvette watched André casually slipped off his coat and lay the black wool over the sofa. He was getting ready for a fight.

  Perspiration slipped between her breasts. Her palms felt clammy. Her stomach churned.

  “And how far do you think you’ll get with her?”

  Géry didn’t answer, but the gun jabbing a little deeper in her waist did.

  “Not far.” André moved slowly like a cat ready to pounce. “Because it doesn’t matter if you’re down the hall…” he moved closer, “around the corner or up across the Pyrenees, I’ll come hunting for you. So by all means…” he gestured for Géry to leave and Yvette’s heart seemed to stop. “Go. Just keep looking over your shoulder.”

  Géry stood frozen, probably taken aback by the venomous glare emanating from André’s eyes. Yvette thought, for a fleeting second, she should seize the opportunity to break away, but the gun pressing into her back allowed for no such bravery and she stood helplessly beside Géry. When he forced her to move forward, she wanted to yank free and run into André’s arms, desperately needing his strength, for it felt like her knees were about to give in on her.

  “Géry, before you go, explain something to me.” André stood within arm’s length of them. “I have an obligation to the memory of those who served with me to understand why you betrayed them.”

  “Money and lots of it. No one was supposed to get killed. That’s not on my hands.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “No! Just arrested, that’s what they promised.”

  Yvette could see Géry’s reflection in the mirror across the way. His was the face of a man on the edge of insanity. His eyes bulged under slanted, angry brows. She drew her frightened gaze back to André.

  “Pity you got there too late.” Géry’s sneer contorted his features and shriveled her resolve.

  “Yes, a pity for you isn’t it, seeing how there’s no place on this earth you can hide from me,” André said, his tone laced with controlled anger. “Why don’t you let Eva go and we’ll finish this.” He flicked his fingers challenging Géry to come get him. “Right now.”

  “Hell yes. I may have failed to take you out of the picture, but not this time. Not this time.”

  Without warning Géry shoved her away. She landed with a thud that knocked the wind from her chest. Sprawled on the floor, she sucked in air and looked up.

  André stood, arms outstretched, palms out as though he was surrendering, but she could see the lethal, thunderous anger in his eyes. Gone was the calm man she knew. The man who stood challenging Géry was fierce, driven, full of pent-up hostility; a hostility she had sensed between the two men that finally erupted, making André a force to reckon with. The minute Géry lunged forward, he grabbed his arm and threw a fisted punch to Géry’s jaw. A second later Géry landed a blow to André’s shoulder. The two men struggled against each other. For a short man of Géry’s stature, he held his own against André’s height and strength. André sent a sharp jab to Géry’s stomach. He doubled over, giving André the second he needed to bring his elbow down on Géry’s head. Géry staggered, but bounced back and charged with surprising speed, like a bull toward a toreador.

  Géry still had the gun in his hand. André grabbed his wrist and Yvette’s heart held as the weapon arched and swayed over André’s head. The weapon inched down, closer and closer to his face… down between them both—too close —too close to the beating heart she’d felt only last night beating against hers. The muscles in André’s neck strained as he struggled to pry the gun from Géry’s hand. No match against André’s strength the weapon flew across the floor.

  André spun him around and wrapped his arms around Géry’s back applying pressure to his chest like a boa constrictor. Géry retaliated with an elbow to André’s ribs, then pivoted. His fists cut into André’s abdomen. Géry’s boot tip cut into André’s bad leg. Pain shot across his face. He stumbled backward. Yvette seemed to feel every punch. She stifled her cry with her fist.

  Géry dove past him and landed to the ground before she could even contemplate going for the gun. With a predatory growl, André charged Géry and dropped on top of him. Both men reached out toward the weapon, squirming on the ground, rolling and struggling against each other’s hold. She didn’t know who turned who, but Géry was on his back and somehow the gun was back in his hand.

  A shot rang out.

  She screamed.

  André didn’t flinch, and she breathed a sigh of relief as he continued to lean into Géry’s body, pounding relentlessly.

  A second shot pierced the air.

  André’s shoulder jerked, but he continued his onslaught until Géry lay bruised and still.

  Breathing, once more, Yvette jumped to her feet.

  With an open palm, André knocked the gun from Géry’s hand and stood towering over him with murder in his eyes. He kicked the weapon away, then ran to her side.

  “Did he hurt you,” he asked, his hands on her shoulders and concern in his gaze.

  “I’m fine.” Shaking, she threw her arms around his neck. It was over. Géry lie unconscious, his cheek against the floor, his arms and legs limp. Thank God. It was finally over.

  André gathered her in t
he crook of his arm and she leaned against him needing his strength, feeling protected, safe. “Are you sure, because if he so much as--”

  “No. He didn’t.” She didn’t want to talk. Didn’t want to think about Géry’s sexual advances, or that she could do nothing more than stand there and heed to his demands. She just wanted to be held, to close her eyes and escape into André’s embrace.

  He gathered her tighter against his chest and she could feel his comforting breath against her forehead, could feel the pounding of his fearful heart against hers.

  “I was so afraid.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

  “It’s ok.” He kissed the top of her head. “You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice gravelly and filled with raw emotion. “You’re safe.” His warmth, his strength and the feeling that he would always be there for her when she needed him, chased away the chill holding her prisoner.

  She nodded and swallowed the huge lump in her throat, then she saw the blood. “Oh dear Lord, you’re hurt.” She placed her hand over the wound oozing from his shoulder as panic revved her heart.

  “Just a scratch.”

  “But--”

  “I’ll live,” André insisted.

  Yvette sighed.“He was clearly out of his mind.”

  “I shouldn’t have left you.” The misery in his eyes clenched her heart.

  “It’s not your fault.”

  “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”

  “I am sure.”

  His gaze looked doubtful as his lips breezed across hers. “I have to call the authorities.”

  She pressed his fingers over the wound, then took his other hand. “I need to see to this before you bleed out.” She glanced at Géry who hadn’t moved. “How long do you think he’ll be unconscious?”