Chords That Bind Ch 09 Fugue

Dear Readers,

So sorry that it has been such a long gap between chapter 8 and chapter 9. Life, as it happens, has gotten in the way. Fret not, I've got a nice cushion of story to try and ensure that we don't get stranded high and dry, but the frequency of my updates has taken a necessary decline.

On the other hand, you'll notice that this section of Cecilia's story is called Fugue and it does take a different tone than the Prelude section. I'll thank you ahead of time for suspending your disbelief as far as legalities and paperwork are concerned... after all... we are entertaining illegalities from the get-go... So with that disclaimer, and another reminder that the author does not encourage or condone anything done to another person without their consent... etc etc... please enjoy chapter 9!

~Poeticlicense

***

James walked to his studio. Abraham had left Lace's card on his desk. There was nothing else to do, and no way to feel any worse about the situation, so he had his inheritance wired to Lace's Swiss bank account. At least that money was going to do Cecilia some good. It secured her freedom from the trafficker. James had never known what to do with the money. It had a cursed aura around it, and James felt a knot ease in his chest that it was finally gone.

Several hours later, James had another email from Lace. It acknowledged the transaction. As a final completion to the wretched business, Lace emailed an entire dossier of info on Cecilia, the hard copy of which was being conveyed to James by messenger. Medical files, school transcripts and a few photos were all organized neatly. The cover page indicated what forms of identification were contained. The little boxes next to 'passport', 'birth certificate', and 'Social Security card' were left blank. There was a check mark next to the item 'State ID', but it was followed by a handwritten note in Lace's childish writing: 'Expiring soon'.

James flipped to see the photocopy of Cecilia's ID. It would expire by the end of the week. Damnit! And she didn't have a passport? With no secondary identification, James didn't see how he was going to get the girl home...

Yes, James had every intention of restoring Cecilia back to her home. But without a passport she wouldn't be able to obtain a visa. Technically she wasn't allowed to be in the country at all, and could be arrested as an illegal immigrant under British law. James groaned. His desire to do the right thing was making this more and more difficult. He was going to have to get the poor girl a passport and a visa before he could make good on his promise to himself and restore Cecilia to the life that had been taken from her.

***

Cecilia knew she was dreaming. It was the only way she could feel so warm and safe. She decided to never open her eyes, because then she would be back in her cold cell and the Master would return to hurt her.

And she

did

hurt. But... why did she have pain in a good dream? Cecilia rolled to her side and instantly regretted the movement. The pain was dull but insistent. She squeezed her eyes shut against the sunlight warming her face. She knew the sun was part of the dream, because she didn't have a window in her cell. She curled up deeper into the soft bed, and moaned at her body's resistance. She felt dizzy in the dark, as if her bed were wobbling, balancing on three legs. Cecilia was faintly nauseous now. Unwillingly, she opened her eyes, and instantly felt the world stabilize around her.

She was in a soft warm bed. Not the one that she was so often chained to in her cell. This one had pillows and a comforter that was wrapped tightly around her. She blinked in the sunlight streaming through the window.

"I knew you'd wake up soon." The voice came from a girl that looked like a china doll. Her face was a perfectly symmetrical oval, with pale delicate features and very blue eyes. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back in an orderly chignon. She smiled with her eyes. Cecilia wanted to get a better look at the girl who was speaking, and tried to sit up.

"No, no, no... I wouldn't...!"

"Mmmmhhh!" The effort was too great and the pain that had only been dull was now sharp and at the forefront of her mind.

"Just lie down." The girl, no, woman, she was older than she appeared, had a pretty lilt to her speech. It wasn't rough like Master's, but poetic, Irish maybe. Cecilia tried to ask 'Who are you?' but nothing came out of her throat.

"Don't try to talk now, or sit up. You've been through quite a bit. I've got some tea, or some soup if you like. I'm Clara by the way. And I'm very happy you're here and awake."

Cecilia didn't know what to make of this 'Clara'. But she ignored her warning and tried to sit up. Everything ached terribly. Her wrists didn't want to support her arms or upper body, breathing was a monumental effort, the pain made her head spin, and her back and bottom were tender. Overcoming the pain, Cecilia was up, but had to close her eyes for a moment. Where was she? She couldn't remember being here, or how she got here. The last thing she remembered was...

The auction. The scary blonde man and giant bald man had won her. But where were they?

"Alright then, since you're up, have some soup. But you mustn't move too much. You need rest and healing. Here," She said, putting a tray table in front of Cecilia, "Don't eat too much too quickly though, the doctor said you were weak and dehydrated."

The doctor said

... Then she must be in a hospital? But looking around the room, it didn't much look like a hospital. It was furnished with an antique dresser and armoire, the white paint crackling, showing a bleached wood underneath. The bed was too big for a hospital and she wasn't hooked up to an IV drip. She looked back at Clara. She could be a nurse the way she was talking, but she wasn't dressed like a nurse. Her fitted black leggings clung to her lithe frame, and soft lavender leg warmers clung to her calves. The loose tunic she wore draped off her shoulders in effortless grace.

"How...?" Cecilia whispered, trying to get command of her lost voice. Her questions were cut off.

"Don't worry about that now. Just eat your soup. I'll be right back."

The soup smelled good, and Cecilia couldn't remember the last time she ate, so although she was loath to obey more commands blindly, Cecilia slurped at the broth, feeling the warmth soothe her throat.

Clara rushed down the stairs. "She's awake! Abraham! James! She's up!" Clara was nearly shrill with excitement. She found Abraham doing something intently on his laptop, but James was nowhere to be seen.

Abraham looked up and smiled at his wife's enthusiasm. She loved nothing more than lavishing attention on her latest projects, and clearly, Cecilia was going to be Clara's new mission.

"Does she remember anything?"

Clara was caught short by the question. "She hasn't got much of a voice at the moment. But I have her sipping at some tea and soup. She's in pain though; you can see it on her face. I thought to give her something to dull the pain. Do you think that'd be alright?"

"Dr. Patel didn't say anything. Poor girl probably needs a painkiller after everything."

"That's what I figured. Where's James? I thought he'd want to be the first to know."

"I'm not so sure about that. He's been in the studio since the doctor left..."

"Oh." Clara knew what it meant when James shut himself away like that. "Well, I'll go tell him anyway." She said it with a question in her voice, looking to Abraham to agree.

"He needs to know," he shrugged, "it's not as if he isn't concerned, he's just... processing a lot. You know how he loves to hate himself, and to be honest, he gave himself a pretty good reason."

"But, he's making it right, I mean, we're going to get her better..."

"I know that sweetness. But he... Just, you know how he gets when given the chance. Go. Tell him. Maybe it'll snap him out of it."

Clara ran up to the third floor, looking for James.

All three of them lived together in James' converted townhome. The townhouse had been in James' family for generations. He couldn't make himself sell the property, but had gutted and renovated much of the space. He'd created a proper recording studio in the attic, and done away with his parents' terrible aesthetic choices, removing their memory with the tacky window dressings and bland furniture. It was too big a house for just him, so he'd insisted Abe be his housemate. When Clara came into the picture, James told them nothing had to change, that they could all easily share the space. It was an unorthodox living situation, but it worked for them.

***

Cecilia was not content to just slurp at soup. She scanned the room. Unlike her cell it was cluttered with lots of brickabrack. Hair combs and brushes were scattered on the bureau, dried flowers stood vigil in vases. The walls were painted a calming periwinkle and sheer, airy curtains trimmed two big windows.

There were some photos on the nightstand next to Cecilia's old-fashioned brass bedstead. She bit her lip against the pain, and leaned over to examine them. In one frame was the bald man who had been at the auction with the blonde. In the other frame just behind it was a photo of the two men with Clara, all smiling jovially, bundled up against the snow that was swirling around them in the picture.

Cecilia didn't know exactly what their association was, but it was possible that Clara was enslaved too. Or they were all working together. Nothing else made any sense, and that was when Cecilia knew she had stayed put too long. With great difficulty she swung her legs to the side of the bed. It took her a moment to realize she was no longer naked. Someone had dressed her in an oversized grey sweatshirt emblazoned with Oxford and black sweats that were far too long for her short legs. It was more than she had worn in days. Having something to cover herself gave her another burst of courage.

Clara hadn't locked her in. She struggled to quietly reach the threshold. No one was in the hallway or monitoring her room. She could see what appeared to be the front door on the second landing just below the stairwell.

The house she was in was older. From what Cecilia could tell, the walls were covered in silk, not wallpaper. The polished wood stairs looked like they would creak. She held her breath. Clinging to the railing to fight bouts of dizziness, Cecilia half crawled down the stairs. She wanted to be sick but fought back her weakness. 'When you're free you can rest. If you escape you can be sick,' at least, that's what she told herself.

Cecilia heard steps above her. She panicked, not sure what they would do with her if they found her trying to escape. Cecilia never thought this far ahead, to the consequences of failure. Throwing caution to the wind, she rounded the banister taking the stairs two steps at a time.

She made it to the first landing. The front door was within reach.

That was when the giant bald man stood at the bottom of the staircase. He just looked amused. Cecilia couldn't let herself be caught. She could see the way out. She stumbled, losing her footing as her tiny ankle rolled and gave out.

Abraham saw Cecilia falling. "Oy, watch...!" He ran up and caught her before she could tumble down the rest of the stairs. Just the impact from catching her around the waist made Cecilia whimper. Abe could hear her crying again, sobs wracked her frame as weak wheezing sounds tore at her chest. Cecilia weighed nothing to Abraham. As carefully as he could, he scooped her up. Clara was just above them on the stairs with James in tow. Clara looked concerned, but James was unreadable.

"I think she thought she was trying to escape," Abraham said by way of explanation.

Cecilia shuddered, wondering how they would punish her. She shouldn't have tried it. Maybe she should have waited to heal a bit. Her body hadn't been cooperative since she woke in her cell with Master, why did she think that battered and bloodied it would be of any use now? She whispered in her raspy voice. "Please don't hurt me! Please?" She sounded so pathetic. Her only chance was blown and she knew it.

"Easy there," The man who was holding her had a deep voice. She felt it resonate against his chest where he held her. "Calm down. Let's get you back to bed. You shouldn't be up and about yet."

"No one's going to hurt you," Clara added. Cecilia doubted that though. But there was nothing left in her that could fight.

James felt awful looking at the defeated form of Cecilia sobbing and crying in Abraham's arms. Granted, Abraham was so burly that he dwarfed most people around him, but Cecilia seemed even smaller and more fragile than before. What was more, she honestly believed that they were going to hurt her. And why wouldn't she think that?

He had managed to play his part perfectly at the auction. Every man there believed he was going to be cruel and heartless to her. He had threatened her and bought her for Christ sakes! He wanted to do anything to lessen the mental and physical anguish she was in. The best way he knew how to do that was to stay away.

There seemed to be nothing for it though. Clara was dragging him back up the stairs and into the room they had set aside for Cecilia. Clara insisted that the guest suite she prepared for Cecilia's arrival was best for her to recover in, with its soothing beach-at-twilight colours.

That arrangement had been another thing that nagged at James. He had wanted to give up his own bed and let Cecilia take his room. But he bit back the suggestion, the gentleman in him realizing how inappropriate that would seem.

The three filed into the room and Cecilia looked at them wearily through teary eyes. God they were expressive! What James wouldn't do to have those eyes look at him without fear. He had put it there though, so he forced himself to endure the frightful way she took in her surroundings.

Abraham handled Cecilia as if she would break and set her on the bed. "There. Don't try to get up. Anything you need, we'll fetch for you."

"See?" Clara insisted, "We're not going to hurt you. We want you to get better."

James didn't trust himself to speak. He just nodded. Cecilia was shaking her head.

"We know what you've been though, and we're sorry we added to your hurt, but we got you out of there. You're safe here." Abraham was speaking slowly and calmly. Clara smiled and nodded, "They rescued you, Abraham and James did."

James shot Clara a dark look. 'Rescue'? Ha! As if there was something heroic about what he had done. Clara ignored him, prattling on, telling Cecilia she was safe. James needed to leave the room. He caught Abraham's eye, silently communicating his frustration and guilt. Abe let him pass, and followed him out. Clara seemed to have the comforting and reassuring well in hand. The presence of the two men seemed to intimidate the girl.

Cecilia had stopped paying full attention to what Clara was saying after she said 'rescue'. That was a loose term for her wasn't it? It was more like out of the frying pan and into the fire. Sure, she wasn't with Master anymore, but Clara was clearly a slave to the two men. They were both so intimidating in different ways. The bald man, Abraham, was huge and muscular, and had already demonstrated how easily he could handle her. But the other one, James, he gave her the impression that he could see right through her. He looked intelligent, giving the impression that his intellect could pin you down with a whim of his thoughts. Cecilia was even more afraid of him. The look he gave Clara was not lost on Cecilia. He knew that they hadn't rescued her. That clearly wasn't the intent. She felt anger in his gaze too. When he left, Cecilia was relieved.

For now though, her situation seemed somewhat better. At least she wasn't chained naked to the bed. Clara would be of little help, she was clearly broken and in love with the two men, but maybe she had information.

"What happened to me?" she strained to ask the question. Cecilia couldn't remember past the auction, and the things leading up to it were foggy around the edges.

"Doctor Patel said you had a concussion, so that's why you probably feel dizzy. You've got a few cracked ribs, and... well dear, your back..." Clara trailed off, not wanting to graphically remind Cecilia of the whipping she endured.

Clara didn't need to say more. That was all the prompting she needed. Master had whipped her bloody, he kicked her when she bit him. She remembered putting up a fight though. She didn't realize she had squeezed her eyes tight against the memory. Clara was comforting her, rubbing her shoulders and arms as she cried.

***

James had approved the concert schedule that his agent sent over. In order to recover his finances after Cecilia's rescue, he quickly contacted his agent and said he was suddenly very interested in touring. The money for touring worldwide, visiting concert halls and appearing as a guest conductor would quickly refill his accounts, even if his stock portfolio was going to take longer to recover.

He looked over the repertoire that his agent had arranged. Beethoven, Bach, Rachmaninoff... the giants in solo piano greeted him like friends from a slightly shady past. No easy pieces here. All were monstrously difficult beasts of musical canon. Good. He would let preparing for these dates absorb his attention. He had taken very light work this concert season, turning down dates with overwrought programs or ones that required lengthy travel, happy to perform now and then, but comfortable enough not to have to take anything he didn't want. That had changed. James welcomed the distraction.

The Goldberg Variations, The Pathetique, Mozart piano sonatas... it was predictable, but the music was still good. He was excited to see his itinerary in Berlin would include guest conducting some Prokofiev. He could bury himself in the music and let Clara take care Cecilia. Clara was at times, too domestic and accommodating, but now he was grateful that it appeared he could rely on her to help Cecilia recover. He searched his music library and pulled out his Bach sheet music.

***

Clara had drugged her. Cecilia was sure of it because she couldn't keep her eyes open. They were heavy and she felt so warm and comfortable. Languor was suffusing her limbs. Her belly was full of delicious soup, her throat soothed by the tea Clara made her drink, and now she was falling asleep. But she couldn't. Cecilia knew that the air of safety that Clara and her two masters were creating was false. They were trying to manipulate her into thinking she was safe.

Clara watched as Cecilia's foolish exertion caught up with her. The poor dear was drowsing, even as she tried to finish her tea. Clara cleared the tray away, and dimmed the blinds, letting the room darken so Cecilia could sleep.

Abraham peeked in as Clara was turning to leave. "How is she?"

"Tuckered out by the look of it. But that's good. She needs rest."

"Mmhmm" Abraham agreed. He adored his wife when she was like this. Clara's soul was so generous with its compassion. He took Clara in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "I know James appreciates you taking care of some of this."

"Well, it's the least we can do after all. I'm not sure she believes me, that she's safe."

"That's going to take some time. She's got trauma, and the way James and I got her out of there was... well, let's just say, I wouldn't trust us right away either." Clara nodded. Abraham had been angry after he and James returned. He wouldn't describe the scene in detail, only that it sickened him. Clara could see that affecting him as his face darkened.