The Bat Returns From Hell
- Chapter 10: Stalker And Stalked
The color drained from Harmony's face as dozens of frantic thoughts and memories swirled chaotically. Harry was here! In the audience. Does he know I'm here? Doubt it - he seemed too relaxed. I will never speak to Tonks again. Oh dear, I used magic, twice. Were the walls between them enough to dilute her magical signature? I need to get away. But it would ruin….
"Harmony, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
She whirled around, almost falling between her mental maelstrom and those dratted three-inch heels. Christian was braced; arms open wide, in case Harmony took her second tumble of the evening. She wobbled, but stayed vertical.
"Whoa, girl! If I didn't know you better, I'd say you're working too hard." Christian joked.
"It's just … it's just…. Could you drive me home immediately once the show's over?" Harmony asked tensely, her voice almost pleading.
Christian went instantly serious, "Of course, but there'll be more parties than you can count … people you ought to meet - and who'd want to meet you … I was hoping…."
"No," Harmony squealed tightly. "I just need to get away."
"Something's really off here," Christian worried. "What's going on?"
Harmony had to give an explanation, and did. "I'm … I'm afraid I'm being stalked…"
"Goddamit," Christian swore. "Oh … sorry, Harmony. It's just upsetting … that sort of thing. I'll do anything you need, of course, but … but I don't think you should go to your hotel. This stalker, who knows how long he's been following you? He might just know where you're staying…."
Harry would do just that, she thought. She shook her head at her own stupidity. "You're right, but where can I go? I need to get back there. I'm going to London tomorrow."
"London?" Christian inquired, giving her an odd look. "Not that I haven't noticed your delightful accent."
"Well, I…. Scratch that," she changed her mind. "I guess not. Probably don't need to go after all…."
"Are you all right?" Christian asked, quite confused.
"As well as could be expected," Harmony recovered. "It's just this stalker business. I need to decide what to do."
"Well, for starters, you can escape to my townhouse," Christian suggested. "You've never been there, so your stalker won't know about it. Then, once you've pulled yourself together, we can think about everything else. I've been wanting to talk to you, anyway…."
"Just talk?" Harmony replied skeptically. She knew that Christian had wanted to do more than "just talk" for weeks.
He looked thoughtful. "Yeah, just talk … for now. About us, though, and about your career. Your performance here - and not just tonight - has impressed a lot of people."
Harmony was intrigued, and her fluttering stomach calmed a bit. It helped that, throughout their conversation, she kept one eye on the monitor. Harry seemed quite bored - the last thing in the world he would be if really stalking her.
"All right, then," she agreed.
"I need to make a couple of calls," Christian told her, "what with the change in plans, and all. And I'll have my car brought round." He added pointedly, "Make sure not to leave anything important behind."
"Oh," Harmony squeaked. "You know about that?"
"Of course, you're the one she trusts most," Christian answered. "First assistant always has `football' duty. I'll be back shortly." He turned on his heel and quickly strode away.
* * * *
Thankfully, the show was almost over, and all appeared well on the Delacour front. The Maréchal had nothing but praise for the show from the moment it started, and had yet to see Gabby.
Another intermission between collections neared - and Gabby's was next. Through some weird free association, thinking about Gabby got Harry thinking about daughters - his own daughter - and that led to an idea to modify the text of the advert he wanted to place in the New York newspapers.
He pulled the parchment and Muggle ink and highlighter pens from an inside pocket of his 5000-galleon, Italian cut convertible robes-almost tuxedo. "Bugger," Harry muttered. It was too dark to see until the house lights came up.
Just then, a bit of light caught Harry's eye. A service door beneath the runway opened and an assistant to one of the front row muckety-mucks cautiously entered. The one in the light yellow gown, he realized. Her boss was the middle-aged woman seated almost directly in front of him. Stunning women abounded, but something about that one's walk attracted his attention.
He'd only seen her silhouette against the runway lights before. Now he was in luck….
The house lights brightened.
Like the others, she moved stylishly and virtually effortlessly despite a tight fitting evening gown. But she was indescribably different - more real perhaps - from the almost ethereal beauty of the models onstage. Somehow this one was more complex; less born-to-be-in-heels than the rest.
She hesitated when the lighting brightened. She had this curve to her cheeks and chin that….
At that moment, she lifted her eyes, hitherto kept resolutely to the floor.
At that moment, their eyes locked.
As long as he lived, Harry would never, ever forget those luminous, chestnut colored-eyes. Those very eyes had saved his life - and the Wizarding World - all those years ago. Now, those same eyes contained an ineffable melancholy glint that, Harry realized, he must have put there….
It was Hermione. For the first time in a decade, he had set eyes on Hermione.
For a long instant, they simply stared at one another - each too paralyzed to do anything else.
Hermione broke off, shook her head forcefully, turned, and fled the way she came. She was gone; the service door closed behind her.
Harry sat there. For once in his life, he truly had no idea what to do. All these years he had pursued her, but mere months ago he had sworn to himself, and to Tonks, that those days were over. He knew that the only way forward was to induce her, somehow, to come to him. To pursue her now would be hypocritical, and a breach of faith.
But she had run away again.
Physically, he could not pursue her without making a scene, and disrupting the Maréchal's hitherto delightful evening. At a loss, Harry simply stared at where she had been - thinking how he needed her more than anything in the world, and how he had bollixed everything so badly.
One thing was certain. The draft of his newspaper adverts would require drastic alteration. Nervously, he folded the parchment.
Soon enough, the house lights dimmed.
Harry paid not the slightest attention to the runway. He simply stared at where Hermione - after all these years - had appeared, like magic.
Staring helped him notice that, once the lights went down, the same door cracked open. A sliver of a chiffon-clad arm and leg emerged.
Harry tensed.
The hand made the recognizable motion of a Summoning Spell. His wand was ready before she finished. "Accio" he muttered under his breath, pointing where Hermione aimed her spell.
Harry's and Hermione's magic collided at the same object - located under her seat next to her unsuspecting boss. The result was no contest. Almost immediately, Harry's much more powerful, wand-aided spell prevailed. A small stylish, white handbag soared through the dark, right into his lap.
"Harmony Farmer," he mouthed, reading the personalized inscription. "Harmony - Hermione … Farmer - Granger."
Sweet Merlin! What had he just done? He had seized her purse, a woman's most private possession. He was acting the same way he had promised never to do again.
He had to return it, and pray she would forgive him. He was ready to banish the handbag to its original location, when another less-than-innocent idea came to him.
Should he put a Tracking Charm on the handbag? That way, he could follow her, wherever she ran, and finally try to plead his case - to beg her forgiveness, if not for his sake, then at least for Molly's.
But charming her purse was also what he had promised not to do.
After transient indecision, Harry compromised. He jammed the highlighter pen in his breast pocket, and put a Tracking Charm on the draft advertisement. With the ink pen, he signed it, "Please, hear me out just once. I'm sorry. Harry." He stuffed the parchment into her purse.
He restored Hermione's purse to its original location.
* * * *
The telephone rang too early. Nigel anxiously he picked up the receiver. "Donaldson residence," he laboriously answered in what he hoped was a sufficiently garbled voice.
"Goddammit, call off the frigging droogs!" Christian's voice demanded. "She's seen at least one of them. If she bolts, it'll screw everything up irreparably!"
"Begging your pardon, sir?" Nigel replied perplexedly.
"Come off it, dammit. You know it's me," Christian roared into the phone. "Call the droogs and get them out of sight - now. I've got things under control."
"I don't think they were out tonight. Not yet anyway," Nigel maintained.
"Maybe they stupidly took it on themselves," Christian responded less loudly. "All I know is I just talked to Harmony. She thinks she's being stalked. I've convinced her to let me bring her back there. We'll have the football without any rough stuff, and … and …."
"You've decided to go ahead with it, then," Nigel picked up where Christian left off.
"Yes, I have," Christian confirmed, his voice growing steadier. "You said it yourself more than once that she'd be invaluable. She might even take the Beast's place one day."
"And I gather she's `invaluable,' to you as well," Nigel asked.
"Umm … yes," Christian admitted. "I don't deny what I feel for her, but don't worry, I'm committed to … our enterprise … no matter what."
"So, if she refuses, then?" Nigel posed the question.
Silence fell on the other end of the line. Finally Christian stated. "Then it would be time for the droogs."
The show was almost over. Christian had everything in readiness as he entered the back (technically, below) stage area, looking for Harmony. Soon enough he found her - more distressed than ever.
He rushed to her. "Harmony, what's happened now?"
"I … I couldn't get … my handbag … the - you know," she told him in a cracking voice. "I went out there … but I couldn't…."
Christian was alarmed. "Harmony, what's gotten into you? I've never seen you this way. You're always such a pillar of strength."
"He's … he's out there," she confessed, in a hoarse whisper. "I-I-I went out there, and, he saw me - I know it. I couldn't get my purse. I had to come back. I don't know what he might do … or try to do…."
Christian was genuinely befuddled. Whatever else they might be up to, those thugs he hired "just in case" could not possibly be in the audience. "You mean - your stalker … he's watching the show?"
"Y-y-yes."
"This is someone from your mysterious past, isn't it?" he interrogated.
"What?!? What did you do?" a stunned Harmony answered.
"Later. Let's just say I can Google, too." Christian told her firmly. "For now, just show him to me, and I'll take care of…."
"No!" Harmony screeched. "He … he … well, he's trained in martial arts. You wouldn't stand a chance. Just, go get my purse, please."
Christian immediately backed down. The last thing he needed a physical confrontation throwing a monkey wrench into everything. "Whatever you want, Harmony."
As carefully and inconspicuously as possible he slipped through the door and made his way to Harmony's vacant chair. Christian knelt down and found Harmony's purse, right where she said it should be. This mystery person, whoever he was, surely had Harmony psyched out….
"Mister Donaldson, what are you intending with Miss Farmer's handbag?" a familiar voice hissed, as cold and calculating as a snake's.
"Ms. Beastly, I'm taking it to Miss Farmer," Christian said evenly. "She told me to get it, and when she gives an order, I don't ask questions. You should see her back there."
His answer satisfied the grande dame. "Quite," she pronounced. "I can imagine. Well … be off with you, then."
Harry's eyes followed the man as he left. Something was going on, and he had to find out what. One furtive spell, and his mobile mirror glowed red.
"Maréchal Delacour, I'm afraid I have to step out a bit," Harry lied through his teeth. "I've been in touch with your Ministry about … er … it's rather delicate and involves industrial espionage. Here's a Muggle mobile phone and Gabby's number. Just punch it in, and she'll meet you after the show. If I don't see you again tonight, I hope you've had a good time."
"Yes, Harry, I have," the old man smiled back. "Simply smashing. I'm so pleased you suggested this. Do what you have to do, then."
Harry hurried out. Once in the lobby, he ducked into a men's room and activated the Tracking Charm. He suspected that man had stolen Hermione's purse.
The moment the last collection's presentation was finished, Christian and Harmony bolted for the exits. Harmony was slowed by numerous backstage well-wishers congratulating her on bringing off a flawless show. The side lobby was swirling with elegantly dressed people leaving the show when the two of them emerged. As quickly as the crowd permitted, they made for the sanctuary of the Parisian night.
Then it happened.
Briefly the crowd parted and there, not five metres away, Hermione saw Harry, looking directly at her.
Finally, after all these years, he had her cornered.
There was nothing else to do.
"Christian?" she mumbled, her tongue thick with trepidation.
He turned towards her from battling the crowd. "Yes, Harmony, wha…? Mpfh…."
She kissed him - hard - square on the lips, with as much emotion as she could muster.
Harry's eyes went big. He felt like Hermione had shoved a giant hook down his throat and yanked his guts inside out. His head swam. His eyes watered.
He was too late. She had found someone else. Not only that, she was bound and determined that he know she had found someone else.
It was over - whatever "it" was.
Barely able to stand, Harry stumbled away, jostled this way and that by the crowd, until reaching a wall. Steadying himself, he inched along until encountering an unlocked door. It only led to a small janitor's closet, but that was enough.
Closing the door, Harry Disapparated with a loud "pop."
* * * *
Neither Harmony nor Christian said much on the drive to his rented townhouse.
Finally, Christian broke the silence. "Harmony … back there … I don't know whether to say `thank you' or `you're welcome.' I don't know what I did, but if you'll tell me, I'll do it again."
"Christian, umm … it's not what you think, not yet," Harmony replied from the passenger seat of his rented Jaguar XK. "Harry … er … the stalker. I saw him. That's why I kissed you like that. I hope you're not offended. Because, I think … I really do like you…."
"You mean that skinny guy with the messy black hair and green eyes?" Christian dismissed, a bit miffed. "He doesn't look like much. I'm just surprised … surprised such a runt could throw you for a loop like that."
"You don't know Harry," Harmony replied.
"Don't care to, either," Christian responded with Muggle disdain. "But I would like to know you better."
"That's a distinct possibility," Harmony allowed, with a shy smile spreading across her face. "But I need to get back to New York first."
"Right," Christian said, again backing off.
They pulled into a reserved parking spot in front of an elegant, Second Empire townhouse in Montmartre. Christian practically leapt out of the car to open Harmony's door for her.
He guided her inside, through the sumptuously appointed living and dining rooms, until they reached the kitchen. She stopped short, surprised to see Nigel seated at one of several white-painted wooden chairs around a plastic-covered table.
"Nigel, what are you doing here?" Harmony asked. "I thought you were on your way back to New York."
"Long story," he said.
"This is what I want to talk to you about," Christian began. "Things aren't as they seem. Runway hasn't done as well as the financial market thinks it should. It's ripe for a takeover."
"Well, that's all for the good," Harmony allowed, "as long as Ms. Beastly runs the content, new ownership could be a good idea."
"Umm … Harmony, Ms. Beastly is part of the problem, not the solution." Christian intoned. "We want you to be part of the solution."
Harmony's jaw dropped. "Without Ms. Beastly?"
"Yes, that's how it has to be," Christian continued. "You see, I've put together this syndicate. A hostile takeover starts tomorrow morning with a stock run in both London and New York. If you just sit tight for twenty-four hours and…."
"But, Ms. Beastly…," Harmony protested.
"Ms. Beastly has a golden parachute ensuring she'll never have to work another day in her life," Nigel broke in. "She'll be well taken care of."
"Harmony," Christian continued, an emotional edge creeping into his voice. "The syndicate … they envision me running Runway, at least for a while. I want you to be at my right hand. Later, probably not all that much later, I see you running the magazine…. I see you as the next Ms. Beastly, only you're a much nicer…."
Harmony stood her ground. "I'm sorry, Christian, I can't. This isn't right. Ms. Beastly gave me a chance when nobody else would. She's given me her trust, I can't betray it…."
Harmony's Hiptop mobile began ringing, with that distinctive tone - "That's Ms. Beastly now, I'm sorry Christian but I can't, and you can't…."
She opened her purse to retrieve the phone.
"Harmony, don't…."
"Sorry, Christian."
THUNK!!!
Something hard and heavy smacked into the back of Harmony's skull. She dropped to the floor, unconscious. Nigel stood over her, a blackjack in hand. "Too bad," he said. "She was such a clever girl."
"Damn, what a waste," Christian shook his head sadly. "I thought for sure…. She kissed me tonight."
"You've kissed a lot of pretty girls," Nigel replied testily, scowling at his sentiment.
"No, I don't mean that, dammit," Christian reiterated. "I didn't come on to her. She kissed me. I was so sure. That's why I let…."
"Don't start thinking with the wrong head," Nigel warned. "You know what's at stake."
"Believe me, I do," Christian shuddered. "Plan B it is. He pulled a cheap, throw-away cellular phone from a kitchen drawer and dialed a preset number.
"Droog one, this is base. Are you there?"
"Read yeh, guv'ner," came the voice over the static laden connection. "What's up?"
With sadness furrowing his brow, Christian told them, "We have a job for you. There's been a complication. We've … well we have something that needs disposal…."
"Shite," growled the voice on the other end. "Well, for how long?"
"Umm … we need a permanent solution, with no trace at all for at least 48 hours. Also, because this was … unexpected … you'll get a sizable bonus."
"We'll be there, guv'ner."
Christian ended the call and disgustedly tossed the phone into the sink. It shattered into several pieces. Muttering, Nigel collected the larger bits, took them to the dining room fireplace, and turned on the gas.
He came back to find Christian, head in his hands, looking down at the limp woman. Aware of the older man's presence, Christian looked up at him and shook his head. "Damn," he said. "You know, I would have married her if things turned out differently."
"No use crying over spilt milk," Nigel replied stoically, "not when there's more money than you could spend in a lifetime at stake. There's clear book binding tape in the pantry. Let's get this over with."
* * * *
"Whaddya mean still alive?" the slovenly, strongly built man complained to his mate when shown the body they were told to "dispose" of.
"That's your job, not ours," Nigel told the three coldly. "She's unconscious now, and should stay that way, since we've given her chloroform. She's bound mouth to toe in heavy tape, so she shouldn't be hard to move. We found this old carpet in the basement, so you can wrap her in that to get her out of here…."
"You said there'd be a bonus," the leader of the three men reminded.
"So I did," Nigel agreed. He extracted a roll of cash from a roll-top desk in the sitting room. "There's fifty thousand euros here, all untraceable bills. It's yours." He tossed the roll to the leader, who caught it with one hand.
"Right yeh are, guv'ner," the leader responded. "Now where's yer friend?"
"He's upstairs. He wishes it didn't have to end this way, but knows that life's life - or death's death, as the case may be." Nigel answered, making a joke of Christian's funk.
"Oh, it's one o' those," the third man, built wirier than the other, remarked. "Would `e mind too much iffn we `as a spot o' fun with `er afore we does the deed?"
Nigel blanched. "I didn't hear that. It's up to you. All we want is the corpse not to be found for at least two days. If you want to make it look like a common rape/murder, so be it. Just get out, and don't come back. You'll find the rest of your money in the usual place."
"Righto, guv'ner."
The three men hefted the heavy rolled carpet out the front door and down the steep front steps. Their beat up, dull green Atego delivery van was double parked next to the Jaguar. As they reached the bottom of the steps, something slid from the carpet and crashed to the sidewalk, spilling its contents.
"Blimey, what's that?" the man holding the rear end asked.
"Effin' `andbag," the one in front grunted. He knelt to pick up the mess, leaving the other two to muscle the carpet into the back of the van. He had retrieved almost everything when Harmony's mobile phone went off again, with its distinctive ring. It lay on the walk about a meter away.
"Fuck that," he muttered. He kicked the phone into a nearby sewer, turned, and joined his mates.
- 6 -
C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.Bat from Hell Ch 6 Endings and Beginnings.doc.doc 12/28/06
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