Part 1

Max only spotted Celeste on the side of the road when he had nearly driven past her. Of late, he'd taken to driving aimlessly at night with only the radio for company--anything to keep from being alone in his house all night.

He almost didn't see her because she was clutching a black sweatshirt around herself and hunched over as she walked, her long, black hair trailing over her like a shroud. A few seconds before Max had seen her, she'd been hidden behind the treeline, but she lurched forward suddenly, more a blur of motion than a distinct shape.

At first, Max had thought she was an animal, about to dodge out in front of his car. Even before he consciously registered that she wasn't, he'd pulled over to see if she needed help. Besides everything else, this was a secluded road that had once linked two tourist attractions but, with the disappearance of the tourist trade, now ran from nowhere to nowhere. Besides, it was starting to drizzle.

Max's initial instinct had been to pull over and ask if she was all right. But, when he saw the blood on her torn t-shirt, held together with her hands, he opened the door, "Get in."

Celeste looked up blankly as if she didn't recognize him or understand his words. Max was about to repeat himself when she lowered her head and got into the car.

"What happened?" asked Max. Celeste didn't answer.

"Do you need a doctor?"

Her head, bowed until then, shot up, "No doctors." For the first time she looked around the car and at Max. Giving him her best smile, she said, "It's nothing, Mr. Wiley. Just a bloody nose."

Max looked her up and down. Despite the tears in her shirt rendering her almost nude from the waist up, she didn't bother to cover herself. Frowning, he said, "It also looks like a split lip and a black eye. Who did this to you, Celeste? Was it your father?"

Max had never liked Celeste's father--a perpetually out-of-work, reconstituted hippie who should have been old enough to know better. So, he was a little surprised when Celeste laughed bitterly, "My father? My father can't squash spiders. He picks them up on a three-by-five card and lets them out in the garden."

"Who, then?"

Celeste lowered her head like she wasn't going to answer. Instead, she said quietly, "My boyfriend."

Max scowled, "Who's your boyfriend, Celeste?"

"Neil Rasmussen."

Max muttered a profanity. He knew that little bastard. He had been a student of Max's wife, Abigail, three years ago and already left back once. At least once a week, Abigail had regaled him with a tale of some new atrocity Max was accused of or, more commonly, had gotten away with. If he was still in school and hadn't failed too many classes, he would be a senior. Celeste was a sophomore, sixteen years old at the most and had been one of Abigail's favorite students in the last year of her life.

"What else did he do to you, Celeste?" Max asked as evenly as he could.

Celeste shook her head in the negative, refusing to answer.

"My house isn't far from here," said Max. "Do you want me to call the police?"

She shook her head, not raising it.

"Your parents?"

She shook her head more emphatically.

"All right," he said. "Let me take you home with me. We'll figure out something."

She nodded her head, raising it to make eye contact, a brief smile on her split lips in spite of everything, "Thank you, Max."

"And zip yourself up," Max said gently. "It's getting cold."

Inside the house, Celeste sat on the couch, holding her sweatshirt closed with one hand. Max wrapped her in a blanket and got her to press an ice pack to her nose and eye before he sat on the easy chair catty-corner from the couch.

"Celeste," he said quietly. When she turned, he handed her a dollar. She looked down at it questioningly.

"I want to offer you my services for a flat fee of one dollar. You know what I do. Right?"

"You're a lawyer."

Max nodded, "That means if you hire me and we talk, I can't tell anybody about it--nobody, no matter how horrible what you tell me is. If you killed somebody, then hired me to defend you and told me you killed them, I couldn't tell anybody. Do you understand?"

After a moment, her face lit up, "Yes."

"Would you like to retain my services?"

Celeste looked down at the dollar, "Max, this would pay for about two minutes of your time."

Max couldn't help correcting her, "Actually, it would pay for less than twenty seconds at my normal rate. But, I'm offering you my services for the next twenty-four hours for one dollar. During that time, you would be my client. Do you wish to retain my services?"

Celeste nodded. Max took the dollar back from her limp fingers.

"What do you want to do next?" Max asked.

"I want a shower and some sleep," said Celeste. "Just a few hours."

"That's fine," said Max. "But, if you do that, you might be losing the ability to make some important decisions and regret it later. Are you up to answering a few questions?"

Celeste nodded, her dark eyes meeting Max's.

"Did Neil have sex with you tonight?"

"Yes."

"Was it consensual?"

Celeste's expression didn't change, "I don't know."

Max frowned, "Why don't you know?"

"I didn't fight him."

"Did you tell him to stop?"

"I think so. It doesn't matter, though."

"Why doesn't it matter?" Neil asked.

"He never listens when I tell him to stop."

Max looked her over to judge her mental state. She met his eyes, speaking without emotion as if she were reciting a particularly uninspired school paper. It didn't bode well, but it did mean he could probably push a little bit harder with his questions.

"So, this wasn't the first time that he raped you?"

Celeste shook her head, "No."

"How many times has he done it before?"

Celeste shrugged, "I didn't count. More than a hundred. It started last spring. We do it at least one night a week, sometimes several times a night."

Max was too stunned to speak for a moment. When he found his voice, he asked, "And you don't want to go to the police?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

Finally, a tear rolled down Celeste's cheek, "He would kill me."

"What if..." Max paused, knowing how much he was offering to disrupt his own life. "What if I could protect you?"

Celeste shook her head, "You can't protect me."

"Why not?"

Celeste wrapped the blanket more tightly around herself, "I belong to him."

"I don't understand," said Max. "How do you belong to him?"

Celeste shrugged, "I can't explain."

Max decided to try a different tack, "What if I promised to stay with you until he was in jail? And to lend my services to the prosecutor to make sure he stays there?"

Celeste wasn't crying anymore, "Max, that's very sweet. But, you can't protect me from him."

"Why not?" he was starting to get exasperated.

"Because I don't belong to you. I belong to him."

Thinking out loud, Max asked, "If you did belong to me, could I protect you?"

For the first time, Celeste's eyes brightened and showed real signs of life, "You would do that for me?"

"I..." Max suddenly found himself in an awkward position. To buy time, he asked, "What would that entail?"

Celeste blushed deep red and said, "I can't say."

Max tried not to let his anger show on his face. He'd known Celeste only in passing when she was one of Abigail's students, but she had been a cheerful and earnest girl and Abigail spoke highly of her future prospects. What the hell had Neil Rasmussen done to screw her up so badly?

"What if Neil were dead?" he asked darkly.

"Nathan Cortlandt would own me," said Celeste.

"Who's Nathan Cortlandt?"

"He's a friend of Neil's. Neil told me if anything happens to him, I belong to Nathan."

Max was having a hard time asking the next question when Celeste anticipated it, "Neil told Nathan he can do whatever he wants with me, too."

"Nathan raped you too?"

"Yes."

"And Neil knew about this?"

"Yes."

Max couldn't keep himself professional, "Christ. Did anyone else rape you?"

"Yes," said Celeste, "Neil likes to watch other people fuck me, so he lets them sometimes. Everybody's afraid of him."

"I'm not afraid of him," said Max.

Celeste shook her head, "You don't know him. Please, Max. I just need a place to stay for a little while. If you try to protect me, he'll kill you."

"How?"

"I don't know."

"Celeste," said Max. "Did you tell anyone else about this?"

"My parents," she said.

"And, what did they do?"

"At first, they were furious. My sweet, pacifist father charged out the door with murder in his heart." Celeste laughed unhappily, "When he came back, Neil was with him. My father told me I had a bourgeois attitude about sex. My mother put me on the pill."

"They what?" Max roared, losing his professionalism all at once.

"Don't be mad at them," said Celeste. "They don't know any better."

It was such an odd statement for a girl to make about her parents that Max didn't know how to address it. Instead, he asked, "Did you ever tell my wife?"

Celeste shook her head, her eyes full of sadness, "I tried once, but she told me that the law said she would have to tell the police if I told her... certain things. Max, can I get in the shower now?"

Max rubbed his temples, "You're sure you don't want to go to the police? If you get in the shower, you'll have less..."

"I'm sure," said Celeste.

"All right," said Max. "Get in the shower. I'll find something for you to wear when you come out."

As Celeste rose, he said, "One last question, if you know the answer. Why did you tell me all this?"

Celeste gave him an enigmatic smile, "Because I want you to protect me."

Max couldn't keep from kicking the idea around in his head while he looked for something for Celeste to wear when she got out of the shower. She wanted him to protect her. But, he couldn't protect her because she didn't belong to him. So, she must want to belong to him. But, her blush had made clear what that meant. At most, she wasn't even half his age. If she were sixteen, it wouldn't be a crime here in Connecticut, but it would still be wrong. And, while he no longer cared much one way or another, it could probably get his disbarred, particularly since she was now putatively a client. He certainly hadn't considered that angle when offering her his services.

He would have to find another way. He didn't know how he was going to accomplish it, but he wasn't letting her go back to Neil Rasmussen.

After Abigail's funeral, he'd had movers in to put all of his wife's possessions into storage. Now, he searched around his bedroom, hoping they'd missed something. He knew they hadn't. Finally, he settled on a red plaid flannel shirt he hadn't worn in a while. He knocked on the bathroom door.

"Come on in," Celeste called.

Max opened the door, stepped around the back of it, and hung the shirt on a hook there.

"I found a shirt you can wear while I wash your clothes. It should be long enough to be decent. It's kind of big on me."

She pulled back the shower curtain to expose her head. As she did, she wrapped the rest of the curtain, white and translucent, around her body. Max could clearly see the shape and color of her body through it and found it momentarily impossible to look away.

Celeste didn't seem to notice, "I'm afraid only my jeans are salvageable. The shirt is shredded."

Max looked around the room. Celeste saw him looking.

"I didn't have any other clothes on," she said quietly. "Neil threw me out of the car without them. I thought he was going to kill me tonight for sure."

Max sighed, "I still wish you would go to the police."

Celeste shook her head, "The police can't help."

"Celeste," said Max, feeling impatient. "Is there something you're not telling me? Why are you so afraid of this guy? He's just a little scumbag."

"No," said Celeste. "He's really not. You're just going to have to believe me. He made me swear I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Celeste, I'm going to help you if I can. If I'm going to be up against something worse that some little nineteen year-old dirtbag, I'd like to know so that I can get resources of my own lined up."

"I'll tell you what I can, Max," she said. "But, don't ask me to disobey him. I can't."

Max was torn between wanting to ask more questions and wanting to get away from the naked girl he was painfully aware of in his shower.

"I'm going to go find you some sweats," he said.

"Thank you, Max," Celeste said, pulling her head back behind the curtain.

"Celeste?"

Her head re-emerged, "Yes?"

"How old are you?"

When she smiled, it was like her eyes bored through his chest, "Sixteen."

Max had to sit on his bed and clear his mind for a few minutes. The combination of circumstance and steam had left him feeling woozy. Other than his wife, the last time he'd been that close to a naked woman had been an obligatory lap dance at his bachelor party.

He placed his face in his hands and groaned. That was not a memory he should be bringing up at a time like this. This wasn't even a woman. This was a girl--one of his wife's students. He could almost see Abigail's disappointed frown. He chastised himself. He wanted to help this girl, not take advantage of her. But, prurient thoughts kept rising to the surface.

He was still searching for something Celeste could wear that wouldn't fall right off of her when he heard the hair dryer start, meaning she was out of the shower. He cursed himself for being too slow and grabbed the first pair of sweats on top of his laundry pile.

When the hair dryer stopped, he knocked on the bathroom door. Celeste stuck her head out the door, "Yes, Max?"

"I have some pants for you," he said, holding them up. "They're going to be much too big, but..."

"Oh, Max," she said, her eyes shining with some inner light that had been dim before. "Those would be constantly falling off of me. And, I don't need them really. This shirt is like a dress."

She stepped out of the bathroom to show him. It may be like a dress, but it was a dress that came down to mid-thigh. Besides that, it hung loosely on her and wouldn't hide anything if she did anything other than stand upright or sit with her legs crossed.

"Would you like to get some sleep now?" Max asked. "I could warm up some cocoa if it would help."

Celeste smiled, walking past him and climbing into his bed, "That's very sweet of you, Max. But, it's not really necessary." Her face grew worried, "I--I'm afraid to close my eyes and be alone in the dark right now, but I'm so tired."

"I could leave the light on," Max offered, knowing that wasn't what she was asking for.

She looked up at him sadly, "Could you... stay? Talk to me until I fall asleep?"

"All right," Max said quietly. He stood, uncertain--halfway between the bed and a chair against the wall. Celeste patted the bed next to where she lay. Sliding off his shoes, Max turned down the light and sat next to her, Indian-style.

Unknowingly, Celeste had crawled into Abigail's side of the bed. It was a different bed. Max had replaced their bed when he was expunging his dead wife's belongings. But, it was still Abigail's side.

"You've been kind of a hermit since Mrs. Wiley died, haven't you?" Celeste asked.

Max's first reaction was to refuse to answer such a ghoulish question, but there was no hint of morbidness in her voice. Instead, he said, "Actually, you're the first person that's been in the house since the funeral except movers and delivery people. I... went away for a while after the funeral. There were too many curiosity-seekers. I couldn't deal with them."

"And, since then, you've kind of kept to yourself. Haven't you?"

Max nodded.

"So, you haven't noticed any changes around town?"

Max shook his head, "Nothing immediate comes to mind."

"And, you probably haven't seen Neil since before the funeral?"

"I..." Max thought about it. "I don't think so."

Celeste's laugh was bitter, "After I go back to him, you should do what you can to watch him. Then, you'll understand."

Max said quietly, "I won't let you go back to him."

"You'll have to tie me up," said Celeste matter-of-factly. "It would be better to knock me out. It will be pain--" Her hand flew to her temple. She winced, gritted her teeth, and closed her eyes. After a moment, her whole body shuddered. Then, she relaxed and opened her eyes.

Max had put his hands on her shoulder. He looked down at her, concerned. There was a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead.

"What was that?" he asked. "What just happened? It looked like a seizure."

Celeste sat up, "It was... something like that."

"Are you all right now?"

Celeste nodded, "I just pushed my luck as far as it would go."

"What do you mean?"

Celeste shook her head, "I can't tell you what I mean. I don't have the energy. I had to trick myself into telling you as much as I did."

"Trick yourself?"

Celeste nodded, but seemed unwilling to say more.

Max found himself getting frustrated again, "Celeste, what kind of power does he have over you. Help me understand."

"I can't tell you about his power," said Celeste.

"You're saying he has some kind of actual power?"

Celeste shook her head rapidly, "No no no. I would never do that. He told me not to tell anyone about his power." She paused for a moment, as if waiting for something that didn't happen. Then, she said, "But, he never told me not to tell anyone that he told me not to tell anyone about his power. He told me not to tell anyone who could tell the police about our game. But, you can't tell the police, can you, Max? You're my lawyer."

"That's right," said Max. "Celeste, are you saying this is some kind of game?"

Celeste's eyes searched his. She seemed to be trying to find words. Instead of speaking, her hands rose slowly to the top button of her shirt. She undid the buttons quickly, as if afraid Max might stop her, but he made no move to.

Sliding the shirt free of her shoulders, she twisted to show Max her back.

"Is it a game, Max?"

Max didn't see at first what she meant in the half-light. Leaning in close, he saw. Her back had, at first, looked unblemished. But, he could see evidence of bruising--old and faded, but extensive. Reaching out, he touched her back with his fingertips, as if he could feel what did this. Celeste leaned back against his hand when he did, as if relishing the touch. Her hands were at her sides, doing nothing to hide her nakedness. Gradually, she increased the pressure against his hands, forcing them to resist or slide towards her sides and around her.

"Celeste," he said, a note of warning in his voice.

She leaned her head back, hair brushing his shoulder, "Max, please. Keep touching me like this. It's been so long since someone touched me gently."

"Celeste," he said, not taking his hands off of her. "If I keep touching you like this, it's not going to stop here. You need..."

"Don't tell me what I need, Max," she said, pushing backwards again. "If you try to take me, I'll have to fight you. But, you're a big guy. I'm sure you'll be able to overpower me."

Max wanted to protest that he would never force himself on her, but gave himself a moment to think. She'd put heavy emphasis on the word, "have."

"You'll have no choice but to fight me?" asked Max.

Celeste leaned back again. Max's hands went around her, fingertips brushing the sides of her breasts. Laying her head on his shoulder, she whispered, "Yes." Max wasn't sure if it was an answer to the question he'd asked or the one his hands had. He cupped her breasts in his hands, pulling her against his side by gentle pressure against her ribs.

"Please be careful, Max," she said. "Very soon, I'm going to have to fight you. When I do, it won't be a game. I'll be trying to escape. I'll hurt you if I have to. Please don't let me."

"Celeste..."

"No more questions, Max."

"It's not a question," he said, his voice like iron. "It's a warning. I don't know what's going on. But, if this is some elaborate plot to get me to attack you and then blackmail me, it won't work. I'll take my chances with the courts and I'll get away with it. This is your last chance to stop."

In response, she leaned back and nipped his earlobe. Max growled.

"You can't help me as long as I belong to Neil," Celeste whispered.

Max took her wrists in his hands. Celeste stiffened for a moment, as if debating what to do. Then, she twisted, trying to get out of his grip. In spite of her warnings, Max wasn't entirely ready for the abrupt change in attitude. He lost hold of one of her hands, which raked upwards for his face. He lurched backwards, falling over the edge of the bed and dragging Celeste with him by her other wrist. As he fell, he spun away so that, instead of landing on top of him, she landed face-down on the floor. She tried to catch herself, but with only one wrist free, she came down on her chest.

Max hoped he'd knocked the wind out of her. Not willing to rely on that hope, he reversed his motion, leaping on top of her, straddling the backs of her legs just below her bottom, and catching the other wrist. Celeste squirmed and fought, but had been right. It wasn't hard for him to overpower her once he put his mind to it. He gathered her wrists into one hand and slowly drew her arms upward. He didn't want to cause her pain. He just wanted to stop her from thrashing.

"Please," she said. "Try to hurt me as little as possible."