Chapter 1

- Present day -

I poke two fingers between the venetian blinds and peer out through the gap into the night. The sights of the city are accompanied by the erratic flickering of blue and red police lights and several harsh white beams coming from the encircling SWAT helicopters. I look down and see that the parking lot and streets below are blockaded off by cop cars and police barricades. There also appears to be snipers placed strategically on all possible rooftops. Amid the whirling lights and lethal guns, poised with careless magnificence in the very centre of the parking lot, stands a slim brunette, clad in uniform black with a megaphone to her mouth. She stares up at me, and even from this distance, I can make out the smug, self-satisfied expression twisting her features.

"Bernard Halek! This is Detective Evelyn Davis. We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up!"

Great, I think dryly, but what's option two?

Sighing, I close the blinds and lean heavily against the wall.

What the hell went wrong? How could it have come to this? I thought I was so clever, always just one step ahead. I was so very careful. Apparently not careful enough, I think bitterly, studying the gleaming steel of the Smith & Wesson revolver in my hands. I know I am fucked this time, and fucked good.

No way out. No more chances.

With a humourless smirk on my face, I retreat back into the center of the room, far from the windows, wondering if there is anything I would have done differently had I the opportunity to do it over again. A moment later I shake my head. No, I've come too far, enjoyed myself too much to have regrets now. All things must end eventually, the good, the bad and, in my case, the especially vile.

I approach the group of terrified hostages sitting huddled along the back wall. They keep their head down as I pass, not wanting to catch my eye. Clearly, there is no one about to play the hero in this particular crowd. Lucky for me, I suppose. I pace the length of the room trying to think, but the persistent cry of the sirens and whirling buzz of the choppers outside crowd my head.

What to do? What to do? What to do?

Nothing. I am trapped like a rabbit in a hole and there's nothing I can do about it. Guess, it's time to pay the piper. Time to face the music. Time to quit with these tired clichéd phrases.

As I feel the end closing in around me, I find my thoughts wandering back to where it all began, with my advent love so very long ago. Half-remembered images, vague and full of light fill my mind's eye.

Silk-smooth hair, black as midnight drifting in the summer breeze; a pair of dazzling eyes blue as glacier ice; silver clips on glossy black shoes...

Monday, April 2nd, 2007 Boston, Massachusetts USA

Anabelle, such a lovely name. Smart. Sophisticated. French

And she is all of these things, but so much more. She will be wearing her catholic school uniform when she comes out, her luscious, raven hair past her shoulders, loose and tossing in the breeze. The graceful movements of her slender figure so easy and refined, as she turns to call good-bye to her friends

I watch for her, waiting in front of the exclusive, all-girl private school, but she will not recognize me, minimal as my disguise is. Her world does not include people like me, well, people who do the sorts of things that I have planned. I pretend to read a magazine as I wait in the black sports utility. I am going for inconspicuous: dark glasses, dark hairpiece, dark thoughts lumbering through my head. I check the front doors of the school again. Sunlight streams in through the clear glass panels. Adolescent girls hang around the stone steps and along the railing; talking, texting, tapping their feet impatiently as they wait for their overdue rides. No Anabelle. I look at the digital clock.

3:39

Where are you, my love? Mon petit chou?

Anabelle is ... a sweet girl. Yes, that is the best way to put it. I have never seen her lose her temper, raise her voice at anybody or even stand up for herself. She is quiet but attentive in class, and never raises her hand to answer a question, though if asked, she always answers correctly. She is soft-spoken, kind to a fault and her brilliant blue eyes give her the look of a lost faerie child, or maybe a timid nymph. One could just pass her off as extremely shy, but there is far more to my Anabelle than that. She has a certain fragile quality about her that brings to mind a rare, precious treasure that, if handled too roughly, could shatter without any warning.

This delicate sensibility of hers can only be the result of her over-bearing, over-protective father. William Reynolds II is the executive director of the international conglomerate NovaTech; a multi-billion dollar company that makes everything from electric toothbrushes to rocket fuel for NASA. Calling him rich is meaningless; his net worth rivals the total GDP of some small countries. Mr. Reynolds (even I call him that) treats his family as he treats everybody else, like property, there to do his bidding and make him look good. His dazzling wife and lovely daughter are with him at all public events and photo shoots, all smiling, all apparently happy.

Anabelle ma belle plays the faultless dutiful daughter, always on time, always getting good grades, always doing what she is told. She knows who I am of course; I am her French professor, Monsieur Halek, the benevolent, older gentleman who is always so polite to his students. She likes me, I know that much, and she often comes into my office during lunch for after class lessons. I am very gracious to her, taking into account her gentle nature and patiently explaining to her verb conjugations or the plus-que-parfait tense while my heart races at the exquisite torture of her nearness.

Did I mention how luminescent the smooth skin of her face is? Or the incredible softness of her candy pink lips? The luxurious sheen of her obsidian hair?

Did I mention she is only fifteen years old?

I would often lean over her shoulder and smell the sweet bubblegum scent of her breath, warm and irresistible as it wafted past my face. She was an angel. I would call her that, mon petit ange, tell her that she is the loveliest girl I've ever known. It means nothing of course, not really, not to her. Anabelle smiles and says, merci, mais vous êtes trop bon, and that would be that. I would give her innocent pats on the shoulder when she arrived at the correct answer or affectionately caress her arm in encouragement when she grew frustrated. I think she imagines me as something of a kindly uncle she never had. But to me she is the world.

I've been following her for over six months now, and know her routine perfectly. At first, stalking Anabelle was simply an amusement, a forbidden pleasure I would indulge whenever the need arose, and it would arise quite regularly. I enjoyed the effortless grace of her walk, perfectly balanced like a dancer, or was it more like a regal princess? Such elegance is hard to define. When she went out with her family to a restaurant, I was there, sitting across the room from them, from her, observing the way she took her small, dainty bites. She had a small dainty mouth, I noted. Enchanting.

Some days I follow her to her swimming lessons, and, veiled behind the anonymity of sunglasses, gaze down from high in the bleachers as her pale, sleek form cuts through the water. My jaw clenches as I watch her emerge from the pool, wet and dripping, water streaming down her long legs. I have even followed the Lincoln as it shuttles her home to towards Beacon Hill where large, extravagant mansions housed the wealthy and the ever so important.

After months of this sweet torment I realised it wasn't enough anymore. I wanted to experience her fully, completely, unrestrictedly. I wanted to run my fingers through her thick cheveux noirs, kiss that special, scented spot where her neck met her shoulder, feel her supple body yielding beneath mine, exquisite submission. It was driving me mad to be so close to her and yet so very far away. I felt I was dying daily, piece by piece, being near her but unable to touch her, but I knew that should I ever leave her my world would instantly collapse. So resolved, I knew what I had to do.

I waited until her father was away in Europe on a business trip and her mother in New York visiting her pregnant sister. They were often away like that, leaving little Annie alone in the house but for the maids and butlers.

It is Monday and Anabelle is expected to be leaving with the band to a musical recital. Just before the last period of the day, I went to the band teacher, Mrs. Lawrence, and told her that Anabelle was unfortunately feeling unwell and would be going home early and so miss the recital today. Mrs. Lawrence was very sorry to hear this and bid me 'make sure to tell Annie to get well soon'. I assured her I would.

I found Anabelle in the library. Her backs of her smooth calves peeked out from under her tartan skirt as she tried to grab a book that she couldn't quite reach. "Here, darling, let me get that for you." I brought the book down and handed it to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Halek," she said, giving me a beaming smile. My fingers itched to caress the freckle by her ear. When she turned to leave, I catch her by the shoulder. I could feel her vibrant heat through the thin fabric of her shirt.

"Anabelle, I received a message that I'm to pass on to you. Your mother has returned early from her trip and wants to attend your recital. She will send Thomas, your driver to bring you home and you'll go to the recital together with her. So be sure you don't take the bus with the other girls, okay?"

"My mother is home?" Anabelle asked, confused. "Did something happen? Is everything alright?"

"Yes, yes, my dear, everything's quite alright. She just changed her mind and wants to be there when you stun them all speechless with your playing." I smile reassuringly, drinking in her fresh beauty with my intent gaze. "She'll be waiting for you so do try and come right out. Alright?"

Anabelle nodded her head and thanked me again.

The bell rings.

So here I am, humming nervously as I wait in the Lincoln I rented just for my insidious purpose. The butterflies in my stomach seem to be having a lively garden party. There are so many things that could go wrong. What if Mrs. Lawrence calls to check up on Anabelle? What if Anabelle recognizes me? What if her parents really do come back home early and I'm charged and convicted? Somehow, I do not think I have it in me to last in a state penitentiary for very long.

I grip the steering wheel very tightly and nearly jump out of my skin when the backdoor of the SUV pops open. I watch surreptitiously in the mirror as Anabelle tosses her bag and violin case on the seat and climbs in. I release the breath I've been holding in and slowly pull out of the lot.

As we head south through the city, I keep checking the mirror to see what Anabelle is doing. She is reading a novel I assigned just last week, Les Misérables. She appears to be half way through it already. Yes, one could call her a keener of one chose, my studious little biche.

The closer we come to my house the more agitated I become.

Almost there. Almost there.

I check the mirror again then start when I'm met by a pair of sapphire eyes staring directly back at me.

"You're not Thomas. Who are you?" Anabelle asks, sounding puzzled but not frightened.

"Um, I'm the substitute. Thomas is sick so Mrs. Reynolds has asked me to pick you up instead."

At the mention of her mother Anabelle's focus is diverted. "Did mother say how her trip went? Did she see Aunt Louise?"

I smile. "Yes it went quite well. There is even a surprise waiting for you when we get home."

Anabelle smiles and absently looks out the window.

"I thought we were going home," she comments a little while later as she looks out at the Charles River. "We are going the wrong way."

"Just have to make a quick stop and pick up something for your mother. Don't worry we'll be home before you know it."

Anabelle is quiet for the remainder of the ride, but as I watch her in the mirror I can see her getting more and more apprehensive. When we finally enter my subdivision, the sun is setting and the street lights are already on. I check the dashboard clock as I pull into my driveway.

4:12

"What are you doing?" Anabelle demands, the first tell-tale signs of worry edging her voice. I open the garage door and back inside without bothering to answer her. I turn off the car. "Please, what's going on?" She asks again. Her voice is small and scared.

I get out and go around the car. Pulling out the plastic bag from my coat pocket, I open it up and unwrap the cloth soaked in chloroform. I take it and open the backdoor where Anabelle is watching my every move with round eyes.

"What are you doing? What is that? No, NO!" Anabelle shrieks and bats ineffectually at my hands as I try to grab her wrists.

"Stop fussing, silly. This won't hurt at all." But it does hurt when Annie's small fist connects with my face. "What the hell?!" I back away for a moment and feel my nose. My fingers come away with a little blood. I grin at her holding my nose. "Didn't know boxing was one of your talents, Annie. But we'll have to discuss it later. Right now you need to sleep."

I grab her shoulder and shove the cloth up to her face, covering her mouth and nose, forcing her to inhale the fumes. Anabelle struggles weakly for a moment then goes limp in my arms. I put the cloth back in the bag and toss it on the seat beside her backpack. She hardly weighs a thing as I pick her up and carry her inside. I go over to the living room and lay her gently down on the sofa.

I study her as she lies there unconscious. She has on her uniform: navy blue blazer, white shirt and tie, chequered skirt and pristine white stockings. Her shiny black loafers have little silver pins on them. I like them especially.

I go into the kitchen and grab a tissue from the counter to wipe the blood from my nose. My unexpectedly volatile Anabelle, I reflect with wry amusement, always full of surprises. I decide to make a pot of tea while I wait for her to wake up. Returning to the living room, I sit down across from her so I can sip my tea and watch the subtle, rhythmic movements of her breathing. I watch as her eyes flutter. She wakes up slowly, shifting lethargically as a soft moan escapes her mouth.

My mouth has gone suddenly dry so I take another sip of tea. I stare transfixed as Anabelle moans again and her thick lashes flutter open, her vibrant sapphire eyes dazed from her drug-induced stupor. When Anabelle's eyes finally clear, she notices me sitting there and springs up. Swaying with the after-effects of the drug, she puts a hand to her temple as she is momentarily disorientated.

"Easy now," I say, putting my tea cup down and going over to kneel beside her. I reach out a hand to rest on her shoulder, steadying her, and another to check the pulse at her neck. "You'll be fine. It will take a while for the effects to wear off but there will be no permanent damage."

"Where am I?" Anabelle asks groggily.

"You're in my home, my dear," I answer. I watch her intently as she looks around the room with vague bewilderment.

"Why am I here? I thought ... I thought you were taking me to the recital..."

I sigh heavily and put my tea down on the table. Then I take off my sunglasses and remove the thick wig from my head. It has begun to itch and I am glad to be rid of it.

Anabelle starts as she suddenly recognizes my face. "Mr. Halek? Why ... why were you wearing that? I do not understand."

"You will, my dear, you will. And, please," I say, moving to sit down next to her, "call me Hal. It was what my mother used to call me. Tonight I will call you Annie and you must call me just plain Hal."

Anabelle is too stunned to notice how close we are, our knees bumping into each other as we gaze at one another. "Mister ... Hal," she says finally, "why did you bring me to your house. Where is my mother? She will be waiting for me."

"Your mother is still in New York," I inform her, "and will be remaining there for the next few days."

"But ... but I thought she had come to watch me play."

"I lied," I say bluntly, shifting comfortably in my seat.

Anabelle is momentarily rendered speechless. Then she asks, haltingly, "W-why?"

I smile at her. "How else was I going to get you alone, my silly duck?" I reach behind her head and playfully toy with her hair. It feels like spun silk.

Anabelle continues to just stare at me, trying to understand. I watched the emotions play over her features, amused at her confusion and growing fear.

"Why do... (she pauses here and swallows hard) why do you want me alone. Is this about school?"

I let out a soft chuckle which sounds dreadfully sinister even to my ears. "Not in the way you think, my dear," I reply as I shift closer. "Although I am truly hoping to teach you something new tonight. I want to show you the true meaning of passion. What it means to love and to want, to crave the touch of another on one's body." I watch with fierce satisfaction as her breathing grows shallow at my words and in the matter-of-fact manner in which I speak them. Her eyes have darkened almost to violet.

"I don't understand" she says in a breathy whisper.

I lean forward until our faces are nearly touching, until her whole world is filled with me and me alone. "I'm going to make love to you, ma fifille," I murmur into her ear

A strangled sound emits from Anabelle and she tries to stand but I hold her in place with a firm hand on her shoulder. I lean back and look into her terrified eyes and smile. "There, there, my love, what's all this now? There's no need to be frightened. It will be wonderful, I promise you, how could it not be? You are so sweet and succulent. And I love you so much. Do you understand, Annie? I love you." I wipe away the single drop that escapes from her brimming eyes. "Hush love, it will be alright, now stop those tears."

"Please, Mr. Halek..."

"Hal," I snap, the sharp tone of my voice cutting her off. "You must call me Hal. Do you understand? I will not tell you again."

"Please, Hal. I do not want to do this. Can't you ... can't you just take me home now. I promise I will not tell. Not anybody. Please.

"I will take you home, but only after I've shown you how much you mean to me. You mean so very much to me, Annie, you must know this." I trail a light caress down her cheek. "I've loved you for a very long time now. I cannot wait any longer; I will not. I must have you, tonight. We have to be together."

I try earnestly to make her understand my feelings, the sincerity of my words but she remains silent with her head bowed. I sigh again then reach for my now cold tea and pass it to her. "Here, drink some of this, Anabelle."

I put the cup in her hand and watch as she takes a calming sip. She quickly finishes the cup then she looks up again. She appears somewhat calmer, so I smile and pat my knee. "I think it would be rather nice if you sat on my lap, don't you?"

At this suggestion I see the panic swiftly return to her eyes. She shakes her head. "Trust me, it will be," I say, and without further ado, I draw her to me until her firm, young bottom is perched pleasantly on my knee. Anabelle holds herself very still, or tries to, but I feel her tremble as her soft thighs bump the hard ridge of my manhood. The very foreignness of it shocks and appals her and she stares down at the tea cup in her hands. I notice that her knuckles around the cup are white from gripping it so hard. I take the cup from her before it shatters in her hands and set it down on the table.

"See, this isn't so bad," I say. Anabelle doesn't reply. I put a finger under her chin and lift her face to mine. "I'm going to kiss you now Annie but you must not be afraid. You will like it. Girls all over the world like to be kissed, it is quite common, and it feels good too, I can assure you. Will this be your first kiss?"

A slight nod at that.

"I'm glad," I say with satisfaction, although I already know this to be true. "The first time is always special for a young girl. I will be as gentle with you as I am able, my dove, you deserve all of the pleasure I can give you."

I lean in and brush my lips against her. Her eyes close but mine remain open so I can watch her. I move my lips over hers while lightly caressing her upper thigh with my palm. I pull back then run quick, feather-light kisses from the corner of her mouth to the freckle by her ear. Anabelle shivers as I kiss the small imperfection than flick it with my tongue. I kiss her closed eye lids then return to her mouth. As my hands move to her hips and gently massage her, I open my mouth and lick her trembling lips. Anabelle stiffens and opens her eyes. They are round with shock at the intimacy of having her mouth licked by another person.

"It's alright," I say, reassuringly, "just keep your eyes closed and everything will be fine."

Anabelle tries to protest but my mouth is on hers again and my tongue is suddenly in her mouth. Her hands push helplessly against my chest but my strong arms are around her, holding her fixed against me. I swallow the moan she makes and thrust my tongue deeper into her mouth. With a deliciously helpless sound, Anabelle's fragile defiance dissolves as she slumps into my arms. I lick and nip and suck on her tongue while she meekly submits to my passionate embrace.

Finally. Finally I had her here, to touch and to taste as I had dreamt for nights beyond count.

Her taste fuels the fires of my desire and her shattered resistance fans the flames. After several minutes of ravishing the sweet wetness of her mouth I draw back and gasp for air. We both try to catch our breaths and I notice that Anabelle's eyes are filled with confusion at the novel sensations surging through her. She shifts on my lap, her heated buttocks rubbing deliciously into my thighs. Her pink lips glisten from the wet kisses and I cannot seem to tear my gaze away from them. When we both finally catch our breaths she says quite suddenly, "I have to use the restroom."

I notice she has begun to squirm on my lap and I nod absently, lifting her up onto her feet. I motion for Anabelle to follow me and show her into my large bedroom. As we will shortly be using this particular room momentarily in any case, she might as well use this bathroom. "Just right in there," I say, pointing to the door across from the large four-poster bed.

Anabelle enters and closes the bathroom door with a faint click. I make my way to the bed and sit down, crossing one leg over the other. I listen intently but there is only silence in the next room. Then my lips curve as I hear the distinct sound of Annie emptying her nervous bladder.

Eventually, as I am loosening the buttons at my collar, Anabelle comes out of the bathroom. She stands there, leaning back against the closed door and waiting for me to speak. "Come here," I command, motioning her over. She hesitates, then walks over to me, keeping her eyes trained on the carpet. I wait until she is just in front of me than raise my hands to her arms, running them up and down, trying to sooth her disquiet.

"Feel better?" I ask.

Anabelle nods without looking up. I smile. She is so timid, wondering what I am going to do, what nefarious things I have in store for her. My pulse quickens as I imagine how frightened and confused she must be feeling, here, alone with me in my bedroom. I gently draw her closer until she is caged between my thighs and I can feel the warmth of her breath on me. I lean my face against her soft tummy and inhale deeply the sweet, fragrant scent of her young body. Anabelle stiffens and her hands grip my shoulders as if to push away, but she just stands there.

"It's all right," I say drawing back and looking up into her eyes, "you don't have to be afraid of me, Anabelle. I would never hurt you, do you understand?"

Anabelle's eyes sparkle with fresh tears and she sniffles, still not looking at me. I reach up and tilt her chin, forcing her eyes to meet mine. "You know I shan't hurt you, don't you, Annie?"

She shakes her head. "Please, I just want to go home." Her voice is barely above a whisper.

"I will take you home, eventually," I say, "but first, I want to show you how much I love you. How much I yearn to give you pleasure, my little Anabelle, ma bichette."

I pull her down until she is sitting on my lap and wrap my arms around her. She is small and light, I can hardly feel her weight on my knee. Unconsciously, she leans in against my chest, ironically seeking the protection my strength offers from the grim reality of her plight. I lean in and kiss the top of her head, then her temple, then down her cheek until her lips and mine reunite. Her lips are soft and warm, beyond anything else in the world. I kiss her harder, opening my mouth so I can pass my tongue into hers. She gives a muffled protest, but I have my hand at the back of her head and simply hold her still while I sample and explore her sweet softness.

The kiss seems to go on for what feels like hours but is probably only a few minutes. By the time I pull away I am breathing heavily and Anabelle's face as flushed red. I reach for the buttons of her shirt and begin to undo them. When she realises what I am doing her hands come up to object. I simply push them aside and finish the last of the buttons. "Stand up," I order her and Anabelle reluctantly complies.

I work quickly pulling her shirt off of her and tossing it to the floor. Her tie follows next. Then goes her plain white bra, her skirt and shoes. I let her keep on her white stockings; the sensuous way they cling to her skin and ascend her shapely calves captivates my imagination. My breath catches when I see her pink panties with frilly, white lace-work. There's something about that small, erotic triangle of cloth between a girl's legs that can mesmerize a man. Such a tiny thing but it seems to taunt and tease, playfully daring a man to tear it away and reveal the forbidden secret within. I am beginning to loose control and I hurriedly yank it down her legs. After hastily removing my own clothing I pick Anabelle up and lay her down on the bed.

For a moment I do nothing, just look her up and down in wonder, running up a hand along the slight curves of her hips, the smooth contours of her inners thighs and over her flat tummy. I cup her small breast, feeling the nipple harden under my palm and squeezing gently. I bend down to take her other nipple into my mouth and relish the moan of humiliation Anabelle makes.

Resting on one elbow, I eagerly suckle her nipple while I pinch and prod the other. Anabelle is crying again, her breath catching every time I suck especially hard or pinch her soft flesh. When I take a nipple between my teeth and lightly bite Anabelle arches her back and cries out, trying to push me away.

"Ow, please. Please stop," she gasps. "That hurts. Please stop it."

I release then kiss the tender bud. Rolling off the bed, I walk over to my closet and get out two of my thin, silk ties. I return to the bed and shift Anabelle onto the pillows so that she is propped up against them. Then I proceed to tie her hands, first one then the other, to the ornate oak headboards.

"What are you doing?" Anabelle asks, her voice quivering with fear.

"Don't worry; I'm just securing your hands to the headboards. It will make it better. Trust me."

"Make what better?"

I don't answer. When I finish, I climb back on to the bed before my captive. "Now spread your legs apart for me, my darling Annie," I say smiling at her. She doesn't move, but when I put a stern hand on her leg she half-heartedly parts her thighs. "Wider," I demand. "Wider!" I grab her knees and impatiently draw them farther apart, pulling them up so I can get a good view of her little, pink cunny. With a sob at the degrading position, Anabelle turns her head away, hiding her tear-streaked face behind a dark curtain of hair.

I shift down until I am comfortably settled between her spread thighs and lower my face to lay a light kiss on her nether lips. She flinches when my mouth comes into contact with her delicate flesh. I grin up at her, mischievously, and then kiss her again, harder this time. Anabelle squirms and shifts her hips in agitation. I settle down to enjoy myself. I take a long, loving lick, beginning low and moving up to her clitoris. Annie cries out and tries to close her thighs but only manages to trap my face between them. I hold her hips firmly in my grasp and begin to work into her velvety moist flesh, lashing and stroking her with my tongue. I lick and lap at the sensitive petals of her cunt, then drive deep into her hot pussy, swirling my tongue around in the sweet, warm nectar of her body. Distantly, I register the loud, gasping cries Annie makes as she twists and turns, trying to free her hands, trying to push me from between her thighs. However, the silk bindings hold and I continue to ravish her mercilessly.

I commence moving my tongue in and out, rhythmically, as if I were fucking her with it. Then I move my attentions up and clamp my lips around her clit, sucking hard then nibbling on it. Anabelle wails and violently twists her hips from side to side. "Please, that hurts. Please stop, Hal!"