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To Belong	By : BringtheHawt Category: +A through F > Bioshock Views: 20677 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the bioshock franchise or any of its characters. I am not attempting to make any money off of writing/sharing this.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
Author's Note: Ugh! Sorry it took so long for this to get out. At least it’s my longest chapter? Kinda OC-heavy so I apologize in advance, but it’s got some Booker/Eliz interactions and a sex scene for them.
I’d like to once again recommend reading the character listing for the OC characters that appear in this chapter. A few side characters who haven’t had much of an introduction are either mentioned or featured in this chapter.
These characters are seen or mentioned this chapter: Stefano Galucci, Giovanni Galucci, Karl and Dorothy Voheim, Ernest and Martha Jacoby.
Tobelongfic . livejournal . com
(Remove the spaces)
Also there’s a poll at the bottom of my character list … I’d love for you guys to take the time to answer it. It’d really help me out and it gives fans an easy way to add their input. :D
oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Elizabeth was sitting on the apartment’s uncomfortable couch, bottle-feeding Anna. Both versions of the female were feeling restless.
The goddess was waiting for Booker to fulfill his promise. He promised to call her when he reached Buffalo. A gunfight, the death of nine men and the appearance of the Buffalonian police had caused an understandable delay … but still, she found herself anxious to talk to Booker. Once the violence had settled, she had a chance to fully investigate what had happened in Buffalo. What she saw ... disturbed her. Booker had started the gunfight -- risked his life for a man that turned out to be a lecherous fiend. The mafia was involved – which further convinced her that her plans involving New York City were absolutely necessary. And … Booker … seemed to be softening up to Lillian. Of course, the whore’s voluptuous body and alluring smile had failed to lure him in – it wasn’t that easy to charm Booker … but toss him and a pretty girl together in a dangerous situation and a guardian’s instincts emerged within him. In a strange way, Booker and Lillian’s situation in Buffalo reminded her of their struggles in Columbia. There were obvious similarities: violence, danger, a damsel in distress …
Yes, a damsel in distress seemed to inspire Booker. The ex-Pinkerton did not travel to Columbia to protect Elizabeth -- he went to Columbia to settle his own debt. It was only after a handful of conversations, several violent situations and a few tears that Booker started to truly care about her …
Elizabeth found herself irrationally scrutinizing every single one of Lillian’s actions. The brunette focused on the fact that the blonde whore seduced a Bianchi criminal before slashing his throat … and conveniently forgot Lillian had risked her life to save a fallen stranger during the shoot-out not even fifteen minutes before that.
So Elizabeth found herself watching Booker like a hawk as he walked with the Boudains and Lillian toward one of Buffalo’s cheaper hotels. He was walking beside Lillian, but he wasn’t speaking to her and he wasn’t looking at her. He was glaring at the back of Milton Boudain’s head …
Elizabeth scolded herself for focusing so much on Lillian when she finally realized it was Milton Boudain that occupied her frustrated lover’s thoughts … Her thoughts shifted away from vilifying Lillian and toward strategies for comforting her lover during their imminent phone call.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Booker was filled with nasty energy. He couldn’t control his emotions. For several reasons, he wanted to kill Milton Boudain.
He was pretty certain only one thing could calm him down right now: calling Elizabeth. Hopefully she was in his apartment. Hopefully she and Anna were safe. Hopefully that gigantic bastard Noah Reed had no plans to pay his unguarded lover a visit.
Upon reaching the hotel, Milton Boudain, in a show of appreciation, paid for two additional hotel rooms: one for Booker, one for Lillian.
Booker bitterly wondered if Milton seriously thought that’d be enough to assuage his anger.
It didn’t help that he was feeling pretty damn beat up right now. A sore rib cage, lots of bruises and a small piece of his leg was missing. How was he going to explain a new scar on his leg to Elizabeth? He didn’t want her to know about all that has happened in Buffalo … he wasn’t proud of any of it.
DeWitt sat on the hotel bed near the nightstand and picked up the phone.
A minute later, he heard his lover’s voice for the first time in hours.
“ … Booker? Is it you?”
The ex-soldier sucked in a deep breath. It sounded like she had been right there, sitting next to the phone, waiting to hear from him. For a moment, a bizarre, brief and wonderful moment, his fatigue was gone, the pains in his body was gone, his anxieties were gone … a full-bodied sense of relief had claimed him.
“Christ, Elizabeth. You’ve no idea how good it is to hear your voice, right now … “
“Oh, Booker,” his lover responded affectionately, “I’m so glad you’re safe. I had a terrible feeling something went wrong … “
“We made it safely,” he responded slowly, “just gotta see the family off in the morning and the job’s done.”
“But there won’t be a train ride back to the city until Monday,” Elizabeth sighed.
“I’ll be home by the late afternoon,” the ex-Pinkerton clarified. A day and a half never seemed like such a long time.
“ … So everything went well? There wasn’t any trouble?”
DeWitt wondered how he should answer this question. There were a lot of vile truths he didn’t want to share with Elizabeth. The situation was … really fucked up, and there was a chance his problems may try to follow him back to New York City.
“Have you … ever thought you were doing the right thing, and really committed to what you were doing, before you realized it was all a mistake?” he asked, placing his forehead in his hand.
There was a moment of silence between the two lovers.
“You can talk to me, Booker,” Elizabeth promised, “what happened?”
For a second he was tempted to just pour it all out over the phone. Discuss why he did what he did, why at the time it felt like the noble decision … he wanted to discuss Lillian and her … peculiar level of bravery … and, truthfully, he could use some advice on whether he should put a bullet in Milton’s head.
But, to talk of these things with Elizabeth? Surely she’d shun him for his impulsive violence. And his desire to keep her was stronger than his desire to be completely honest with her.
“It’s just … I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be in this damn city,” Booker admitted with plenty of misery, “I could be home with you and Anna, right now. This was …a mistake.”
“I … hate being in this apartment without you, I hate the thought of you traveling for work, but … ” Elizabeth began before providing a practical response: “we could use the money. Anna could use some new toys, I … my left shoe has a hole in it and … I’d like to eat … food that isn’t Campbell’s soup for a while.”
The words served as an oddly comforting reminder: he was doing this job for his loved ones, not for a damned pedophile. It was a terrible job, a dangerous job, but Booker now had a decent amount of money in his pocket. And, since he was being allowed to work off the remainder of his debt, all the cash he brought home could go directly to Anna and Elizabeth’s needs.
“You should have told me your shoes have holes in them,” Booker sighed, silently vowing that they weren’t far off from the day when they wouldn’t have to worry about being able to afford clothes, toys and food.
Before Elizabeth could respond, the sound of an infant’s high-pitched cry could be heard clearly over the phone line.
“Aw … Anna,” Booker called out emotionally, “I didn’t realize you were holding her.”
“I was feeding her just before you called,” Elizabeth announced affectionately, “she’s been a bit fussy this evening … I think she misses her father. – Anna, Anna … say ‘dada’ “
It took a few minutes, but soon Elizabeth managed to convince the happy infant to speak the word. The phone, and subsequently Booker’s ears, caught the sound.
A rare smile formed on the ex-soldier’s handsome face.
“It’s a good thing I have you, Elizabeth,” Booker commented, “I … I had no idea what I was going to do with her when she became a teen-- “
The words suddenly halted. Booker was about to imply Elizabeth would raise his daughter with him for over a decade. That was a bold assumption, wasn’t it? He hadn’t exactly proved to her that he could act as a reliable provider … and they hadn’t even said ‘I love you’ to each other …
“It’s a very good thing you have me, Booker,” Elizabeth confirmed gently, “you’re a lucky man.”
“I am.”
“There’s … still some things we need to discuss when you get back,” she informed seriously, “about trust and casinos and working for criminals and … acceptable behavior.”
“ … I know,” he replied.   He had a lot to answer for and at least several more apologies to make.
There was a pause to the conversation.
“ … You’ve saved my life, Elizabeth,” he murmured sincerely, “I’d … be nothing without you and Anna.”
“ … I miss you, Booker.”
The exhausted man pictured his lover smiling on the other end of the line: an image that calmed his soul. They’d continue to speak long into the night. For the first time in several days, Booker felt whole.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
In the next day’s dim morning light, blue eyes revealed themselves. Elizabeth stretched within the bedsheets.
It was strange how quickly she had grown accustomed to waking up with Booker beside her. Twenty years of enjoying the comforts of sleeping alone was negated by about four months of sharing a bed with a lover. She had no trouble exchanging the massive, absurdly soft bed she had relished in her Columbian prison for a small, uncomfortable bed that had Booker in it.
The sorceress took a peek at Buffalo – ever concerned about her Booker. Her handsome lover was already out of bed, shaving his face in the hotel bathroom. This … didn’t surprise her. Booker had admitted to her that he had a hard time sleeping before she entered his life.
She checked on Anna real quickly – her adoptive daughter seemed to be sleeping comfortably. Then she checked on her newest servant: the Negotiator. He was in an oversized washroom at Stefano Galucci’s mansion with a summoned physician and the little mob boss himself. Noah looked … diminished, but he was alive. The three men were discussing a possible blood transfusion as the physician bandaged some of Reed’s open wounds. She spied on them just in time to hear Noah insult Stefano for keeping enough physicians on-call to perform a blood transfusion at a moment’s notice, to which Stefano replied: ‘I don’t fucking care if it’s economical. Who can fucking predict what’s going to happen in this damn city? What if one of my men get shot? What if a ghost-vampire-bitch sucks the blood out of everyone’s favorite local lunatic?   Now shut your mouth before I dip my balls in your coffee.’
The brunette glowered. Apparently Stefano had upgraded her from ‘ghost-bitch’ to ‘ghost-vampire-bitch.’ How … clever.
Ridiculous buffoon.
Elizabeth sighed after pulling her sight away from the Galucci mansion. There was a small heat between her thighs. Barring their last physical exchange, she and Booker had a very healthy sexual relationship. Their morning patterns included pleasuring each other– an admittedly splendid way to start the day -- but … Booker being in Buffalo obviously broke this routine.
Still … using tears she could look at whatever past memory she wanted through countless realities. There was no reason why she couldn’t entertain herself with one of Booker’s … past performances.
Elizabeth opened a portal to an incredibly satisfying experience they recently shared – something that’d remind her of how wonderfully gentle Booker can be. She tugged up the skirt of her nightgown and relived the tender memory.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Elizabeth had been getting quite spoiled on Booker’s sensual method for waking her up in the morning. He’d pepper her flesh with soft kisses – on her shoulder, her neck, her upper back … he’d add a touch or two – a grip on her hip or perhaps a palm on her abdomen. Sometimes she responded instantly to this affectionate treatment, moving toward him and returning his kisses … at other times, she’d sigh lustfully and allow Booker to kiss her for a while ... It felt like a delicious way to extend their intimate interactions.
This was one of the mornings she made him earn her. And that resulted in many kisses, along with the occasional nip, to be pressed into her flesh. His fingers moved across her soft breasts – he neither gripped them nor tugged at her nipples – he simply massaged her skin.
Booker was hard, of course. He pressed his warm prick against her thigh every now and then – a reminder that it wasn’t only his mouth that could make her feel really, really good.
Elizabeth, with her eyes still closed, smiled. She wondered how much longer she could resist Booker’s teasing movements. There was an enticing roughness to the palms that were questing across her body – Booker’s touches were gentle; his hands were not.
Her enduring resistance seemed to inspire her generous lover. Moments later Booker was parting her thigh,s giving him access to her cunny. Elizabeth bit her lip when his head moved between her legs. Even after all these months, having his face near her pussy made her shy.
Booker slid his fingers across her thighs as he breathed in her scent. Before he even began touching her, erotic warmth was coiling within her. Of course, this was exacerbated when she felt Booker’s wet tongue run across her clit.
Elizabeth sighed as that soft, textured appendage moved repeatedly against her sensitive bud. After a dozen sensuous licks with that tongue, her soft breathing surrendered to an occasional gasp. Her holes twitched, the muscles in her thighs were tense.
Two thick fingers slid inside her already dripping cunt. For a few moments they wiggled wildly inside her, then they were pumped repeatedly through those pink petals, then they massaged her internal walls with circular motions. All the while, that tongue continued to lap at her clit.
Elizabeth continued to make soft sounds – it nearly sounded like she was purring. After a few minutes she breathed out three passionate words every partner loved to hear: “I want you … “
Moments later, that attractive physique was hovering directly above her petite body, and the thick, fleshy head of Booker’s cock was teasingly bumping against her opening.
Elizabeth moaned quietly as that rigid prick slid inside her warm, pulsing pussy. Her lover gradually climbed deeper into her snatch. A couple inches … then a pause … a couple more inches …
His testicles bumped against her skin.
“Oh, Booker,” she moaned out sweetly, wrapping her slender legs around his torso.
“You feel perfect, Elizabeth … ”
Then her handsome father was moving: slow, long thrusts into her cunny. At times she squeezed that thick, straining cock … at other times she simply tried to relax her pussy for his rhythmic thrusting. She was dimly aware of rough fingers twisting one of her nipples, forcing a tingle of pleasure in her breast flesh. Ultimately the erotic throb of her cunt held her focus: Booker’s dick spreading her insides, sliding against her inner walls …
Suddenly Booker hooked his muscular arms beneath her body and tugged her upward. With some repositioning, Elizabeth was in his lap, still impaled by that heated tool.
“Look at me … “ Booker insisted huskily.
Their eyes connected. Then the rugged man was pumping her, again. It was so wonderful for Elizabeth – being cradled in his arms, feeling his long shaft push through the grip of her opening and into the depths of her snatch. She clung to him. Their bodies rocked together. Sometimes Booker would stop thrusting and simply roll his hips. That cock would stir her insides during these moments, sensually massaging her soft inner walls and applying pressure to different regions of her cunt.
This position was so beautiful and intimate.
Elizabeth held eyes with him as long as she could. T the sight of his lustful expression, the way his lips were parted as soft breaths escaped … Her lover was so damn handsome. She cherished this.
The movements became faster. Booker was squeezing her hips, jamming himself repeatedly into her simmering body. Elizabeth couldn’t maintain eye contract any longer, she buried her head into his shoulder and began moaning repeatedly. Her packed pussy was throbbing with pleasure.
So perfect.
“Booker .. I – God, I’m -- !”
That erotic explosion seized her body. The rush overwhelmed her. She groaned loudly, twitched and trembled as tingling warmth spread throughout her.
Booker’s arms rooted her. For a time he held her still. The handsome man was rubbing his mouth across the skin of her neck as the physical thrill passed though Elizabeth. Then he continued to spear inside her body. Holding her, pleasuring her, completing her.
Elizabeth was in danger of approaching a second orgasm when her handsome lover grunted and pulled free from her sloppy, sated cunt.
Elizabeth used her mouth to complete his pleasure. She crawled out of his lap and sucked that glistening, pink cockhead between her lips. Within moments, thick globs of seed sprayed into her mouth …
She affectionately cleaned him with her tongue after swallowing his seed. He ran his fingers through her hair, watching her with those deep green eyes.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Once Elizabeth finished satisfying herself to images of herself with Booker and the memory of his touch, she climbed out of bed and took a quick shower.
Afterward, in her bedroom that remained cloaked in early-morning shadows, Elizabeth scanned through her tiny collection of clothes. She chose a fine but modest chocolate-colored dress – a gift from Albert Surgoy’s kind wife.
Elizabeth wanted to look refined and beautiful … because once she was finished with a few morning responsibilities, she was going to meet with Noah.
They had to discuss their plans for the city, and she wanted to keep the man … charmed.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The sole phone of the Voheim residence rang.
Dorothy Voheim stopped washing the dishes and looked toward it. She wasn't the smartest human alive --that was certain. Possessing an extra chromosome had some physically and mentally debilitating effects on her body, but she was smart enough to know how phones work. She was also smart enough to understand that her brother, Karl, was in the bathroom and, though he was usually the one who answered the phone, he wasn't available to do so this time.
Another ring.
The slow Voheim female dried her hands with a cloth before picking up the phone.
"Hellooo?" she answered with a proud smile. Maybe she could have a conversation with this caller.
"This is Stefano-fucking-Galucci. Put Karl on the phone," a voice snarled impatiently.
Dorothy frowned anxiously. This person did not sound nice.
"Karl is ... washroom," she responded.
"Karl. is. washroom. Truly? Am I talking to a retard? Put Karl on the fucking phone."
Dorothy suddenly felt extremely nervous and confused. Hadn't she just told this person that her brother was in the bathroom?
"Karl ... is -- "
"-- Shut. Up. And go. Get him," the man snapped, clearly frustrated.
At this point, Karl had finished in the bathroom and stepped into the living room, disturbed by the sight of Dorothy holding the phone with a look of paralyzed panic. As he stepped toward her, he could hear the myserious caller shouting at his sister on the phone.
Karl offered a reassuring smile to the troubled female before holding his hand out.
"H-here is ... brudder ... " Dorothy spoke into the phone, wishing the source of the voice would stop being angry at her. She handed the phone to Karl, wondering if she did something wrong.
Karl set the phone against his ear. Before he could speak, he heard the man's voice growl out: "Jesus Christ, who lets a dumb person answer their phone?"
Karl, without hesitation, hung up the phone. He didn't know who the man was or what he wanted, but Voheim didn't play nice with bastards. Bastards willing to insult his only loved one, in particular.
"Kaaaarl! There was a man," Dorothy scolded.
"I know," he responded, reaching up to pat her head gently, "thanks for working on the dishes."
The slow girl's expression brightened.
A moment later, the phone rang again.
Karl picked it up.
"Did you just fucking hang up on me?"
"Yep," the criminal confirmed before hanging up the phone again.
Suddenly Dorothy was smiling. She now understood that her brother was hanging up on the scary man intentionally.
The Voheims started discussing their plans for lunch when the phone started ringing a third time.
"Your turn," Karl informed his sister before pointing at the phone.
Dorothy's smile deepened. She picked up the phone and immediately smacked it back down, hanging up on the stranger. The girl giggled. They were being bad. Being bad is sometimes funny, so long as no one gets hurt.
"I did it!" She told him.
Karl pat her head.
A minute later, the phone rang a fouth time.
Karl picked it up once more.
"Damn it, Voheim! It's fucking Galucci, and I'm going to hang your balls on this year's Christmas tree if you don't -- "
"--You. Listen. Now. -- "
" -- I ain't got time for this shit -- "
" -- I'm going to hang up. She is going to answer. You will call her Princess Dorothy. You will apologize. You will be very nice to her. Then we'll talk," Karl instructed. The explanation was spoken in a surprisingly calm voice -- one that did not reveal exactly how angry he was at the mob boss for being nasty to his unassuming sister.
"Karl, listen for a damn minute, Noah lost -- "
Karl hung up abruptly.
When the phone rang for the fifth time, the siblings looked at each other. Dorothy, still smiling ... Karl, with a gentleness only his sister was allowed to enjoy.
"He'll be very nice to you this time," he promised.
The female Voheim sibling shyly grabbed the phone, hoping not to get yelled at.
"Hellooo?" she answered.
Karl leaned forward so he could listen to the conversation.
"Hi, Princess Dorothy," the voice greeted, "listen, I've had a rough night. My friend is really hurt, and I thought we were going to be killed by a psychotic bitch. So I'm upset. I'm really fucking upset. But, that isn't your fault, and I'm sorry," a pause, "may I please speak to Karl?"
"Yes," Dorothy said simply, happy this conversation was devoid of any shouting. She handed the phone to Karl with an ear-wide grin.
The Voheim brother moved the phone against his ear, satisfied with the apology.
"Reed's hurt?" Karl asked, getting straight to the point. As a rule, he didn't like long conversations.
"Yes, Karl," Stefano muttered, "your employer lost a lot of blood. I've arranged for a transfusion for him, and he said you're type-B blood, or whatever. So, we need you."
Karl froze. How the fuck did Reed know his blood type?
Oh. When he was first hired to join the Negotiator's organization, he was forced to provide a blood sample. At the time he figured it was just some sort of weird requirement made by the eccentric sadist ... Christ. Noah had a reputation for being thorough, but Karl had no idea he was this obsessed with details.
"Where?" Karl asked, wondering how many liters of blood Noah's oversized body required to function normally. Perhaps he should charge them by ounce for the impending sanguine donation.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Karl and Dorothy drove up to the gate of the Galucci mansion -- a huge, attractive home with a perfectly manicured lawn and garden. Perhaps mob bossess were the closest thing to royalty in New York City.
A few guards, a young, pretty maid and Stefano himself were at the gate. Waiting.
One of the guards offered to park Karl's car, so he and Dorothy stepped out of it and walked toward the Galucci mob boss.
Stefano wasn't exactly pretty, at the moment. His eyes were bloodshot, unrefined stubble decorated his jaw and cheek, he was pale, his brow was furrowed in an expression of quiet anger.
"You should not have hung up on me four times, fucking prick," the mob boss growled at the Voheim criminal, "and what the fuck happened to your face? It looks like someone dropped a bag of damn bricks on it."
Karl was not impressed. He was about to turn around and head back to his car but then Stefano moved to step in front of Dorothy.
"Hello, Princess Dorothy," Galucci greeted in an even tone.
"Helloooo!" she returned with a large smile.
Karl silently watched the Stefano's harsh expression melt into a soft look. It didn't surprise him -- anyone with a heart should feel touched by his sister's inherent sweetness.
"Come, come on in, Sweetheart," Stefano beckoned, reaching out to swiftly take the trusting female's hand, "this lady here -- her name is Mary, and she's going to get you anything you want, ok? Anything you want to eat or drink, toys, crayons, a damn pony ... anything you want."
"Crans!" Dorothy shouted, excitedly squeezing the mob boss' hand.
"You hear that?" Stefano asked as he turned toward the maid, "she wants some damn crayons."
"Yes, sir," Mary nodded as she began to hurry toward the Galucci mansion to fulfill the request. She was secretly relieved. Crayons were easy, she had no idea how she would have produced a pony on short notice.
"And don't forget to call her Princess-fucking-Dorothy," the Galucci mob boss shouted at the retreating maid.
Karl, satisfied with the treatment Dorothy was receiving, followed his sister and the mob boss toward the Galucci mansion.
oooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Karl and Noah were both laying on lightly-padded operating tables. They were a sad-looking pair. The sadist's skin was absolutely colorless, and the simple act of walking into the room had changed the rhythm of his breaths. The smaller criminal had a bruised, puffy face: a result of the professional nose-job DeWitt had given him yesterday.
Four physicians swarmed about them with needles. They worked both quickly and effectively: withdrawing blood from Karl's veins, injecting it into Noah's. It was a time period when blood transfusions were a clumsy, arduous process -- though they weren't nearly as fatal as they used to be before blood-typing had been discovered.
It was strange to see his boss hurt, but Karl didn't waste too much thought on the matter.    Probably half of the city's criminals wanted the Negotiator dead for one reason or another -- that's why Reed lived in some sort of mysterious location outside of the city.    Truth be told Karl didn't even care who attacked the sadistic beast. He neither liked nor disliked Noah, he just needed a job.
Karl craned his neck so he could see little Dorothy in the corner of the room. She was drawing on some paper with a set of crayons.
The sight of Dorothy's impossibly wide smile made Karl produce one of his own.
The sound of Noah's voice stole the smile right off Karl's face.
"Commendable that you continue to care for her," Reed remarked, having noticed the target of his subordinate's gaze, "most families seem to abandon dull-minded or misshapen progeny. Either send them to asylums or simply ... misplace them."
'Dull-minded' and 'misshapen' was more polite phrasing than most people used when speaking of his sister, so Karl allowed the words to pass without commenting on them. The quiet criminal could often ignore his employer's barely managed insanity and violence ... but the one thing he did not like about Reed was that he talked so damn much. It wasn't noise for the sake of noise -- Karl knew that much. Noah was a curious human being ... thirsty for details on allies and enemies. He knew how to use 'polite conversation' to get a better understanding of people, and when the Negotiator understands you it means he knows how to crush you.
It certainly made you more vulnerable to his games -- games that usually involved sharp-tipped prods.
"Exactly how long has it been since the pair of you fled the Voheim family home?" Noah asked when his first comment inspired no response from the wordless blood-donor.
"Sixteen," Karl answered.
"You both have lived alone together for sixteen years?" Noah inquired for clarification, shifting his arm so one of the tranfusion-physicians could inject a fresh sample of Karl's blood into him.
Karl nodded.
" ... Attempt to woo any women during this time?"
Karl did not answer the question. He's had sex, usually with prostitutes, but he didn't have the nerve to attempt a romantic relationship while Dorothy resided within his home. The socially-awkward criminal had a hard enough time connecting with people on his own without having to reveal his outcast-sibling to them.
" ... are you truly so committed to your sister that you haven't even made an attempt to enjoy the comforts of a normal life?"
"You?" Karl returned without an ounce of emotion in his face or voice.
Noah smirked. He assumed 'you' was Karl's way of asking 'have you made an attempt to live a normal life?' ... just like he assumed 'sixteen' had meant 'sixteen years,' earlier. Karl was truly a conversational minimalist. Perhaps it was a not-so-subtle way for the criminal to dampen anyone's interest in speaking to him.
Reed tapped the operating table with his fingers twice. When was the last time he had heard Karl utter a complete sentence?
"What did the pair of you eat for breakfast this morning?" Noah asked casually.
" ... Hamburgers."
"Odd choice. What is Dorothy's opinion on consuming hamburgers for breakfast?"
"Good."
Reed paused. Even with proper context 'good' was a completely inappropriate answer to the question.
"I've never personally prepared a hamburger for myself," the blonde criminal announced, "tell me of the steps involved."
Karl blinked and shifted so he could look at Noah. There was no doubt Reed knew how to prepare a damn hamburger. The two men looked at each other for a full minute after it dawned on Karl that his boss had ulterior motives.
That's fine, Karl decided. He can play games too.
"Go on; tell me," Reed insisted.
"A pan," Karl answered, stone-faced.
The Negotiator smirked slightly.
"Karl Voheim's cooking instructions for preparing a hamburger: ... a pan."
"Ketchup, too," Karl added.
Noah's smirk deepened as he tapped his fingers along the table once more. Perhaps a more controversial topic would further inspire Karl's tongue?
"It's an interesting year politically, isn't it? Four candidates for November's upcoming election, two former presidents, a popular newcomer, a socialist ...   What are your thoughts on the election?"
"Bastards," Karl responded flatly.
"Elaboration is required," the tall man insisted.
"Politicians."
Another ridiculous response. Once more the two criminals were locked together in a minute-long stare. It was at this point Reed realized that, despite the fact Karl had been his employee for the past four years, he somehow never realized what a bastard the man was. A very subtle but effective bastard.
A bastard with valuable type B blood.
"Mr. Voheim ... you've managed to impress me," Noah admitted, amused.
"Yep."
...
"This has been an enthralling conversation, let's do this again sometime," Noah stated before turning away from Voheim. Karl took the opportunity to smirk; sometimes the little victories are the most fun to celebrate. One of the physicians, who had recognized the subtleties of their conversation, even dared to chuckle.
Reed's venturing eyes shifted toward the pretty servant-girl in the corner of the room.
"My dear, would you kindly retrieve me a copy of the New York Times?"
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
After introducing Karl to the four doctors that were going to be performing the blood transfusion, Stefano gathered eighteen of his toughest-looking men.
Noah’s responses to all his questions were either mockingly vague or purposefully indirect, but Stefano suspected there was another way he could find his answers.
Last night, these mysterious assailants had attacked Noah in his home: the secluded cabin in the middle of the damn woods that only three people had known about …
Noah, of course … Stefano himself … and Ernest Jacoby.
So, the Galucci mob boss wanted answers, and eighteen armed men should be enough to help him find some.
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
It began with a knock.
Ernest opened the door to his home, revealing the shortest mob boss in the city … and a posse of unpleasant-looking mafiosos standing behind him. He actually recognized a few of Stefano’s men. He had, after all, once been a member of the Galucci mafia … before Noah bargained for their independence a handful of years ago …
The mustached man blinked incredulously. Stefano? Stefano doesn’t … corner people in their private homes.
“Hey Ernest,” Stefano sneered, “it’s been a while. Figured we were overdue for a chat.”
The mustached criminal grimaced. Why, after all these years, did Stefano suddenly want to pay him a visit? He had to believe this had something to do with his sadistic employer. Perhaps Stefano had finally figured out Noah had multiple spies in the Galucci ranks …
“ … I suppose you’d like to come in, then,” Ernest responded dryly.
“Yah,” the mob boss confirmed gravely, “I’d really fucking like that.”
Jacoby hesitated at the door, sparing a glance toward the ominous group of criminals that accompanied the mob boss.
“My wife is in this home, Mr. Galucci, so my invitation extends to you and you alone,” Ernest announced quietly. It was a gentle demand. They’d have to force Jacoby to move if they refused to adhere to it … Which wouldn’t really be a problem for nineteen almost certainly armed men, but Ernest was confident that underneath his surly exterior, Stefano was a genuinely reasonable human being.
To Jacoby’s relief, Stefano nodded. He stood aside, permitting the smaller man entry into his home …
“Good morning, mam,” the Galucci leader greeted when he spied a thick-hipped, redheaded woman lurking within the depths Jacoby’s home. As a rule, most mafiosos were fairly respectful toward each other’s wives ... Stefano was no exception.
Ernest grimaced as he quickly shut the door then turned to confront his visibly anxious wife. He hadn’t realized she followed him to the front door … she must have seen all of Stefano’s pet-mafiosos …
“Good morning sir,” she replied with a small nod before shifting her focus to her husband, “Ernest, love? Is … something wrong?”
“It’ll be fine, Martha,” Ernest insisted softly, “go --”
“-- Johnny!” Stefano hollered abruptly. Within seconds a smooth-faced mafioso opened the front door and poked his head inside the foyer.
“Sir?”
“Escort Mrs. Jacoby to one of her neighbor’s houses.”
“Yes, sir.“
Martha could not contain her apprehension. Before the summoned thug could even approach her, she moved before the important-looking stranger and stared him in the eye.
Staying a respectful distance from the short Italian, Martha began to speak: “We have three children. They’ve naught much in common. My eldest son, Nicolas, is fourteen. Very smart. Excellent with numbers. Destined to be an investor or an accountant, I think … An honest, well-mannered soul. My middle child, Alexander, is twelve. He’s a true American boy, loves his baseball. Plays it with his friends. He’ll sit by the radio for any game, any team. Such a spirited lad. And Abigail, my youngest, she’s seven and … to be frank, a bit of a stinker, a pixie. She’s got quite a mouth, and she loves insects, of all things! … I catch her hiding the little creatures within jars and boxes in her room. Not exactly ladylike behavior, but be not mistaken: I love and accept my little one with all my heart.“
Stefano did not exactly understand why he was listening to these details, but tears were beginning to form in Martha’s eyes and he suddenly felt like the worst fucking human being that ever lived.
“Do you know what my three dissimilar children have in common?” Martha asked after taking a deep breath.
With a stone-face, the mob boss waited for her answer.
“They love their father,” Martha revealed as two of those tears leaked, “they love him very, very much. This house would be … ruined … without him.”
Stefano eyed the concerned woman’s honest tears for a small moment. She used a lot of words to make a very simple plea: don’t kill my husband. The criminal leader couldn’t think of anything to say. Of course she was worried. Of course she was scared. Any loving wife would be – there were seventeen armed men just outside her door. The Galucci mob boss caught a glimpse of Ernest – the man wore a tormented expression.
Stefano turned toward the mafioso he had called forth to escort Martha away. All he said was: “Johnny. Be nice to Mrs. Jacoby.”
Johnny nodded and stepped toward Martha.
“Please accompany me, mam.”
A moment later Jacoby’s wife and her escort were gone, though both Stefano and Ernest heard her gasp out a sob as she stepped past the Galucci horde that waited patiently outside.
“Great,” the Galucci leader growled after Martha was led away, “that’s just fucking great, Coby. Thanks for making me feel like a total jackass in front of your wife. Thanks for making me feel like the fucking bad guy. I really fucking appreciate it.”
Ernest’s mouth literally dropped open.   Was the mob boss seriously assigning him the blame for this situation?
“My apologies, Mr. Galucci!” Ernest declared cynically, “call in advance next time! I’ll have Martha prepare blueberry muffins and coffee so we can give you, Johnny and the rest of your fine posse a proper welcome.”
Stefano, ignoring Ernest’s sarcasm, bit his inner cheek and attempted to calm himself down. Yes, he was a mafia leader -- sometimes he needed to puff his chest and threaten people, every now and then he had to consider violent solutions for difficult problems -- but he still hated looking like a prick to people outside of the criminal world.
“Your wife has no fucking clue that you’ve been working for criminal syndicates for decades, does she? No fucking clue. She thinks you’re one fine, faithful Christian, doesn’t she? You’re the good man and I’m the fucking bad guy.”
Ernest mentally recoiled. He had to believe, after all these years, that Martha at least suspected he was involved in illegal activity. But no, it’s not a subject he’s ever openly discussed with her … and he’s committed many, many sins that would probably cripple her soul if she knew of them.
Without the heart to further discuss his frightened wife’s ignorance, Jacoby shifted his focus to the Galucci mob boss.
“This isn’t like you, Stefano,” Ernest admonished, daring to use the younger man’s first name. Having once been a respected member of the Galucci mafia, he had known Stefano since he was a teenager. In truth, it was quite difficult to think of Stefano as ‘Mr. Galucci.’ Stefano’s father had been ‘Mr. Galucci’ … and Ernest would be begging for mercy already if it had been that particular ‘Mr. Galucci’ that had shown up at his door.
Stefano ignored the comment, taking the opportunity to examine the interior décor of Jacoby’s nicely-furnished home. It was a handsome home. This observation didn’t surprise him – Noah had a reputation for paying his employees well. High wages and fear kept Reed’s employees loyal, most of the time.
But apparently that didn’t work on Ernest.
“Noah was attacked last night,” Stefano announced suddenly, getting to the point of this visit.
The older mafioso stared calmly into the little mob boss’ eyes. Ernest wasn’t exactly surprised by this news – when your life’s priorities involve torturing, murdering and spying on other criminals, you tend to ruffle feathers.
That when the Galucci leader remembered to add: “At his home.”
This news surprised Jacoby. Weren’t he and Stefano the only living men who had been to Noah’s secluded cabin?
That’s when the older man finally realized why the mob boss was visiting him like this … Stefano suspected he betrayed Noah to one of his enemies. Jacoby found the accusation ironic: he did betray Noah’s location yesterday to Booker DeWitt – not his cabin, though … his favorite hotel.
“I see,” Ernest huffed finally, “Your statement implies he survived … I find that rather unfortunate.”
Several signs of rage erupted on Stefano’s face: the widening of his eyes, the furrowing of his brow, a twist of his mouth, the engorgement of a y-shaped vein in his forehead …
“You traitorous fucking rat – “
“ – Not even a full day has passed since he held a knife to my wrist and promised me death, Stefano,” Jacoby interrupted with a fair share of his own anger, “I am curiously unable to find myself sympathetic to his situation.--”
“Who did you rat him out to?!” the smaller man shouted vehemently, pointing a trembling finger into Ernest’s face, “the fucking Bianchis? I swear I will have every cow in this fucking state piss on you if – “
“ -- no one!” Jacoby snapped back, daring to slap away the mob boss’ hand, “I told no one where he lives! Though I must insist any sane man would want him dead, Stefano!”
Ernest bridled his frustrations when Stefano sucked in a loud breath. The younger man was visibly tense and clearly struggling with several volatile emotions: anger, resentment, pain, despair …
“ … Why do you care about his situation?” Ernest asked hesitantly, “It’s wasted energy, I assure you … “
The shorter man looked downward, fingers clenched.
Jacoby continued: “Reed … -- violence is a game to him, and he’s … aware that one day the dice will not roll in his favor. Lord, in the last five minutes you’ve displayed more of an emotional investment in the Negotiator’s survival than the fiend himself has for the past decade. Why?”
Another moment of uncomfortable silence. Stefano shifted his posture and rubbed his forehead. Still avoiding the mustached man’s gaze, he abruptly announced: “Gio never fucking liked me.”
The sudden twist of their conversation forced a skeptical expression from Ernest. What did Stefano’s relationship with his deceased father have to do with their current situation? He waited wordlessly for an explanation.
“Gio was – what ... over six feet tall? Six-four, maybe? Thick in the shoulders, always had this … nasty, harsh look on his face. No one dared cross him. He refused to believe a tiny shit like me could spurt out of his exalted-fucking-loins,” there was a brief pause as the bitterness on his face grew,”he told me I was as short, small and as pretty as a girl. ‘God must have forgot your breasts.’ One time the stupid bastard suggested ma must have fucked a ‘faggot dwarf’ beneath his nose.”
It was easy to provoke notions of sympathy from Ernest, and Stefano’s story did exactly that. He couldn’t imagine what it’d be like to live in the home of Giovanni Galucci. On a professional level the former mob boss had been a tyrant – violent, nasty, insatiable … Jacoby had worked for the beast for more than a decade, and he survived the reign of Giovanni by keeping his head down and doing exactly as he was told.
“I was fourteen when Gio decided it was time to make a man of me. He took me to a safehouse. There was a man gagged and handcuffed inside. Gio put a fucking knife in my hand and told me to slash the man’s throat.”
After that final sentence, Stefano’s bitter gaze returned to Ernest’s now-softened one.
“I was four-fucking-teen when he did this,” the mob boss reiterated.
Ernest swallowed anxiously. It was the same violent process that Giovanni had forced upon Noah … prepare the victim, have your apprentice slice his throat …
“Did you slice the throat?” Ernest inquired, even though he was not entirely sure he wanted to know the answer.
“No,” the mob boss revealed, face twisting into a disgusted look, “no. I told him no. I didn’t know whose throat he wanted me to slash. Maybe he hadn’t committed a single fucking crime in his life, maybe he didn’t even cuss, maybe he had nine damn kids to feed. Slash his throat? Why? Cause Gio told me to? Fuck Gio.”
“I’m sure Giovanni respected your decision … “ Ernest mumbled dryly.
“The shit-stain hit me. A lot. Broke my fucking nose, knocked me to the ground, kicked me … I cried like a bitch. And, because I had to be real fucking thorough about disappointing Gio, I ran and told ma as soon as we got home.”
Jacoby tried to summon all the details he could remember of Stefano’s mother -- Giovanni’s wife. She was a proud, proper woman – the Galucci family actually attended church while she was alive. It always seemed strange to Ernest that the former Galucci matriarch, who knew very well that her family was the epicenter of a ruthless criminal syndicate, made efforts to honor her Italian-Catholic upbringing.
The rumor was she was the only person in the world that had any influence on Giovanni’s decisions. The other rumor was that Stefano’s birth had nearly killed her, which is probably why, despite Giovanni’s extreme disappointment with their son, he never tried to force her into bearing another child.
Ernest couldn’t imagine Giovanni ever being openly loving and affection, not even with the wife he supposedly respected, but he withered away from illness not long after her untimely death … which forced one to wonder how much he may have silently loved her.
“Ma set him straight, and Gio didn’t say a single fucking word to me for the next two years,” Stefano revealed, “can’t say I was too upset about that. Anyway. Can you guess what happened six months after he tried to have me slash a man’s throat?”
Suddenly, Ernest made the connection. He understood why he was listening to this story … and he understood that the potent mix of bitterness and sorrow he could see in Stefano’s expression was a result of more than simply hatred for his father.
“He brought Noah into your home,” the older criminal surmised quietly.
“ … Gio tried to convince ma that’ adopting’ Noah was an act of benevolence. Said he’d be homeless if we didn’t take him in. But ma and I knew the truth: Noah was a replacement-fucking-son.”
Ernest grimaced, hand moving to twist the end of his mustache. He had always been so focused on Noah and Giovanni’s bizarre relationship that he never put much thought to how Stefano felt about his father’s notorious apprentice.
The mob boss continued: “I was never in danger of impressing Gio but after Noah showed up it was real fucking obvious I never had a chance. He was six feet tall at eleven-fucking-years old, strong as a damn horse. And he got bigger … I was a member of four damn athletic clubs in my teenage years but I couldn’t … I couldn’t pack on muscle with ease the way Noah could. -- ”
“ -- slicing throats,“ Ernest interrupted gently, “that was the grandest difference between the pair of you. He was willing to slice throats … you were not.”
Words intended to comfort simply summoned rage within Stefano. Rage and … were there actually tears in Stefano’s eyes?
“God, ma and I didn’t know that Gio was having him slice throats,” the mob boss insisted, unable to restrain his emotions … his hands were trembling, the muscles of his cheek and jaw were repeatedly tensing and twitching, “he was eleven … we didn’t know. We wouldn’t have guessed that Noah was even capable of that.   Noah wasn’t crazy when he first joined the family. Jesus, I thought he was a giant fucking pussy when I first met him. He was so fucking awkward and quiet, I … I thought he was a damn retard. I mocked and cussed him out whenever I saw him, he just ignored me, tried to avoid me. And Gio, Gio fucking hit him. Smacked him. Right in front of me and ma, right in front of the servants, he’d smack Noah like he was a damn dog. Of course, Ma, she didn’t care. I think she figured Gio needed someone to smack, and if he was smacking Noah, he wasn’t smacking me. Noah never complained, never cried, endured it all as calm as a fucking corpse. We devoured him. We fucking devoured him. And when he finally snapped … Jesus Christ, he tried to – “
“ – Calm … Calm down, Stefano,” Ernest insisted, concerned by the fact that the crescendo to this story was bringing even more emotion out of Stefano, “you were just a boy. The sins belonged to your father. No one would judge a boy for his naivety … “
Jacoby attempted to punctuate his reassuring words by gently gripping onto Stefano’s shoulder, but the mob boss instantly jerked away from the touch. There was too much wild energy within the younger man, now. Stefano clenched his fists, then smacked one of them against the center of his own chest.
“Don’t you fucking get it?! It was supposed to be me! I am Giovanni Galucci’s son! The Galucci-fucking-heir!”
That emotional energy suddenly became destructive. Stefano’s boot abruptly lifted to connect with a small, wooden table that had supported a lamp. The light piece of furniture fell to the ground – the lamp, remarkably, survived the fall …
“I was the one who should have been slicing throats. It was my fucking birthright. I’m the one that should have been beaten until I went crazy. The broken noses, the black eyes … they all should have been mine,” and the mob boss began stomping at the legs of the fallen table repeatedly, snapping them apart as he continued to verbally rage, “Slicing off faces and fingers and limbs … hiding from my enemies in a cabin in the middle of the fucking woods. Insane and fucking alone. I was spared the bullet. I was spared the fucking bullet because Noah took it for me. Ma protected me-- but Noah? There was no one to protect him– “
Ernest had been watching Stefano stomp on the broken table miserably. It was the first time he could see a similarity between Stefano and his father: the sight of rage that could not be contained … rage that required an act of violence to dissolve. The image disturbed him   thoroughly, and when Stefano mentioned there had been no one willing to protect Noah … the words hurt to hear. Once more he was reminded of past sins.
“Enough, Stefano, enough,” as he snagged the mob boss’ shoulder, “I assure you my table is dead.”
The mob boss’ violence halted. As he attempted to regain his self-control, he stared at the pieces of snapped wood at his feet for a complete minute before finally asking: “Did you like that table?”
“ … No,” Ernest murmured dryly, releasing Stefano’s shoulder, “it was an old thing. Martha and I were thinking about getting rid of it. I’m practically obligated to thank you.”
“Was that sarcasm? It was an ugly-fucking-table.”
“ … Right, of course. It was an insolent table – had to go.”
Stefano sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the additional dose of sarcasm.
“The fucking point, the fucking point is … “ he turned to face Jacoby, staring into the older man’s eyes, “Noah’s a Galucci. He may have never wanted it, he may have been smacked to the ground and dragged into it, but he’s one of us, now. He’s my brother … he’s family.”
Ernest examined Stefano for a long moment. He had to believe the mob boss didn’t know the exact depth of Noah’s sadistic insanity … and that’s because Reed knew how to deceive people. To strangers, he was a well-mannered gentleman. To women, he was a generous charmer. To potential clients, he was an affable businessman. Noah could even deceive people that were aware of his sadistic inclinations … he pretended that his violence was purposeful, that the people he removed from the world were detriments to society … but Ernest had personally witness Noah torture men for inconsequential crimes. Whatever ‘morals’ or ‘limits’ the Negotiator may or may not have seemed to distract people from the truth: Reed wanted an excuse to kill people.
Jacoby was hesitant to reveal these truths to the agitated mob boss – both because Stefano was acting wild and because Noah would consider the revealing of such information to his most powerful criminal ally as an act of betrayal …
He finally resolved to give the mob boss a subtle warning.
“I have limited details of Noah’s true family, his parents are gone … that I know. I also know he had four brothers. When Noah reached adulthood, they started disappearing … one at a time. Two of their bodies were discovered –mutilated, of course –“
“ –I don’t think for a fucking second Noah had anything to do with that,” Stefano barked irascibly.
“Perhaps, perhaps not. It wouldn’t surprise me if he did. Regardless, I was there when he was delivered news of his final brother being declared missing. He was entirely unsurprised, unconcerned … apathetic, even.-- ”
“—What’s this shit coming out of your mouth? Do you even know why Reed joined Gio’s mafia? – “
“—Now he is, as you wisely declared earlier, insane and alone. He operates like a man who is, indeed, insane and alone, a man without a care in this world beyond satisfying his own appetites.—“
“-- Oh I’m so fucking impressed with your criminal insight, Coby,” the mob boss snarled, using grand hand gestures as he spoke, “maybe you have it because you’re also a fucking criminal: a murderer, a thief, a fucking profiteer. Did you have time to come up with your Noah-related theories while sitting in your little church pew last Sunday? You fucking hypocrite!“
Ernest’s mouth curved into a sour expression. What made Stefano’s words particularly scathing is that there was some truth to them … Ernest judged his peers, despised most of them thoroughly, claimed moral superiority over most of them … but what sin has he not committed at either Giovanni or Noah’s behest? Simply for money. Perhaps he did not enjoy violence the way Noah did … but the inability to enjoy a committed crime does not absolve you from it.
The older man’s loss for words permitted Stefano an opportunity to unwittingly prod at another sore wound.
“Christ Coby, how the fuck would you know how Noah feels about family? You ain’t family. You’re just his employee, just another damn criminal in a city full of jackasses. Who were you when he was a cub? Just another fucking face in the mafia: the very fucking mafia that let a kid do the dirty work.”
Ernest bit his own tongue. Just another face in the mafia … is that what Noah had thought of him during their tutelage? All those nights Ernest had silently stood beside a proud Giovanni and watched his precious apprentice either fight or murder … was he just another face in the crowd, just another hand that pointed a young boy toward violence? Jacoby dismally wondered if Stefano was aware that he had acted as Noah’s educator for nearly a year … He couldn’t say for sure whether that fact would help or hurt his cause.
The older criminal attempted to focus on the point he had been trying to make to the mob boss. His eyes, which had drooped to the floor as he became lost in his own thoughts, returned to Stefano’s. Behind all the Galucci prince’s obvious frustrations and grief, he looked … truly tired.
Ernest could sympathize; he felt tired, too.
“You may think of him as a Galucci, as a brother,” Ernest announced, holding Sefano’s bloodshot, sunken eyes, “but the fact is the Negotiator has no family. I pray you do not learn this the hard way.”
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Reed was currently lurking in Stefano’s large, well-furnished office.
After the transfusion, he immediately set out to find the little criminal. Of course the Galucci prince was nowhere inside his own mansion. Noah had to question a few of Stefano’s employees before learning the missing mob boss was out to conduct ‘business’ …
He had no choice but to wait for the mafia leader’s return.
Time alone permitted Noah to indulge various musings. His mind was polluted with dark thoughts and decadent desires. Yesterday’s … ‘date’ with Elizabeth had rattled his brain. He was constantly shuffling through a bizarre assortment of fantasies.   Some involved charming or seducing Elizabeth, some involved suffering a spectacular death at her hands, some involved killing Booker very, very slowly …
There are plenty of entertaining ways to kill a man. The last time the Negotiator enjoyed an extended one-on-one torture session with a mid-ranked mafioso from the Bianchis, Noah made a small incision into the man’s abdomen and funneled a dozen ounces of sulfuric acid into the internal cavity. Once the writhing, screaming victim inevitably perished, Noah performed an autopsy to satisfy his sadistic curiosity: the man’s insides were lined with blisters and eroded tissue … the vitriol had managed to chew through an impressive amount of the man’s intestines.
But ... killing Booker? The greatest ‘war-hero’ of Wounded Knee? Booker’s crimes begged for something special. Something unique. Noah wasn’t committed to a specific design for this theoretical murder … but he did have a plan for the disposal of Booker’s corpse. Noah would take the ex-soldier’s remains to the Poospatuck Indian Reservation and feed them to the pigs of red-skinned men. It’d be a poetic conclusion to the White Injun’s tale.
Of course … it was doubtful Noah would ever be able to accomplish this. It was such a shame that an all-powerful goddess was protecting DeWitt. And so strange. Surely she knew of Booker’s past crimes. Did she turn a blind eye to her lover’s worst sins as she condemned hundreds of mafiosos to death for lesser crimes?
Insane, insane Elizabeth. Just thinking about her depravity, her hypocrisy … excited him. Such a mind in such a body. Noah wanted to survive her plan just to see what she would do next.
Of course … this excitement inevitably led to sexual fantasies involving Elizabeth. He was fond of piecing together all the glimpses he’s enjoyed of Elizabeth’s body – obviously he’s seen her pretty face, those stunning eyes, those tempting, full lips … During their first encounter, when he accidentally discovered wearing nothing more than a man’s shirt, those slender legs had been exposed to his sight …and he hadn’t forgotten that fantastic, bust-emphasizing auburn dress that she had worn when luring him to the pier yesterday ...
Noah was so entirely convinced that he could force his goddess to buck and moan like a common tramp if she’d only … let him.
An hour passed before Noah finally managed to peel his thoughts away from Elizabeth. He switched his focus to the newspaper in his hands. Once more he was musing over the article on the front page – the news-story covered yesterday morning’s whore liberation on Lexington and 45^th street. Of course, it wasn’t until after Noah aided in the intervention that he realized Stefano had invited a journalist … and what Reed originally thought was a small, simple effort to end the humiliation of nine Bianchi prostitutes was now a glorified act of heroism celebrated by the entire city.
Reed was fine with Stefano softening the public image of the Galucci family and mafiosos in general so long as the Negotiator’s image wasn’t softened along with it.   It took many lives to carve his reputation into the minds of his fellow criminals – And Noah profited from being feared and respected by his enemies.
Ultimately, Stefano needed to be smacked over this, but before Noah could decide whether this smack would be a metaphorical or physical one, divine light swallowed him.
There was no doubt the experience was … disorientating – it lasted no longer than a blink, but his arms and legs were suddenly not in the position they had been and he was suddenly not leaning against the wall of Stefano’s office. It took a moment for Reed’s mind to process that he was no longer in the position he was supposed to be in.
The tall criminal was now seated in Stefano’s large deskchair. He instinctively tried to move after being forcibly relocated, only to discover that his forearms were fastened to the deskchair’s wooden arms. They happened to be fastened by multiple layers of that powerful, flexible, gray material that Elizabeth had used to silence his mouth yesterday …
“Ah. We meet once more, ‘Duct Tape.’ “
Noah glanced about the room to confirm that Elizabeth hadn’t manifested within the room while he had been caught up in her light. Then he tested the strength of his duct tape bindings and quickly realized that he’d sooner break the thick wooden limb of the chair than rip free of them.
Reed briefly contemplated using his strength to forcibly snap the arms of Stefano’s fine deskchair, but ultimately decided against it. If Elizabeth wanted him snared, then he was doomed to remain snared ... Breaking free of his current trap would simply result in another. Reed had to admit: Elizabeth knew exactly what she was doing. Without a single word she made him feel like a caged animal. Once more she was reminding him of his powerlessness … and it was undeniably frustrating.
Noah once more surveyed the room. Still no Elizabeth. She was watching him from afar, undoubtedly. Reed sighed, smirked and gazed down at his restrained right arm. After flexing his wrist, he spoke in an amused tone: “So, Duct Tape, how’ve you been?”
Noah felt her before he saw her.   A finger was sliding across his back through the fabric of his dress-shirt. It was a light touch, but it caused a few bruised, wary muscles to tense up ever-so-slightly.
Reed attempted to turn his head far enough to see the source of the touch. With his head fully turned, he could identify a blurry form behind him through the corner of his eye -- and that was the best the corner of his eye could manage while being unable to look directly through the lens of his glasses.
“Good morning, ” Reed greeted, temporarily ignoring the absurdity of the situation, “sleep well?”
Elizabeth ignored the question.
“Are you waiting here for Stefano?” she asked evenly, removing her finger from her captive’s back, “he won’t be here any time soon. He’s out searching for me.“
Noah’s adopted a full smile. Oh, Stefano. That stupid little fool.
“He spoke to Ernest?” Reed assumed. The fact that he had been attacked in his secluded cabin was Stefano’s only true lead.
“He’s currently speaking to Ernest,” she corrected.
“Has Ernest implicated you?”
“Not yet.”
“ … I can end Stefano’s crusade if you permit me a phone call,” Reed promised.
“Perhaps I want the sad little man to find me.”
“Do you intend to kill him should he succeed?” he asked casually.
“Oh … I would, but someone promised to take care of the little snake for me.”
A pause. This was a delicate situation for the criminal.
“ … I certainly will, though it remains in our best interest to spare the repulsive little uranian for now,” Noah replied, “we have some rather … ambitious goals for this city, and he’s the only mob boss small enough to fit in my pocket.”
Oh, the irony of the situation was not beyond Elizabeth’s divine eye. On the other side of the city, Stefano was passionately arguing with Ernest over Reed … here, the Negotiator was ridiculing Stefano quite heartlessly just after promising to kill him.
Brothers or enemies? Time would eventually provide an answer.
“Have you developed a plan, Songbird?”
Reed straightened his neck. Focusing on a blurry sight beyond the view of his glasses was beginning to strain his eyes. Why was she hiding from his sight?   Perhaps she realized he had a goal of charming her … having Elizabeth speaking to his back certainly limited his options.
“I have,” he responded.
“And?”
“ … We’ll start a war, Elizabeth.”
To hear such a dark promise spoken so nonchalantly forced the goddess to hesitate. War. Execution. Noah had a penchant for using such … cruel words. She preferred the words ‘save’ and ‘protect’ … she was saving this city, she was protecting Booker. This … ‘war’ would only devour thugs and scum.
Noah continued: “ … My syndicate lacks raw manpower, but I do wield some very effective spies within the ranks of the three mafias – men with influence … If we’re cautious and clever, we can provoke a conflict. Force the city’s mafiosos to rise against one another. Thin out the ranks, kill their leaders … my men and I will personally hunt down any survivors.”
Elizabeth mused over the plan. On the surface Noah’s design was quite simple, but in reality it’d probably be quite difficult to convince hundreds of men to kill each other. She didn’t care to hear all the details, but her servant left out a particularly important one.
“What’s our catalyst, Noah? How do we provoke our enemies?”
Reed smiled slowly. He absent-mindedly flexed his wrist against the duct-tape bindings.
“Surely my goddess can afford me more than twelve hours to plot the deaths of approximately five-hundred and thirty men.”
There was no immediate response from the goddess. Though physically still behind the seated Noah, she glanced him over with her powers: his expression, the subtle signs of restlessness, that herculean body and all the bruises she had personally painted upon the flesh beneath his dress-shirt … He was acting both cooperative and reasonable, and that made her wary. Had she truly tamed him?
“Have I disappointed you?” Reed inquired, suspicious of her enduring silence.
“Not yet, but there’s still time,” she answered wryly.
Before Noah could return her jest, he felt her knuckles slide against his cheek. A second later, she moved next to his chair … finally providing Reed the opportunity to gaze upon her. Mesmerizing eyes and perfect lips were an attractive combination on their own, but when you add a volatile, flickering spirit and divine power …
Lord, what man could possibly resist her? Elizabeth was thrilling and intoxicating. Perhaps if he could drink from her just once …
The blonde criminal was making no effort to hide his lustful look, and for once it was not tainted with a condescending smile. Elizabeth, after viewing the expression, pulled her fingers away from his face as she clung onto her composure.
“ … May I kiss you, Elizabeth?” Noah asked, hiding his smile.
Though inwardly surprised, the young female maintained her mask.
Don’t play his game.
“Oh. That’d seem like such an innocent request from any other man,“ she commented dryly, gazing at him.
“It’d astonish you … what’d I’d be willing to do to claim those lips,” Noah wagered, looking right back at her.
"Would you be willing to sacrifice a finger for them?" Elizabeth asked so-very-casually as she glanced away from the smooth criminal. The words were meant to end Noah’s flirtations – but inadvertently exposing her neck to him is what forced a dramatic shift in their conversation.
“ … what is on your neck, Elizabeth?” Reed asked suddenly, in a remarkably serious tone – a complete shift from the seductive timbre he had just been using.
Surprised, Elizabeth turned toward him. Those gray eyes were narrowed. The muscles of his jaw were tense. She was instantly unnerved by the subtle signs of internal rage, though she wouldn’t understand why until she mused over it later. When, out of all her interactions with Noah, out of all of Noah’s adulthood memories that she had personally investigated, had she ever seen him angry? During his honest moments, he was always either an unflappable, cavalier bastard or a jovial, excited maniac … when had she ever seen him bothered enough by something to be angry about it?
She used her supernatural sight to inspect her own neck. There were bruises on her skin. A light purple ring wrapped about her flesh like a choker. It shocked Elizabeth. Was this from her sexual exchange with Booker? It couldn’t be. Yes, Booker got forceful and tugged at her pearl necklace … but could the act have possibly created such a significant amount of bruising? Had the deed been more violent than she remembered?
A horrible sense of dread squeezed Elizabeth’s stomach and taunted her heart. This was the moment – the exact moment – that she was beginning to suspect something was terribly, terribly wrong.
But Noah interrupted her thoughts.
“You let him hurt you?” Reed asked flatly, “you permit him to seize your arm and shout at you in public like you’re a rebellious child? You allow him to choke you, Elizabeth?”
Elizabeth’s focus returned to Noah. As she looked at those keen, terrible eyes that lurked just beyond the lens of his glasses, she once more thought of Songbird.
She thought of the strange glow of Songbird’s eyes. She thought of the fear that used to crawl into her mind when that ominous yellow color would mechanically shift to crimson.
A powerful instinct to defend Booker rose within her. Elizabeth’s mouth opened as she attempted to string together words that would explain to Noah that the purple marks didn’t make sense, but then the odd sadist turned away from her and began to laugh.
“Oh, Booker was so thrilled over our hypothetical romp at hotel Astor, wasn’t he?” Noah assumed correctly between his heavy laughs, “is that why he hurt you? He set his hands upon your neck. And you … you let him. Of course you’d let him. Such love the pair of you must share -- typical woman.”
Oh, if Noah had any idea how deep Elizabeth’s rage was after listening to his words, perhaps he may have remained silent. Then again, we’re speaking of Noah, so perhaps not.
Elizabeth vanished from the desk and reappeared standing in the center of the room. Then her divine light flashed, summoning an incredibly long, thick rope with a noose at the end of it.
The noose, of course, was wrapped around Noah’s neck.
The restrained criminal managed to stop laughing as he evaluated this new … predicament. His heavy noose was at the end of a durable rope that was so ridiculously lengthy that it rested in a large, multi-layered coil on the floor … and the opposite end of the rope disappeared into one of Elizabeth’s tears that lurked directly above the Negotiator. Who knows what anchored this rope on the other side of the goddess’ portal –whatever it was, Reed didn’t doubt for a second that it was heavy enough to lift his considerable body should it give way.
“Oh, a noose,” Noah teased, “excellent idea. The bruising on our necks shall match.”
Elizabeth clenched her teeth, glaring at the bound sadist.
“This may hurt,” she sneered before lifting a hand and snapping her fingers. Suddenly the massive coils of rope on the floor were unraveling as they were pulled up through the goddess’ portal at a surprisingly quick pace.
Noah smirked. At the rate the massive rope was moving, it wasn’t going to simply choke him when it inevitably became taut …
“This … is going to break my neck,” Reed declared, tapping his fingers on the wood of the armchair as he glanced over to Elizabeth, “are you certain you want this? Wouldn’t you prefer watching me dangle, for a time?”
Elizabeth glared at him silently. She listened to the tapping of his fingers, watched him shift his legs. If it weren’t for the devilish smile on the tall man’s face, Elizabeth would accuse him of being nervous. But no, this wasn’t anxiety … it was excitement.
Noah stared at the hastily unraveling rope, trying not to laugh. Reed had decided that it may as well end here. Knowing Elizabeth belonged to Booker would have simply forced him into a state of lunacy– further lunacy. Oh, silly Elizabeth. Perhaps she wouldn’t have denied him if she understood exactly how deeply he desired her.
When the evading rope was moments from giving his neck a fatal yank, the Negotiator suddenly shifted his eyes back toward Elizabeth.
“It’s lunacy! I’m asked to sacrifice an extremity just to kiss you and you let him hurt you. I’d kill– “
Then Noah felt it: the rope tighten across his neck.
Oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
“Felt it … !”
Laughter.
Her Songbird couldn’t stop laughing.
“My … neck … “
Elizabeth had plucked him from the noose the very instant it began to pull on his flesh, and set him on his knees directly before her. Reed had instantly erupted into laughter and wrapped his arms around her abdomen so, so tightly -- as though he may drown if he lost his grip on her. His mouth was on her shoulder, and it took Elizabeth a moment to realize he was trying to smother his own laughs.
“I … I felt it! … the rope!”
Elizabeth ran her fingers through that pale blonde hair as she patiently waited for Noah to come down from his emotional high. She listened to the sounds that escaped him: the gasps, a cough, the occasional compliment and, of course, the laughs …
Such a broken mind. To think the sadistic thrill-seeker had been a glum creature during adolescence.
“Elizabeth … your wonders are … “
After several minutes Noah began to calm down and repetitive admissions started to escape his mouth, but Elizabeth interrupted him.
“You didn’t finish the sentence, Noah,” Elizabeth announced gently.
“I … felt the … -- Pardon?”
“You said: ‘I’d kill’ … who would you kill, Noah?”
Reed chuckled quietly, keeping his head buried against Elizabeth’s shoulder. It was not in his best interest to answer that question with the specific man that inspired the violent thought …
“Well, Noah?”
“Oh … precious Elizabeth,” the criminal murmured, smiling, “if an aggressive toddler threateningly pointed a spoon at you, I’d be tempted to kill it … “
Elizabeth almost smirked at that. Noah was such a romantic.
“If I can’t trust you on a leash,” she announced in a playfully silky voice, “then I’m going to put you in a cage. A cage just large enough to contain this body of yours.”
The gloved hand on her back gripped tightly onto Elizabeth’s dress. Reed pulled back from her shoulder just enough to connect eyes with her, but his arms tightened around her …
Their faces were only several inches apart.
“You’d suffer for years, Noah,” Elizabeth promised quietly, “if you refused to eat, I’d simply place food in your stomach. If you somehow escaped, I’d toss you right back inside.”
A subtly amused expression touched Noah’s features as he stared into her eyes. Of all Elizabeth’s threats, this one was, by far, the worst. A lifetime of being unable to satiate his twisted appetites? A lifetime of powerlessness? A lifetime of idleness -- with all his strange energy that he sometimes could not get rid of when he actively tried? A lifetime of boredom -- with a mind that did not know silence?
He’d remember this threat.
Elizabeth’s soft fingers tapped the man’s jaw before she reiterated: “If I can’t trust you on a leash, I will place you in a cage.”
Noah decided it was time to divert the conversation – can’t let the dark goddess linger on this deplorable promise. He presented an infatuated look – it wasn’t difficult considering his lust for her was both complete and honest – but he hid all the silent scorn.
Reed lifted a gloved hand to caress the beautiful female’s pale cheek.
“Promise to always be my keeper, Elizabeth,” the criminal murmured.
The goddess’ body subtly rebelled against her when she felt the touch of leather on her face … her heart’s pace quickened, her lungs paused. Was that her hand on his chest? When had she even placed it there?
“Claim a finger,” Noah whispered as he leaned forward to capture those stunning lips, “claim whatever you wish.”
Determination empowered the licentious criminal. Perhaps if he gave her the perfect kiss, he wouldn’t be maimed over it. Sensual and firm, dynamic but tasteful. Reed knew he was rolling the dice, and that excited him, but the opportunity to gamble was whisked away from him.
Just before their mouths touched, there was a flash of divine light … and Elizabeth set Noah right back into Stefano’s deskchair – without the pleasure of duct-tape bindings, this time.
Elizabeth, as she forced erotic images out of her mind, decided Noah should not exist. A repulsive charmer? Attractive filth? He was a breathing oxymoron, a walking contradiction.
He was also a sadistic monster.
Reed, after he fully processed what had happened, looked at his … employer. She remained in the center of the room and wore a dark, unyielding expression.
“Songbird,” Elizabeth began sharply, “clear whatever violent thoughts you have of Booker from your mind, learn to control your tongue and find our catalyst.”
“As you wish,” Noah replied without hesitation.
“And stay away from toddlers,” she added before vanishing in her light.
The words forced the criminal’s odd smile.
Once more, he was alone in Stefano’s office with his thoughts.
His many, many thoughts.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
The sorceress was back in the DeWitt apartment, staring into the bedroom mirror. Perhaps if she wasn’t so distracted by what she saw in the mirror … She may have mused over regrettably handsome murderers and ridiculous mob bosses … she may have mused over her struggling lover and his troubles in Buffalo … she may have mused over subjects such as temptation, obsession, love and loyalty.
But all she could think about was her neck.
It truly did look like someone viciously choked her.
With an anxious sigh, she opened a portal to the past. She watched the sexual exchange that created her unwarranted bruises once more, just to be certain that she wasn’t out of her mind. And, after reliving the stressful occurrence, she came to the same conclusion: there’s no way Booker actions alone could have created such bruises.
Something was wrong.
With tears in her eyes, she silently wished Booker was home. Partly so that he could apologize again for what he did, for making her look like a fool before her Songbird … but mostly because she needed him to hold her and swear that they truly were going to one day share a happy, normal life together.
Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo
Author’s Notes: Thanks for the reviews! I’m getting lots of repeat reviewers which is so, so appreciated! Even small comments really make my day. Thanks to anyone/everyone that takes the time to do so.
Poor Elizabeth thinks she won’t survive to see a happy ending. ;.; More shall be revealed about her predicament in the next couple chapters!
Wrigley the Earthworm: Thanks for the review! I keep telling myself that sooner or later Im going to post on adultfanfic and not get any reviews or votes but someone always gives me a nod on this site! I'm happy as hell that you enjoyed the fight scene and I hope you enjoy this chapter too. :D
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