Chapter Two-hundred Thirty-Nine: Varg Island Part Two

Chapter 239

Varg Island Part Two

Zhaolin, wearing a long-sleeved, long red night qipao, stood in her chamber that seemed plucked from the pages of a forgotten dynasty. Her bedroom was anchored by a magnificent, dark-wood canopy bed, its frame intricately carved with gilded dragons that seemed to writhe in the soft glow of the hanging lanterns.

Golden silk curtains were drawn back to reveal a cavernous, circular opening housing a bed draped in layers of opulent crimson-and-gold fabric. A deep blue quilt, embroidered with the vibrant feathers of a phoenix, lay draped across the mattress. Throughout the room, the scent of aged mahogany and time-worn tradition hung heavy in the air.

Soft, amber light spilled from elegant lanterns, casting long, dancing shadows across the polished wooden floorboards, while beyond the expansive windows, a tranquil garden courtyard beckoned with glimpses of vibrant foliage. Every detail, from the delicate porcelain vases perched on ornate side tables to the framed calligraphy scrolls adorning the walls, spoke of a meticulously crafted sanctuary where history and luxury intertwined.

She inspected the crystal vial Ivy had given her, taking note of how she would lose her powers for a week. The reward was well worth the risk. With this, she would be the most powerful woman in Pink Top City and possibly the state, wanting to crush the Flores crime family.

With quick finesse, she removed the cap and drank the entire contents of the bottle. She inhaled sharply, and a jolt of pain coursed through her chest. She tightly clutched it and collapsed to the floor, panting furiously as she felt the air being sucked from her lungs.

She arched her back, and a stream of water shot from her mouth, encircling the room and crashing into the ceiling, and coming down on her. When Zhaolin fell, a large golden dragon flew around, coiling its body around her, glaring down at her with its menacing ruby eyes. The dragon snorted and opened its giant mouth to engulf her, taking her into the abyss fully.

~

Fabien stepped into his house after wrapping up his shift. He took off his sneakers, setting them by his flip-flops, and pulled off his socks, tossing them into the laundry basket. He dropped his car keys in the ceramic bowl by the door, and unbuckled his server pouch. He placed it by the bowl and let out a long, ragged sigh.

He peered into his and Celeste’s bedroom to see his ladylove asleep in their bed. She was curled up under the thin quilt, the silk straps of her black tank top sliding slightly off one shoulder.

Fabien entered the living room and reached toward the coffee table, his fingers brushing against the cool, smooth glass of the bong, and picked it up. He went to the kitchenette to fill the bong with some water. He returned to the living room and sank into the couch.

He pulled a small jar from the drawer, cracked it open, and the sharp scent of dried cannabis filled the air. He placed the nugget into the small metal grinder and twisted it up into tiny pieces. He then packed the mix into the bowl piece.

He flicked his lighter. The flame danced in the dim room, casting flickering shadows against the walls as he brought it to the bowl. He inhaled, a steady, controlled draw. Inside the glass, the water bubbled—a rhythmic, guttural sound that always served as the auditory signal for the day finally being over.

The smoke filled the chamber, thick and swirling like a captured cloud, before he cleared it.

Fabien exhaled slowly, watching the plume dissipate into the shadows. He leaned his head back against the cushion and closed his eyes. The tension that had been coiled in his shoulders since his shift began to soften, like ice melting under a warm sun. The sharp edges of his irritability smoothed out, and for the first time in hours, his heart rate settled into a slow, quiet rhythm.

~

Fabien walked quietly into the bedroom, moving with the practiced stealth of someone who didn’t want to wake his girlfriend.

He paused for a moment at the edge of the bed, watching Celeste’s steady, rhythmic breathing. He felt a wave of relief just to be home. Turning toward the closet, he slid his hot pants and underwear past his hips and tossed them into the laundry basket before pulling on a pair of soft, green plaid pajama pants.

Fabien moved to the bathroom, keeping the light dim. The warm spray of the shower felt like a luxury after hours spent navigating a crowded dining room. He didn't stay in long, just enough to scrub away the scent of beer, deep-fried foods, and that Viking weirdo.

Stepping back into the bedroom, he wiped the steam from his face and toweled off his hair. He slid into bed beside Celeste, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. She shifted in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible, and instinctively gravitated toward his warmth, her head finding its familiar spot near his chest. Fabien rested his arm over her.

Celeste stirred, her hair shifting against the pillow as she blinked her eyes open. The remnants of sleep clung to her, but her mind was clearly already active. She shifted, turning onto her side to face him, the fabric of her black tank top rustling in the silence. Even in the dim light, Fabien could see that familiar, restless glint in her eyes.

Celeste: “Hey, handsome.”

She murmured, her voice thick and raspy with sleep as she reached out to nudge his shoulder. Fabien sighed, a small, tired smile pulling at his lips as he turned to face her. He pulled the covers up slightly, feeling the cool air of the room, and looked at her.

Fabien: “Hey, babe…”

He replied. She just adjusted herself, propping her head up on her hand, looking at him with an intensity that made the exhaustion of his long shift feel a little less heavy.

Celeste: “Did you get another big tip from Jax’s weirdo ex?”

Fabien twisted his mouth.

Fabien: “N-No… She left without paying, and Demetrio footed the bill.”

He shifted his eyes.

Celeste: “He did?”

Fabien nodded.

Fabien: “Yeah, the bartender, Larry, said it was being billed to the Donatis, and unless Blair wanted Noriko, I doubt it was him.”

He laughed awkwardly, settling back into his pillow, watching her.

Celeste: “Why did she leave without paying?”

She tilted her head. Fabien shrugged.

Celeste: “Why are you keeping stuff from me, Fab?”

She pouted.

Fabien: “I’m not, babe?”

Fabien groaned softly, pulling the sheet up to his chin as he tried to stifle a laugh.

Fabien: “Celeste, I’m not hiding anything.”

He whispered, though his resistance was crumbling under her persistence.

She didn’t let up, her violet eyes flashing with playful defiance in the shadows. Instead, she leaned in closer, her expression shifting from intense to mischievous.

Celeste: “You’re going to spill it!”

She teased, and before he could react, her fingers darted out, digging unerringly into his sides.

Fabien gasped and jerked, his hands reflexively trying to block her as he squirmed against the mattress.

Fabien: “CELEEHEHEHEHESTE !! STAHAHAHAHAHAHP!!”

He wheezed, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he erupted into a fit of laughter. He tried to roll away, but she stayed right with him, her nails grazing his ribs with expert precision.

Fabien: “WHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

His breath hitched as he finally managed to catch her wrists, pinning them gently against the bed to stop the assault. He was fully awake now, his heart rate elevated, looking at her as she hovered over him, beaming with satisfaction.

The weight of his shift was gone, replaced by the electric energy she always seemed to bring into the room, even at such an ungodly hour.

Celeste’s eyes lit up, seeing that she had caught him off guard.

Celeste: “Oh, you think you’re safe now that you’ve got my wrists?”

She teased, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across her face.

With a swift, practiced motion, she slipped out of his loose grip. Instead of going for his sides again, she dropped down toward the foot of the bed. Before Fabien could even process her movement, she grabbed his ankles and dragged his feet toward her, immediately burying her fingers into his arches.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAA!!”

Fabien let out a sharp, involuntary yelp, his legs kicking wildly as he tried to pull away.

Fabien: “CELESTE! NOHOHOHOHOHOHO NOHOHOHOT MY FEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEET!!”

He choked out through a fit of laughter, his hands scrambling to find a hold on the sheets as his body arched off the mattress. The sensation was intense, and he was completely at her mercy, his previous exhaustion entirely eclipsed by the tickle-induced panic.

Fabien: “ARGH!!! NOHOHOHOHOOO!! WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!!”

She was relentless, her fingers dancing over his skin with playful precision, clearly enjoying her victory.

Celeste: “Tell me what you’re hiding!”

She chirped, laughing along with him as she kept up the pressure.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! OH GOHOHOHOHOD!!!”

Fabien was practically gasping for air, shaking his head while a grin he couldn’t hide spread across his face. He knew he was beaten, and he was secretly glad for it—even at three in the morning, the energy Celeste brought into their life was exactly what he needed.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!!”

Fabien’s laughter finally subsided into soft, breathless chuckles as he managed to pull his feet back, retreating to the safety of the pillows.

Fabien: “Hahahahahahahahaaa…!!”

He looked down at Celeste, who was still perched at the end of the bed, her neon hair tousled and her face glowing with that mischievous, playful spark that he loved so much.

He didn’t give her a chance to launch another attack. With a sudden, swift movement, he reached out and tugged on the hem of her black tank top, pulling her forward until she tumbled upward against his chest. Celeste let out a surprised gasp that turned into a giggle, her hands coming up to steady herself against his shoulders.

The playfulness in the room shifted instantly into something softer and more intimate. Fabien cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. Celeste leaned into his touch, her expression softening as she met his gaze. When they kissed, it was slow and deep, a silent acknowledgment of the long day behind them and the comfort they found in each other’s presence. The silence of their house felt less like a void and more like a sanctuary, just the two of them.

When they finally pulled apart, Celeste rested her forehead against his, still grinning.

Celeste: “So are you ready to tell me?”

Fabien: “Maybe I want you to torture it out of me?”

He winked. She grinned.

Celeste: “Sounds tempting…”

She traced her forefinger over his chest.

Fabien: “So Noriko asked to see my feet.”

He replied. Celeste paused.

Celeste: “Did you show her?”

Fabien: “Yeah, for extra cash.”

Celeste blinked.

Fabien: “And she tickled them, until I started telling her to stop because I was getting annoyed and out of breath. She looked hurt and demanded that I go with her to her Viking island.”

Celeste’s eyes widened.

Fabien: “I said no, and I guess she ran out.”

He concluded.

Celeste: “Why did you keep it from me?”

Fabien: “I wanted you to torture it out of me for one.”

She giggled. Fabien traced his finger over her lips.

Fabien: “And I didn’t want you to worry she would do to me what she did to Jiro.”

He pursed his lips.

Celeste: “I dunno, Fab. She and Jax were engaged, and they were each other’s firsts.”

Fabien put his arm over her and kissed her.

Fabien: “You have nothing to worry about. I think after this, she will cry on her island with that hideous Viking cartoon.”

He snorted, trying to reassure her, but had a bad feeling.

Celeste rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Fabien raked his fingers through her neon tresses.

Fabien: “Do you want me to call you Green Queen?”

Celeste pulled a face.

Celeste: “No. No, I don’t. I hate that name.”

She said tersely.

Fabien: “I’m sorry, babe.”

He kissed her head. Celeste sighed.

Celeste: “Jaxon and Ichiro always called me that stupid name, and both view me as some trophy to be won. Jaxon thinks he’s not like Ichiro, but… he is.”

She drew a long breath.

Celeste: “Both brothers objectify me and see me as a prize to be won, obsessing over my boobs, feet, or me wearing nylons or fishnets. Neither of them knows how to talk to women without making it sexual. They’re in competition with each other. Both lose their shit when things don’t go their way and use people to get what they want. They pretend to love people to get what they want, as Ichiro did to Robin and Jaxon did to Percy.”

She explained. Fabien shifted his eyes and looked down.

Fabien: “Yeah… Just that Ichiro is more transparent. Jiro is not so much. I thought he did like us.”

Celeste: “No, he didn’t. He only wants me now because he can’t have me. When he had me, he moped about Chelsea. Nothing will ever fill the void with Jaxon and Ichiro.”

Fabien pursed his lips and nodded in agreement.

Fabien: “I understand, babe. I know how it feels to be objectified because that’s all Craig ever did to me.”

He cleared his throat and shifted to lie on his back.

Fabien: “One night when he and I were in bed, I asked him to remove that stupid ‘Andreas’ tattoo. He said he couldn’t afford to, so I gave him the money and told him to pay me back.”

He began and rolled his eyes.

Fabien: “The next night, I saw it and asked why he didn’t get it removed. He spent it on beer. I told him to sleep on the couch.”

He said as his anger rose.

Fabien: “I told him that I want my money back. He said he would work on it. When I kicked his fucking ass out, I sold his surfboard and guitar. I got my money back.”

He huffed.

Celeste: “Why did you stay with him, Fab?”

Fabien raked his fingers through his hair.

Fabien: “Because I fucked things up with Jiro for that piece of shit.”

Fabien: “I wish Gary would ban that fucking loser from Danny Donger’s. He never really buys anything other than beer and only comes to make his stupid innuendos, which he stole from American Pizza. He pisses me off. Yeah, the other customers flirt with me, and I humor them, but when I see Craig, I want to smash that stupid grin off his face. I always hated coming home to that, and don’t get me started on him not letting me have a social life outside of him. He was like Lazaros and Blair.”

He said gruffly.

Celeste: “Seems like Craig was your Jaxon… That’s what Jaxon was to me.”

Fabien turned on his side and held her close.

Fabien: “Sorry, hon… I know how it feels.”

Celeste nestled into his embrace, feeling his warmth and inhaling his cologne.

~

That morning, Tristan was at Pixelsun Securities to meet with Etsuko for information on Varg Island and its location. He wore a dark purple three-piece Italian-cut suit, a white pressed shirt, a black tie, and black wingtip Oxfords. He sat across from Etsuko in her office. She wore a black corset top, dark purple shorts, dark purple tights, and black combat boots.

Tristan: “I need the deed records for a private island recently purchased near Palm Tree State for approximately seventy-five million dollars. It’s called ‘Varg Island.’ I want to know where it is.”

He stated, his voice clipped and formal. He didn’t look at Etsuko directly, preferring to study a stack of folders to keep his focus strictly on the objective.

Etsuko, looking as vibrant and sharp-edged as ever, leaned back in her chair with a devious glint in her eyes.

Etsuko: “Always straight to business, aren't you, Tristan?”

She kicked her heavy black boots off, letting them hit the floor with a dull thud. With a casual, almost mocking grace, she hoisted her stirruped feet—clad in thin, dark hosiery—onto the mahogany desk, right next to the files.

The sudden movement stirred the air, and a sharp, pungent odor of stale sweat and worn footwear wafted upward, hitting Tristan instantly. He recoiled, his nostrils flaring in genuine horror. It was a sensory assault that clashed violently with his fastidious nature.

Tristan: “Etsuko, do you mind? This is supposed to be a professional exchange.”

He hissed, his composure fracturing as he took a half-step back, trying to breathe through his mouth.

Etsuko just smirked, wiggling her toes slightly against the polished wood, clearly enjoying the way his polished mask slipped. She knew exactly how much the disarray bothered him, and she leaned into it, propping her chin on her hand while keeping her feet firmly planted in his workspace.

Etsuko: “The information has a price, Mr. Trémaux!”

She teased, her eyes tracing the line of his tie.

Etsuko: “And part of the price is dealing with me—as I am.”

She purred.

Tristan gritted his teeth, his hand instinctively going to his chin. He was trapped between his desperate need for intel on Noriko's Varg Island and the overwhelming, stinking reality of Etsuko’s presence. He hated the smell, but he needed the lead, and Etsuko knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Tristan fought to keep his expression stern, but the sour, sweaty scent clinging to the room made his eyes water slightly. He stared intensely at a point on the wall just above Etsuko’s head, refusing to look at her feet, which were callously occupying the center of the workspace.

Tristan “The island... The purchase near Palm Tree State. I need to know who owns what. I am specifically looking for an island called ‘Varg Island’ and if anyone named Nobuyuki Nakamura or Noriko Nakamura bought it.”

He repeated, his voice strained as he tried to maintain his professional facade.

Etsuko let out a low, throaty laugh, enjoying the visible discomfort radiating from his rigid posture. She toyed with the hem of her stirruped leggings, her smirk widening as she watched him try to discreetly hold his breath.

Etsuko: “My, aren’t we impatient today? You come into my office, you demand the world, and you don't even say hello…”

She teased, wiggling her toes just inches away from his crisp, white shirt cuff.

Tristan’s hand, usually steady and precise, trembled slightly in irritation. He reached into his jacket pocket and slid a thick envelope across the desk, pushing it past her ankle with the tip of his finger to avoid contact.

Tristan: “Here is the payment. Now, the location.”

He said curtly.

Etsuko’s eyes flickered to the envelope, her expression softening for just a fraction of a second—a momentary lapse of vulnerability beneath her exterior. She knew he would never willingly stay a second longer than necessary, and that realization stung, even if she masked it with a provocative shrug. She dropped her feet to the floor with a heavy, final thud, though she didn’t bother putting her boots back on.

Her fingers flew over the keyboard with precision.

Etsuko: “Many people buy private islands this time of year.”

Tristan cleared his throat, trying to hold his breath.

Tristan: “I’m aware. I am seeking an island purchased by Nobuyuki Nakamura or Noriko Nakamura.”

He said evenly.

Etsuko: “Isn’t he the CEO of Picolo, which is both a search engine and website hosting service in Shin-Yamato?’

Tristan nodded, keeping his hand over his nose. Maybe I’ll wear a mask and pretend I have a cold, he thought.

Etsuko: “According to news sources, he purchased this island as a birthday gift for his daughter, Noriko, to host her Varg the Viking theme park!”

Tristan nodded mutely.

Tristan: “Etsuko, I am well aware of this. I just need to know the whereabouts of this island.”

Etsuko chuckled, drinking him in.

Etsuko: “Why is that?”

Tristan’s right eye twitched.

Tristan: “I am paying you for a service. Does it matter why?”

He asked flippantly. A smile tugged on Etsuko’s lips. She loved it when Tristan got impatient and demanding. It turned her on.

She thought of him pinning her down, ripping her corset off, and pulling on her pierced nipples to torture her for information, or him freezing her clitoral piercing. She felt her arousal rising as these thoughts raced through her mind.

Tristan gaped at her. I don’t want to know what she’s thinking right now, but I am so close to just waiting for Sylvia to come, he thought.

Etsuko locked her gaze on Tristan.

Etsuko: “According to this, Nobuyuki Nakamura purchased ‘Pink Crest Key’ island for seventy-five million dollars, about one hundred miles from Pink Top City.”

She stated.

Tristan: “I need the coordinates, please.”

He said firmly. Etsuko nodded. The printer spat out the deed records, the location and coordinates for him, and handed them to him. Tristan smiled somewhat and took them.

Tristan: “Thank you for your service.”

He rose. Etsuko sighed.

Etsuko: “Going so soon?”

She grimaced.

Tristan: “I’m a busy man, Etsuko. Thank you for your service.”

He said tersely and promptly left, eager to get away from the overwhelming stink.

~

Tristan stepped outside of PixelSun Securities, gagging and gasping for air. Deimos landed in front of him. He wore a Kreator tank top, torn jeans, and cowboy boots. He knit his eyebrows when he saw Tristan in his state.

Deimos: “Hey, what’s wrong, my prince?”

Tristan shook his head. He didn’t want to tell Deimos and have him go off on a tirade to her.

Tristan: “Nothing, Deimos. Maybe I need something to eat?”

He said weakly. Deimos smiled a bit.

Deimos: “It’s the prince’s choice!”

Tristan smiled back.

~

Tristan and Deimos walked into Alice’s Dreams. Deimos looked around, noting how pink, feminine, and fluffy this place is. He felt so out of place, so masculine in a place like this, but he knew Tristan liked it, and he wanted to make him happy. He pulled out a chair for Tristan. Tristan thanked him and sat down. Deimos sat across from him. The waitress handed them their menus.

Deimos looked through it.

Deimos: “Any coffee?”

Tristan: “It’s mostly tea, but they have some coffee.”

He smiled and rose to point to a small section. Deimos twisted his mouth.

Deimos: “I guess I’ll get an espresso.”

The waitress arrived.

Waitress: “Welcome to Alice’s Dreams, gentlemen! What can I get for you?”

She asked.

Tristan: “I’ll have a hibiscus blossom tea and a dozen macarons of various flavors.”

He stated.

Deimos: “An espresso with a clubhouse sandwich and chips. Lots of bacon.”

He drawled.

Deimos: “And this is on one bill. I’m paying.”

He smiled at Tristan. The waitress took their order and left.

Deimos placed his muscular hand on Tristan’s slender hand. Tristan’s slender fingers curled around his hand.

Tristan: “I found out where Noriko’s island is.”

Deimos raised his eyebrows.

Deimos: “Yeah?”

Tristan: “It’s about one hundred miles from the coast of Pink Top City.”

Deimos leaned back in his seat.

Deimos: “So, should we talk to Trevor about teleporting us there when Noriko kidnaps Jaxon?”

He asked him. Tristan leaned over, folded his hands, and rested his head on them.

Tristan: “Yes, we should.”

~

The following night, the sharp, rhythmic throb in Celeste’s abdomen felt less like a physical sensation and more like an unwelcome, invasive drum solo that had been playing on loop for hours. Slumped on their bed, she clutched a heating pad to her stomach, her neon green hair splayed messily against the cushions as she stared blankly at the ceiling. Every time the pain crested, she squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could simply switch off her nervous system for the evening.

Fabien was organizing his records until he heard her groan. He rushed to their bedroom and knit his eyebrows. He sat on the bed and rubbed her tummy.

Fabien: “What’s wrong, babe? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

Celeste: “It’s the fuckin’ worst…”

She stated, gesturing to her tummy.

Celeste: “I’m dying over here. I need you to go to the pharmacy. I need ibuprofen—the strongest—and a box of tampons.”

She rasped with discomfort. He nodded.

Fabien: “Sure, no problem, babe. Anything else? Chocolate?”

Celeste: “Okay.”

She murmured, sinking back into the sofa with a grateful exhale.

Within moments, Fabien climbed into the driver’s seat of his 1970 Shelby Mustang. He shifted the car into gear, the classic muscle car leaping forward with a surge of raw, unrefined power. Someone rose from Jaxon’s bushes, watching him drive away.

~

The drive to the pharmacy was a blur of shifting gears and sweeping streetlights, the Mustang cutting through the air with ease. Fabien handled the heavy steering wheel with a practiced ease, his mind entirely on the task Celeste had entrusted to him.

When he pulled into the AuraCare Pharmacy parking lot, he stepped out and walked up to the pharmacy.

Fabien stepped into the fluorescent-lit aisles of AuraCare Pharmacy, his mind focused entirely on the relief Celeste needed. He quickly navigated to the feminine hygiene aisle to grab the tampons, then to the medicine counter for a bottle of high-strength ibuprofen, and picked up ten chocolate bars. With the items clutched in his hand, he made his way to the checkout counter, needing to pick up a pack of cigarettes for himself as well.

Fabien: “Can I get a pack of Marlboros, too?”

He asked, placing the pharmacy items on the counter.

The clerk, a bored-looking old man who seemed ready for his shift to end, looked up.

Clerk: “Going to need to see some ID, kid.”

Fabien fished his wallet from his back pocket and slid his driver’s license across the glass. The clerk squinted at the card, comparing the photo to the man standing before him. Fabien’s date of birth was clearly listed as April 17th, 1964.

The clerk grunted, satisfied, and tossed the pack of cigarettes onto the counter alongside the medicine. Fabien slid his driver’s license back into his wallet. When the clerk told him the total, he paid for the items while the clerk placed them into a paper bag.

Fabien stepped back out into the night, the cool air a sharp contrast to the sterile, artificial brightness of the shop. He moved quickly, the paper bag cradled carefully in his arm.

He reached his car. After tossing the bag onto the passenger seat, he slid behind the wheel. With a practiced flick of the wrist, he turned the ignition, and the V8 engine roared to life, a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through the floorboards and up into his chest.

Shifting into first, he eased off the clutch, the tires gripping the asphalt as he pulled out of the lot and back onto the main road. The streetlights blurred into long, golden streaks as he accelerated, the Mustang’s power surging beneath him. His eyes remained fixed on the road, his jaw set with a quiet, focused intensity. He knew Celeste was waiting, and he wanted to be there for her.

The drive home felt shorter than the way there; he kept his speed steady. As he pulled into their driveway, the low rumble of the engine finally died down to a rhythmic tick-tick-tick of cooling metal, leaving the neighborhood in a sudden, heavy silence. He grabbed the bag, locked the car, and headed toward the front door, ready to bring some relief to his ladylove.

Fabien stepped through the front door. He made his way straight to their bedroom. Celeste was exactly where he had left her, still curled up with the heating pad clutched to her, though she looked even more drained than before.

Fabien: “I’m back.”

He said softly, his voice cutting through the silence.

He knelt beside the bed, carefully setting the paper bag down on the nightstand so it wouldn’t startle her. He retrieved the bottle of ibuprofen and the box of tampons, placing them gently into her waiting hand. Celeste offered him a small, weary smile of immense relief, her fingers brushing against his as she took the supplies.

Celeste: “Thank you, Fab.”

She whispered, her voice still thin but holding a note of genuine gratitude. He reached out, tucking a loose strand of her hair behind her ear with a gentle, lingering touch.

Fabien: “Anything else you need? I can go grab a glass of water, or maybe find something for us to watch while you wait for the medicine to kick in?”

Celeste: “Just lie with me.”

She asked beseechingly.

Fabien didn’t hesitate. He kicked off his flip-flops, set his cigarettes aside on the nightstand, and carefully eased himself onto the bed beside her. He maneuvered around the heating pad, shifting until he found a comfortable position that wouldn't put any pressure on her stomach.

He pulled her toward him, letting her head rest against his shoulder, and draped his arm over her. As he started to gently rub her back, he kept his movements slow and rhythmic, hoping to offer even a small amount of comfort against the lingering pain.

Fabien: “I’m right here. Just close your eyes and try to get some rest.”

He said softly.

~

Just as their home had finally settled into a peaceful, heavy silence, a sharp, metallic clink drifted in from the street, followed by the distinct sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel driveway. Fabien’s body went rigid, his instincts sharpening instantly. He shifted slightly, lifting his head from the pillow to listen more intently, his gaze darting toward the bedroom window.

He moved with a quiet, measured grace, stepping out of bed and creeping toward the window to peek through the blinds. Outside, the neighborhood was bathed in deep shadows, and he scanned the darkness for any movement that might explain the disturbance near his car.

His 1970 Shelby Mustang sat undisturbed under the amber glow of the streetlamp, its sleek body gleaming in the dark. There was nobody near the vehicle, and the driveway appeared completely empty.

Just as he was about to exhale in relief, a heavy, deliberate thud-thud-thud sounded against the concrete of the front porch, followed by the dragging scrape of something heavy being pulled along the siding. The footsteps were deliberate and slow, vibrating through the bedroom’s floorboards.

He stayed frozen by the window, his pulse hammering against his ribs. The sound drifted toward the side of the house, right beneath their bedroom wall.

Fabien eased the back door open, the hinges resisting with a faint, high-pitched whine that sounded like a gunshot in the midnight silence. He stepped out onto the cool concrete of the patio, his bare feet meeting the night air.

The darkness felt heavy, wrapping around the house like a thick shroud. He kept his back to the wall, his eyes darting toward the corner where the heavy, dragging steps had last sounded. The air was still, and for a long moment, there was nothing but the distant, rhythmic chirping of crickets—a stark contrast to the aggressive, deliberate thudding he had heard moments ago.

He crept toward the corner of the house, his heart thundering. As he rounded the edge, he braced himself for an encounter, but his vision was met only by the swaying branches of a low-hanging oak tree. The dragging sound he had heard—the one that had traced the foundation—had vanished.

He stood still, straining to hear the slightest movement. Then, he saw it: a small, stray raccoon had knocked over the metal recycling bin, the lid lying askew on the gravel. The “heavy, dragging” noise had simply been the creature dragging a discarded aluminum can across the stone path.

Fabien let out a ragged, shaky breath, the tension leaving his shoulders in a sudden rush. His car was safe, the house was secure, and the threat was nothing more than a raccoon.

Just as the realization of the raccoon’s antics washed over him, the night took a sharp, terrifying turn. Before Fabien could even turn back toward the door, a massive figure surged from the deep shadows of the side yard.

It was Helga, towering over him at an imposing 6'8", her presence instantly dominating the space. Before he could muster a shout, her hand—calloused, heavy, and firm—clamped over his mouth with crushing strength. The air was effectively stolen from his lungs, his back pressed hard against the siding as she pinned him in place. Her eyes, fixed on his with a predatory intensity, communicated a silent, chilling demand for absolute quiet.

Fabien’s eyes widened, his heart hammered in a frantic, desperate rhythm. The relief he had felt seconds ago evaporated, replaced by a sudden, paralyzing uncertainty. He was completely outmatched, held fast against the wall by Helga as the darkness of the yard seemed to close in around them both.

His pulse raced as he stared up at the towering woman, her hand still locked firmly over his mouth. Helga leaned in close, her eyes scanning his face with a menacingly playful appraisal.

Helga: “Aren’t you handsome? Holy fuck, boy, the things I wanna do to you.”

She rasped, her voice a low, gravelly sound that seemed to vibrate against his skin. As she spoke, she slowly licked her lips, her gaze never wavering from his, leaving him frozen in a state of absolute, adrenaline-fueled shock.

The sheer strength in her grip was overwhelming; he couldn't even manage a muffled protest, let alone break free.

The gravel crunched under the tires of a rusted, beat-up Chevy that skidded to a halt at the edge of the driveway, its headlights cutting through the darkness like twin yellow daggers. Helga didn’t waste a second. With the effortless, terrifying strength of someone far beyond ordinary proportions, she hoisted Fabien off his feet and slung him over her shoulder like a sack of grain.

Fabien: “HEY!! LET ME GO, YOU FAT BITCH!!”

He screamed.

Helga: “Ohohohohohoho! This one got a mouth on him!”

Fabien struggled, kicking his legs and clawing at her arm, but her grip was like a vice; she was immovable. He could hear the faint, muffled sounds of the house behind them—the place where Celeste was still resting, unaware of the struggle taking place just feet away.

Fabien: “GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME, YOU FUCKIN’ DUMPTRUCK!”

Helga slapped his ass and squeezed his asscheeks, causing Fabien to wince.

Helga: “This dirty talk turns me on, sexy boy…”

She purred.

Helga marched toward the idling Chevy, her loafers thudding heavily against the driveway. With a swift, fluid motion, she hauled the back door open and dumped him onto the cracked vinyl seat. Before he could attempt to bolt, she climbed into the car and slammed the door shut, the metal groaning as it locked into place. The engine sputtered as the car sped down the road.

Through the dim light of the dashboard, Fabien saw her grin—a stark, toothy expression that made his stomach drop. The car lurched into gear, and they began to roll away, the distance between him and the house growing with every passing second.

Fabien: “What the fuck is this?! Where are you taking me, you fucking big ape?!”

He rasped. She grabbed his wrists and forced them behind his back as she bound them with duct tape. She slid his ankles through the seat headrest and locked them in. Fabien rasped as he thrashed against his bonds.

Helga: “Cootchie-cootchie-coo!”

She crooned and waved a peacock feather. Fabien glared at her, baring his teeth.

Fabien: “Don’t you fucking dare, you fat—”

She dragged the peacock feather over his soles. Fabien jerked, slamming his head back into the seat and screaming with laughter.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!”

His laughter pervaded the car. Fabien thrashed and squirmed against his bonds as the intense tickling continued. She was relentless, tracing frantic, overlapping patterns across his soles with the feather, hitting every sensitive nerve ending at once. Fabien’s face was beet red, and he squeezed his eyes shut as the tears cascaded down his cheeks. His laughter was a strained, desperate sound, his chest heaving as he bucked and twisted in the seat.

Fabien: “AAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! ÇA SUHUHUHUUUFIT!! ARRÊTEETE GROHOHOHOHOHOHOHOSE COHOHOHOONAAHAHAHAHAHASE!!”

His laughter became a high, thin sound of pure, helpless hysteria. Tears of sheer ticklish misery continued streaming down his cheeks as he gasped for air, unable to find a single moment of relief.

Fabien: “WAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!” !! JEHEHEHEHE T’EN SUHUHUHUHUPLIE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! ARRÊTE, BOHOHOHOHORDEL!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

The ordeal in this car felt endless, a haze of frantic laughter and desperate movement that seemed to drain every ounce of energy from him. He was completely at the mercy of this maniacal amazon, trapped in a nightmare where the only escape was miles away.