Jump to new as of June 27, 1999
Chapter 1
Hyde Park--Midnight.
The two gentlemen--if such a term could be applied to them--met in a dark, secluded area of Hyde Park at the arranged time. The taller of the two, who also happened to be the fairer, arrived first and lugged a carpet over his shoulder. When he arrived at the rendezvous point, he dropped his burden to the ground with a thud.
The other man arrived shortly. "Good evening, J.T.," he said in a low voice.
"Evening, Jack. Good to see that you could pry yourself away from the new missus."
"You know quite well I have not gone near that woman in months. Did you get the package?"
"I did, although what George wanted with her in particular--"
"He said he would explain everything as soon as he arrived."
"He's coming here? Now?" J.T. asked in a surprised voice.
"Everyone in the JERKs will be coming. It's the only place we can get any bloody privacy. Ever since Phil's wife caught us at his club and browbeat the poor man until he got home--"
"I think we should boot Phil out and include that harridan he's married to. Phil never came up with a good plan in his life, and I still think he voted against this measure."
"No women. His wife would be too sympathetic to--"
"Good evening, gentlemen!" A voice called out cheerfully.
"Shhh!" The other two hissed at him.
"Do you want someone to know we're here?" J.T. snapped. "Like your wife?"
The moon could not penetrate the darkness enough for them to see his face, but he was probably cowering. Jack knew that J.T. was right--that they should kick Phil out of the JERKs--but the eligible members were few and far between and they needed every member they could get. So in Phil stayed.
Right behind Phil were Hal, Bill, and of course, the leader, George.
George began. "This meeting of Jane's Evil and Repugnant Knaves will now come to order. Master Secretary, please make sure everyone is present."
Phil looked around and said, "Everyone's here, George. I don't see why we need to--"
"Just make sure everyone's here." George wished there were enough light so he could see Phil, because he needed a good smack upside the head.
"All right, all right. Master John Alfred Thorpe, known to his friends as J.T."
"You could have just said 'J.T.' Someone coming along and finding out what we're doing would--"
"Listen, if I have to do this, I'm going to do it right. And I need no further criticism. I get enough of it from my wife. Now are you here or not?"
"I'm here."
"Master John Cuthbert Willoughby, known to this circle as Jack."
"I'm here."
"Master Henry Ross Crawford, known to all as Hal."
"Here."
"Master William Walter Elliot, secondary leader of the group, original devisor of this ludicrous plan, also known as--"
"I'm here, and you voiced your many opinions of this scheme at the last meeting. Stop harping on it or we'll start calling you Augusta."
Phil glared at Bill but said nothing. "Master Philip Conrad Elton, secretary of the group, known as Phil...oh, that's me. I'm here."
The other members of the JERKs were tempted to start throwing things at him, but as they had nothing but their pocket watches (which would do very little damage) they abstained from doing so.
"And finally, Master George Darcy Wickham, who truly detests his second name, who is the leader of this illustrious and sinister band of knaves, who--"
"I'm here! Now could we please attend to the matter at hand?"
"You're the leader," Jack reminded George calmly.
"What put you in such a good mood?" J.T. asked. "I thought you said you and the missus hadn't made up from the time she found out you went to see your former ladylove to make amends."
"We haven't. Who said I spent the evening with my wife? If I had done so, I would probably be in as rotten a mood as you lot." Jack smiled.
George decided not to deck Jack, because at this crucial moment in their plan, they needed more than anything to get along.
"All right, then. Before we get to the old business, which is also the new business, is there anything we need to discuss?"
"Frank mentioned to me that he would like to join our group," Phil said. "And who told him, I would like to know? I said nothing to the man, even though his wife and mine are such friends and I know he's been regretting the day he married her."
"No, no, a million times no," George said. "Everyone in this group is in it for a reason. I mean, it was bad enough that Jane made us who we are. We could live with that."
"Speak for yourself! I didn't want to run off with a married woman!" Hal said. "I was more than content to stay with my darling Fanny. I knew I could win her in the end, but Jane decided that I wasn't good enough for her precious character, so she married her off to that wuss, Edmund!"
"I'll rephrase. We'll say that Jane made us who we are, and while we're not happy with it, it wasn't such a bad lot in life. I mean, compared to some of the things that have happened since."
"Too true," Phil said. "Although I hate to say it, George, but you seemed to have suffered the worst of it."
"Yes. But see, in the end, Jane gave Frank a happy ending. He got to marry a beautiful, intelligent, elegant woman."
"So did Jack," Bill pointed out.
"But is he happy?"
"No," Jack said emphatically. "Certainly not."
"Neither is Frank! Not anymore, anyway."
"Every other week it's the same old story. Frank wishes he'd married Mrs. Knightley--"
"Don't speak her name!" Phil snapped.
"I didn't. But then the next week, he's made up with his wife and he's happy again. I don't want someone else that indecisive in our JERKs group. Besides, we'd have to tell him about this, and I really don't want to do that with someone I can't trust. Anything else?"
"What about Willie Collins? He keeps asking me if he can join," Hal said.
"He is not JERK material. He's just a buffoon. I had the displeasure of having to meet the man on a number of family occasions. Many times I had to endure his lectures of propriety and I am amazed that he would want to join."
"I don't think he knows you're affiliated with it," Bill said.
"Quite likely not. Anything else?"
There was nothing else.
"All right then," George continued. "To the new and old business. As you all have come to realize, our dear creator, Jane Austen, attained new favor among the people of the modern world approximately four years ago. With this resurgence came the rotten illegitimate child of technology, the Internet."
A groan arose from the six gentlemen assembled.
"Yes, that rotten, evil thing. A small fledgling group admired dear Jane so much they devoted a web page to her. Then that web page spawned a thing called...Fan Fiction. But the fan fictionists weren't satisfied staying within dear Jane's stories, they wanted to expand! They wanted to bring them to the modern day and come up with new, evil things for us to do!"
"And new, evil things to happen to us," Phil said. "I had to watch that clueless story again, where I ended up dancing with some half-witted redhead in a truly hideous outfit. Never again shall I complain about Harriet Smith."
"Don't complain. Do you want to know how many times I've died?" George snapped. "I think the only one among us who has thus far escaped the curse of the Fan Fictionists is J.T."
"There was that one story..." J.T. objected. "You remember? The one that made us decide that we were ready for revenge."
"Oh, yes. Forgive me, J.T. That makes it unanimous, then." George sighed, then continued. "I was getting so frustrated at seeing myself die that I decided then and there that I would form a band of brothers, those who had been wronged once by Jane herself, but at least left to rest in peace. We first hoped that we could change our image with the writers through a letter-writing campaign."
"Which, if I remember correctly, we did one wild night at the Satin Slipper," Jack said. "I don't think our message was quite clear."
"Yes, well, then we tried to seize up the imaginations of the writers so they could not continue their twisted tales."
"Which seemed to have a fair rate of success, but then new writers appeared who continued where those others left off. The new writers were full of fresh ideas, and our methods didn't work," Bill said with a sigh.
"What about getting someone to sabotage the system they use so everyone can read these stories?" Phil suggested, not quite understanding what he was asking. It sounded good, though.
"That didn't work, either," George said. "Remember the April First thing? They managed to put it back together."
"Let's face it," J.T. added, "when it comes to the technology end of this business, they are far superior to us."
"Which led us to our ultimate and current scheme," George said. "To kidnap one of their own and force that person to write good stories about us, stories where we are the heroes who get the girl--if we choose to have her--and Jane's so-called heroes lose out. A propaganda machine, I believe such a thing would be called."
"Which story did you hear that in?" Hal asked.
"How should I know? There's so many of them I can't keep them straight anymore."
"The point of this mission was the acceptance of the fact that they're going to keep on writing about us and the others," Hal said. "But the hope is that if we're able to tell them our side of it--"
"Not just that," George said. "I want more than that. I want to take revenge against their original characters. The ones they've created where Jane did not, as well as Jane's own. I know J.T. started against that Denny character, and that was a good beginning. And I know that our Operation Writer's Block helped get rid of that annoying Sir James--"
"I don't know how effective either of those were," J.T. said ruefully. "The writer decided to stop writing in that direction and start all over again. And besides, I had just lost the girl. Remember?"
"Aah, don't worry. We'll fix things in no time," George said. "J.T., where is our package?"
J.T. looked down at the ground, where the carpet he had carried in was beginning to get restless. "Should I unwrap it?" he asked.
"Go right ahead," George replied.
J.T. put a hand to stop the carpet from wriggling, then rose again and gave the rolled-up carpet a kick so it would start rolling.
A moment later, the six men were looking on the essential part of their plan. Clad in blue jeans and a baseball jersey, she glared back at them, blue eyes unable to determine who they were, but having a pretty good idea. She was bound and gagged, and therefore the only sound that emerged was a muffled curse.
"Gentlemen," George announced proudly, "we are now able to begin the greatest mission in JERK history. I present to you....Operation Annie."
Part 2
"I still don't like it," Phil grumbled as he looked down at their captive.
The captive liked it even less, and even though her response was muffled, her meaning was unmistakable.
"Now, Phil. When we were at the Down and Dirty Club, you said you'd like to rewrite your story so that at the very least you didn't end up marrying your life," J.T. said. "Only they wouldn't put stories with our names on them on their little board. For one thing, they'd say we were lying about who we were, and therefore we couldn't post."
"There's also the little matter about none of us being able to write well," Bill added with a chuckle.
"Speak for yourself, Elliot. I am quite literate--" Jack protested.
"I'm not talking about plagiarizing Shakespeare. I mean that while we all have ideas a plenty, none of us can come up with a complete narrative that sounds good."
"Now I must protest," Hal said. "I thought my tale of two people torn apart by fate but eventually reunited was quite excellent."
"I'm not talking about plagiarizing Charlotte...er...Emily...er...do any of you know which Bronte sister wrote Jane Eyre?"
"It was Charlotte, and I didn't plagiarize that story!"
"Of course you didn't," J.T. said. "Just everything but the fire, because you couldn't stand being blinded and maimed."
Before the two could come to blows, George stepped between them and said, "Enough! We've already had enough sense to recognize our utter lack of creative talent, which is why we decided to go this route."
"Most of us," Phil muttered under his breath.
"Now! She's here and we're going to put her to good use. They will probably wonder why she's being so nice to us in her stories, and it'll destroy her credibility as a true, dedicated Austenophile. She'll be ruined as one dedicated to preserving the good and true values Jane upheld."
"What does that mean?" Hal asked.
"They'll kick her out of their community and she won't be able to write any more terrible stories," Jack said. "You know, she started to write a story about me once. I dread to think of how it might've turned out."
"She started to write a story where you would've been a hero, too," J.T. replied. "And she doesn't write terrible stories, otherwise we wouldn't have chosen her."
"Her stories are good--that's the problem," George said.
"I still think--" Phil started to say.
"Shut up!" the other five snapped, tired of hearing his whining.
"I was just going to say that we should've kidnapped that Spring woman instead of her. Spring's got a great sense of humor and she writes more often."
"Spring also happens to be married, and I know that some of us were afraid of her husband," Bill said snidely, with a look at Jack.
"What can I say? I'm a lover, not a fighter."
"I wanted that Xenia lady myself," Hal added wistfully. "I didn't turn out so badly in her story. Why couldn't we get her?"
"We couldn't find her," George said.
"Then what about those two girls who are writing that Mansfield story right now? One of them might have done quite nicely," Hal continued.
"I wish I could have found someone to give me a break," George said. "No one has. I've been killed, sent to prison, been suspected of doing everything under the sun. I've practically ruined careers--I never would've done that."
"Yes, you would've," J.T. said.
"Darcy doesn't count! He deserves whatever comes to him. But what did I do in the original story that deserved the punishment I've received over the years?"
"You tried to elope with Georgiana," Jack said.
"You lied to Elizabeth," Phil added.
"You extorted money from Darcy," J.T. chimed in.
"Okay, that's enough," George muttered.
"You seduced Lydia," Hal couldn't resist saying.
"And ran up debts everywhere you went," Bill finished.
"I said, that's enough!" George yelled.
"Hush," J.T. said in a low voice. "You want someone to find us?"
"Sorry," George said. "But it's not like you men are innocent and I'm the only evil-doer in this bunch. You've all done your share of mischief, otherwise you wouldn't be a JERK."
"He's right." Phil looked down at their captive, who had been unable to free herself or get her gag free in order to scream. Phil looked at her ridiculous outfit...and frowned. "Uh, fellas?"
"We must admit, George has gotten some bad treatment," J.T. said.
"I think he should get to go first," Jack said.
"Um...gentlemen?" Phil tried again.
"Absolutely. George gets his story first. All in favor?" Hal raised his hand.
The other five raised their hands as well, but Phil said, "Fellow JERKs--"
"What now, Phil?" George hissed in frustration.
"We have the wrong girl."
All eyes turned to look at him. "What?" Bill asked.
"She's not Annie. See?" Phil pointed to the back of her shirt, and the name that was on it. "Annie's last name is Newman, right? Not Smith?"
Five sets of eyes turned J.T.'s way.
"B-but..." he stuttered. "B-but she was where you guys told me Annie would be found! She answered the door! There was no one else there! Of course she's Annie!"
"Did you ask her for her name when she answered the door?" Bill asked.
"Er...no. I just assumed that--"
A loud groan rose from the others. "You lackwit!" Hal snapped.
"Bad enough that we decided to do this. Now we've got the wrong girl and what are we to do with her?" Phil wailed.
Their captive kept her head down during this exchange, because the last thing she wanted for them to see was the expression on her face. It would've given her away, as she found a great deal of amusement in their "predicament." Besides, she was way too smart to clue them in to the fact that she really was Annie.
"O Smith! She's O Smith! Correct me if I'm wrong, but Annie starts with an A, not an O!" Bill growled. "Any featherhead knows that!"
"But Annie's not her real name, right? You told me that she might not answer to Annie because it wasn't her real name. Her real name's Ozure, right?" J.T. said hurriedly. "I saw 'O. Smith' and figured--"
"That's Azure, with an A as well, you dunce. Don't you remember--we sent her an e-mail, and the response we got had that name on it?" Jack grumbled. "And her last name was Newman, not Smith! That should've been your first clue, you lamebrain!"
I knew I was going to need a wizard to get me out of this, Annie thought. I guess I got one, if only in name.
After a few more minutes of groaning and grumbling, and a lot of insults hurled at J.T., George sighed. "Even if she's not Annie, she must know her or else she wouldn't have been there. Perhaps we could ransom her back. Exchange Miss Smith for Annie."
"But she knows too much," Bill said. "She knows our full names and aliases, thanks to our brilliant secretary over there."
"I didn't want to do a roll call but George insisted! Don't go blaming me!" Phil protested.
"You didn't have to get into such great detail," J.T. replied. "And I still think she's Annie. She looks like an Annie."
"Known a lot of Annies, have you?" Bill said snidely.
"More than you have," J.T. retorted. "She matches the description she gave of herself in that story she wrote about me. Red hair, blue eyes, and not exactly light as a feather, I might add."
Annie's hands were bound in front of her, so all six men were able to see her extend her middle fingers to express her feelings about that comment. (It was crude, but it was rather effective at making her feelings known in this case.)
George took a second look at her. "She's tall?" he asked.
"Nearly as tall as me," J.T. replied. "And freckles. She's got freckles. And she was where you told me Annie lived, at Annie's computer, at Annie's favorite web site. I don't care what her shirt says. She's got to be Annie."
Brilliant idea you had, Newman, putting yourself in a story, Annie thought crabbily.
"Wasn't the main thing for us to get a name no one could throw off the page? Even if she's not Annie, they won't suspect that we're behind anything posted with Annie's name on it. Or her name, whatever it turns out to be," Jack said.
"I keep telling you, she's Annie."
Phil turned to look down. "Are you Annie?" he asked.
"God, Phil! Are you a complete simpleton?" Bill exclaimed.
"Clergymen tend to be, yes," Hal said.
"What? There was no harm in asking."
"Like she would've told you, even if we tortured her," Bill said. He grabbed her wrists. Even though she struggled to bring her feet around to kick him, it was to no avail as he dodged out of the way. Bill examined her hands, focusing on the third finger of her right hand. "I think J.T.'s right," he finally said. "She has a callous on her finger from where a pen would rest. Only someone who spend a great deal of time writing would get that."
"Very well, then. The evidence has proven that she is our quarry. The shirt must've been a red herring to throw us off," George concluded. "Now, should we escort our fair companion to our hideaway?"
"Someone else can. My back's killing me from having to bring her here," J.T. said.
At that moment, J.T. didn't realize where he was standing. Annie kicked her feet upward and nailed him with a vicious blow to his gentlemanly parts. (Crude but satisfying.) J.T. paled and collapsed on the ground, writhing in pain, as Jack and Hal picked up the furious female and managed to roll her back into the carpet.
Two carriages were awaiting their arrival. As soon as everyone was loaded into them, George signaled his driver to escort them to their hideaway far from the city, which they'd prepared for a visit of long duration.
Appendix of stories mentioned:Xenia's story about Hal was "The Parson's Wife."
Rachel and Marie L. are currently writing "Mansfield Revised."
The two stories Jack refers to me writing are "Passion and Propriety" and "Some Like It Sensible" (both of which I decided to stop writing on, because I had no ideas for them).
From the last section: J.T. appeared in "Just Kiss Me," which happens to be the story I (rather foolishly) put myself in.
Part 3
The Hideaway--2:30 am.
Once the two carriages reached JERK headquarters, affectionately called the Hideaway, Annie was again released from the carpet. This time, however, they decided it was time to remove the gag in her mouth.
A gag which was quickly replaced a minute later. Annie had a very loud voice, which she used to hurl insults toward her captors, their antecedents, and their personal habits.
"What language!" Phil exclaimed, flushing. "And you seemed like such a lady."
George decided it would be for the best if they all got some sleep and began the project in the morning. Everyone agreed that that was a worthy idea, and thus they settled in for the night.
The following day, they decided to approach Annie at noon.
"You can yell and scream all you want after I remove this, Miss Newman, but no one will hear you. We are far removed from any sort of civilization," George said. "And if you think to scream in order to bother us, we shall simply leave until your voice gives out. It's your choice."
Her choice it was. The others cringed in anticipation of another screaming bout. After a few minutes, when it became clear that she would do no more yelling, they took their fingers out of their ears and felt very silly indeed.
"You see? A sensible girl," George said. "And J.T., I think you should go last. Allow yourself time to calm down after the, um, unfortunate incident of this past evening."
Annie looked at J.T., who looked ready to kill her. Rather than seem afraid (though she was), she glared back at him.
"I'm sure you know who we are by now," George said.
Annie's gaze shifted to give a contemptuous look to the leader. "Unlike you lot, I do possess some intelligence," she replied.
"Then you know why you're here."
"I think I picked up the idea. And where you morons came up with this lame-brained idea that I would ever agree to do something like this--"
"You don't have any choice in the matter," Bill told her.
"What are you going to do? Kill me over some stupid stories? I hardly think so."
She was right, and they knew it. Evil and Repulsive Knaves were they, but not killers, no matter what George might've done in all those stories written about him. They were all too chicken to do that.
"We can keep you here, where you'll never write again," J.T. said. "If you write anything, we'll tear it up. It'll never see the light of day."
There was some rapid agreement with that idea.
"And...and we'll write terrible, stupid stories that'll ruin your reputation as a writer," Jack added.
"Or worse. Stories that will get you booted out of your group," George said.
Annie scoffed. "I hardly think that will happen. My group, as you call them, was formed because we were kicked out of another place. As long as the stories have something to do with Jane Austen's works, they'll accept them. I doubt I'll get asked to leave."
"We'll write horrid stories, where there's plenty of murder and gore. Darcy hacked to bits with a chainsaw. Brandon tied to a chair and tortured. All of them with your name on them. That would probably do," Jack said.
"I like the idea of Darcy getting hacked to bits. I intended to put him in a wood chipper in my story," George said.
"How unoriginal. Do you plagiarize Fargo now, as well as Bronte and Shakespeare?" Annie asked. "And they wouldn't allow that on the board even with my name on it, so you might as well give up that idea now."
George was disappointed. "Now Annie," he said in a smooth, friendly tone.
"What makes you think I'm Annie?"
"The evidence is overwhelming," Hal said.
George motioned for Hal to be silent. "Annie, you don't want to disappoint all the people who are reading your other stories, do you?"
"Of course not. It's been bad enough that I hardly find time to write with this new job, and that I'm having trouble coming up with stuff lately."
"All right, then. We'll allow you to write your stories--with some minor editing--as long as you write ours."
"For how long? Eternity? Forget it."
"If you don't write ours, you won't write yours. Ever again."
"Planning to break my fingers or give me a lobotomy? That's the only way you'll be able to stop me from writing."
"How about a trip to Bedlam?" Bill suggested calmly. "They won't allow you a pen in there, much less a computer. And very few people leave Bedlam...alive."
George looked at Bill Elliot, never more proud of him than at that moment.
Annie swallowed hard, then asked, "How long would I have to be here?"
George grinned. He had won! Operation Annie would be a smashing success! "Well, we each want our side of the story to be known. So...that's six stories, although I have a few others and I'm sure my fellow JERKs do as well."
"Six stories only," Annie said. "How will I know what to write?"
"We give you the outlines and let you go from there--don't forget, however, that we'll be editing, so don't get cute."
"No editing on what I write."
"Out of the question!" J.T. snapped. "You'd take our outlines and--"
"Not your stories, moron. Mine. You're not going to censor the work I'm currently doing."
"We're not censors," George said. "But--"
"No buts. My story continues as I see fit. No editing."
"I don't like your attitude. May I remind you that in your present situation you have no bargaining power. You have only one other alternative."
"You don't have any other alternatives besides me, if you want these written well."
"That's not true. As a matter of fact--"
"George," Phil said. "What harm can it do? The only story she's writing at the moment is one where you can't really--"
"If she continues, Lord only knows what I'll end up doing."
"Probably everything you did to begin with," Jack said.
"Who said I wanted to go through that again?"
"George, I wouldn't normally agree with the Pill, but he's right. When did you put yourself above a good, rousing seduction? Especially with Darcy's future sister-in-law," Hal said.
"It may have been a good, rousing seduction, but I had to marry the chit when it was all over. Would you have me wed to that flighty nitwit all over again?"
"Of course we wouldn't," J.T. said. "He's right. We edit."
"I think we need to remember that it was extremely difficult to get her. Who knows how long it will be before we get another chance," Jack said. "She only wants one thing. Let's consider ourselves lucky."
"Give that one an inch, and she'll take a mile," Phil said.
"What a cliché," Annie muttered under her breath. "Can't you think of something more original to say?"
George mulled the decision over for a good long minute. Finally, he said, "Okay."
"Six stories and no editing on mine," Annie repeated the offer.
"Agreed." George beamed. "I knew she'd be reasonable about this."
"I think a drink is in order," Hal said cheerfully. "To our future--as redeemed rakes!"
Annie, still bound, rolled her eyes. These morons actually thought a story or two was going to change everyone's opinion of them?
Not if she had anything to do about it.
Chapter 4
Annie had figured that after making the deal with the JERKs that she would be freed by nightfall. For one thing, she wouldn't be able to type if her hands remained bound in the position they were currently in. Although she was smart enough to know that she wouldn't be able to escape that first night--they would be expecting that--she knew that sooner or later, she would be able to get away when they were passed out cold. (The amount they'd drank the first full day of her captivity made her realize that.)
She was not unbound for her first evening, and when George cut her free the following morning, Annie discovered that escape was not going to be so easy. Standing at the foot of the pallet she'd been allowed to sleep on was a veritable giant of a man, extremely attractive, young, with long blond hair but a cold look in his eyes.
"Annie, meet Bruno," George said with a grin. "He's your personal bodyguard."
"I don't need a bodyguard to write," she replied saucily.
"Oh, he's not here for that. He's here to make sure you...ah, stay put."
"I made a deal with you guys, didn't I? I don't back out of my deals." Unless I have my fingers crossed, which I did when I made that one with you.
George clearly wasn't falling for her innocent act. "All the same, he's here to make sure you stay here until we're finished with you. And I've changed my mind about something, Annie."
"What's that?"
"I've decided that being the leader of this group that I should be allowed the privilege of an extra story."
"Forget it. We agreed on one apiece."
"And I'm telling you that I've decided to amend the deal. You see, Annie, you've done quite a bit of damage to me over the past two years you've been writing for these web pages. You started out innocently enough--I rather liked that Caroline story you wrote. I was hardly mentioned at all, and anything Caroline says about me I can pretty much discredit because she's a cat. And then your second story--oh, that was delightful! You nearly had me become a reformed rake who marries Elizabeth. I wonder why you didn't pursue that avenue."
"Because no one with half a brain in their head would've believed it," Annie replied.
George gave her a frown but continued. "Then your third story was that one about Darcy's son and the young lady from the future. That wasn't bad, either--until you decided to write a sequel to it where you let Sir James send me off to God knows where. From there, I fear it was downhill, for in that little skating story you thought it would be nice if I went around trying to wreck Georgiana's knee and Lizzy's ankle. Don't you realize that I would never have hurt Lizzy in such a way?"
Annie looked at him with something akin to wonder in her voice. "You loved her," she whispered. "You really loved her? How could you possibly love anything but yourself?"
"That is not for you to question!" George snapped. "Anyway, then we move on to that horrid little shop story. I not only killed some poor innocent girl, but I also tried to kill Georgiana! Her only fault was being Darcy's sister, but not even that would've made me kill her."
"And here you want to put Darcy in a wood chipper."
"I didn't say I wouldn't be willing to hurt Darcy. I was talking about hurting Georgiana. I nearly married the girl, didn't I?"
"You only tried to marry her because she had a lot of money. If she'd been a poor man's daughter, you just would've seduced her and run off. Just like you tried to do with Lydia Bennet."
"I wouldn't have done any harm to her, either. I married her, didn't I?"
"Only because Darcy was paying you to. Tell me that if he hadn't caught up to you that you've married her anyway."
George smiled. "Of course I wouldn't have. Lydia is a foolish creature, and had I known what trouble she was going to cause me, or that I was going to wind up married to her, I would never had run off from Brighton with her. Indeed, that is why I asked for a second story. You see, I want to be a hero, and I know I shall never be a hero if I kill Darcy--for some reason, you people are far too attached to him. So in order to change my image, I think I shall have to do something else."
"Two questions, genius. First, how does that involve Lydia? And second--why should this entitle you to breaking our agreement?"
"Well, I still wish to have my revenge on Darcy, which shall have to take place in a different story in which I appear as the hero. And as for Lydia, well, I shall tell you that when the time comes."
"You're only getting one story. Everyone else is only getting one story, and you're no better than the rest of them."
George looked at Bruno. "I ask you, what should I do with her? Bill thinks a good long stay at Bedlam would do her good, but she is worthless to us there. If you could write, that's what I would do with her."
Bruno said nothing.
George sighed. "Well, Annie, as you can see, he was hired more for his physical skills than his intellect."
Annie's eyes widened, and she tried to prevent her voice from quavering when she said, "Are you threatening me with him?"
"Of course not," George said hastily. "He's merely a bodyguard. I was asking his opinion, and getting frustrated when he didn't have one. All the same, I shall have my two stories, and we shall begin with the first one now. Bruno?"
Bruno walked around to one side of the bed and grasped her arm. Annie figured he was the rough type, and was surprised when his grip was firm but gentle.
"Hey!" she snapped. "Would it be okay if I had a bath and maybe something to eat? It's one thing to be coerced into this nonsense, but another to have to do it without food and decent bathing time."
"I suppose that would be okay. Bruno? Escort our fair maiden to the necessary, then to the kitchen, and then lead her to the library where the computer is."
"He's not coming into the bathroom with me!" Annie shouted. "That's perverted."
"Of course he's not," George replied. "He'll stand guard outside in case you try to escape. Despite what you may be thinking, Miss Newman, you're only here to write. And if you don't write, then you're here to be sent to Bedlam so you can't write anymore. Bruno?"
Bruno escorted Annie out of the bedroom and down the hall to a surprisingly luxurious bathroom. Luxurious and disappointing, for there were no windows anywhere. No way to escape. And she knew that this would be the only time she would be allotted any privacy.
After a nice long bath, and a bologna-and-cheese sandwich with Doritos, Bruno walked her past the front door and into a large, airy room just off what would probably be considered the music room. In the center of the room sat a desk with a computer and printer on it. All along the far end of the wall were books and three-ring binders with writing on them. Annie was able to see the titles on them...each one containing the name of a writer at DWG.
"Nice room," Annie said, sitting down in a very comfortable computer desk chair. It was much nicer than the one she had at home. "Thanks for bringing me here...uh, Bruno. I'll be just fine. You can do whatever you'd like."
Bruno smiled. Annie couldn't help noticing that he had a devastating smile. Under normal circumstances, she'd probably be close to swooning. But he didn't leave.
"Uh...Bruno? I can't concentrate if you're going to be staring at me like that."
He sat on a couch sitting alongside the wall. Annie hadn't noticed it before, but she sighed. It looked like she wasn't going to be able to ditch the bodyguard. She switched the computer on and waited for a word-processing program boot up. Bruno didn't once take his gaze off of her.
"Bruno? You're still staring at me. If it's absolutely necessary for you to stay in the room, would you mind finding something else to stare at? Maybe bring a book along to read? If I can't concentrate, I can't write, and then I don't get to leave. And believe me, I want to go home just as soon as I can."
When the bodyguard didn't speak, Annie began to wonder if he was deaf. But that didn't seem likely, since he'd obeyed every command George had for him. They exchanged glances for another minute, his green-gold eyes holding hers for a few moments before he stood up and walked over to the bookshelf. He chose a book and returned to the couch, opening it and beginning to read.
Annie smiled when she noticed the title. Pride and Prejudice. "Thank you," she said. She wasn't surprised when she didn't receive a response, and so she turned to the computer.
A few moments later, George entered the room. "Ah! I see you're ready now. Excellent!" He noticed Bruno sitting on the couch and glared at him. "Bruno, what are you doing? You're slacking on the job! How dare you, you idiot! You weren't hired to sit around and read."
"George, I can't have him staring at me. It makes me nervous. As long as he's in the same room, what should it matter that he's reading? I'm sure if I tried to escape, he'd be after me in a second."
George didn't say anything. He looked at the title of Bruno's book. "I didn't know we still had that one. I thought I told J.T. to burn all of her books. Trust him not to complete the job. Get rid of it, Bruno. There are many different books there, all interesting, far better reading than that."
Bruno put down his book.
"Good. Now, I've written down some ideas for my hero story. Just...er, use them in the story and I'm sure it'll be good."
Annie looked over the hastily jotted notes. "Is this supposed to be an old story or a new one?"
George seemed confused, but then he said, "Oh. You can set it in the modern day, I suppose. We'll have the other story set in the Regency era."
"They didn't have wood chippers in the Regency era," Annie muttered.
George glared at her. "As you pointed out, Miss Newman, that idea is unoriginal. I've got a few ideas that are far better, that wouldn't require a particular time and place. Now, get to work on that one. I'll be back in a few hours to see how you're doing." George looked at Bruno one last time. "And I mean it about that book. Get rid of it."
When he was gone, Bruno looked at the book. He walked over to a garbage can and held the book over it. Annie watched as he looked at the cover again, then down at the garbage can. He looked over at her.
"Don't do it, Bruno," she said.
Thud.
He'd dropped the book into the trash with a small smile that Annie didn't find half as nice as the one he'd had earlier. She'd been hoping that perhaps she'd have an ally, someone who would help her escape.
So much for that idea.
Bruno found another book and sat down on the couch to read. Annie didn't bother looking at the title. She just turned to the computer and looked at the story ideas that George had given her. Somehow the idea he'd come up with didn't surprise her. Nor did it surprise her that he'd been lying about something. He'd sworn that he wouldn't want harm to come to Lydia.
And yet his first idea was, "Lydia dies in childbirth."