Very much NSFW fic continued from yesterday:
Fracture Twenty-One: Damage Control
A blue fuzzy digit traced across the paper. “Not. In. A. Boat… Not. In. The. Rain!”
“Good,” said Kitty. “That’s it.”
“I. Do. Not. Like. Them. Sam, I, Am,” Bluebelle started grinning. “I do not like green eggs and ham!”
“Good *girl*,” Kitty gave her a hug. “Did you hear that, Kurt?”
“Yes, I heard,” Kurt was grinning, too. “I have the cleverest little girl in the whole world. Unfortunately, I have to call Mama and Papa and play good-news-bad-news.” He had the phone to his ear in the traditional attitude of all people waiting for calls to connect. “Ah! It’s ringing. I hope I don’t wake them up…”
Kitty stared at the sunset’s colours in confusion. Waitasecond. *Germany*! Night in Bayville was sometime around dawn in Heirelgart.
“Guten Morgen, Mama! Weckte ich Sie auf? Nein? Wunderbar…” He sat down and immediately tangled himself in the phone cord. “Mama… You remember that summer before I turned eight? When you said a predator got to me? Ja. The ‘big cat’… I know you know about the books, Mama. Ja. It was bad business. Well. The thing ist… It turns out I’m responsible for a couple of 'kittens’…” He winced and bit his lip. “Ja. I’m still here. I just thought – Nein, of course you’re not angry. I should have known. Mama? The oldest one died when he was still a baby. He - he was born about a year before his schwester.” He smiled and breathed a sigh of pure relief. “Of course you’re coming over. Herr Professor has already paid for the tickets. All you have to do is show up at the airport and identify yourself. Ja, ja… He also paid for meine schwesters, too. Es ist ein family crisis. Nein, we’re handling arrangements here. You don’t need to bring Vater Heigl. I *know* he'd love to baptise them, but you don’t have to – *okay*! You can argue mit the Professor. I’m sure he’s already listening in.” A big grin. “Hello mein Herr! Isn’t this fun? Mama wants Vater Heigl to come.”
Somehow, Kurt untangled himself and sat near Kitty and Bluebelle. “But before I let you two argue it out, do you want to talk to Ihre Grossartigtochter? Ja, she’s right here. We’ve been learning to read. Here,” He put the 'phone in Bluebelle’s hand and helped her hold it to her ear.
“Oma?” she risked. She jumped when the voice on the other end responded. “Magic!” she said. “Wer sind Sie? Wo sind Sie?” She listened, then said, “Ja, I want to see you. But - nobody can fit through these little holes…”
*
Bluebelle tried not to scratch at the mask over her face. It was difficult to do. Daddy said there was still a risk she could catch something, since she hadn’t had all of her shots, yet. What she did have was just one dress that was in need of a bath, and a pair of panties that were fast threatening to unravel completely.
And she’d only *had* clothes for a day or two.
Ms Munroe had tried to give her a big, ugly T-shirt to wear while her beautiful-pretty dress was 'being washed’. Bluebelle had practically cried the mansion down, convinced that she’d never see it again. Mistress *always* took good things away.
But that was then, as Daddy kept saying. This was now.
Now, she still had her dress on, as well as a brand-new image-thingy just like Daddy’s, that made her not scary to people. She still had to be careful, Daddy said, because the image thingy only made her *look* like an ordinary little girl. She still felt like she’d always felt. Fuzzy and soft and very, very different.
It was bad for people to find out she or Daddy were different.
This new place, that Kitty called a 'mall’, was fascinating and frightening at the same time. There were so many *strangers*…
Strangers in Mistress’ house was bad news. One way or another. Either she had to avoid them at all costs, or they would wind up as another toy in Mistress’ basement. For her 'good times’.
Bluebelle clung tight to Daddy, practically climbing his arm every time a stranger came too near.
She was so scared.
But Daddy said they had to go here. He said she had to have more clothes, and she didn’t like anything that was available.
Kitty was picking out an amazing selection of clothes. Bluebelle hadn’t ever seen so many clothes. Not even Mistress had this many.
Mistress collected clothes from her toys.
“Daddy?” Bluebelle risked. “Where did these clothes come from?”
He looked at her and went all sad for a couple of seconds, and then he was back to being all kind and happy. “People make them, liebe. There are factories - places where people go to work - where people make clothes out of big bolts of fabric. They work for money, that *they* use to buy other things for their families.”
Bluebelle nodded. Kitty had sort of explained money and shopping at length on the way to the mall. She felt safer knowing that the clothes had never been worn and taken.
She couldn’t think of a predator big enough to take that many children.
Mistress was always afraid of getting noticed. She was always careful about her toys. Obsessively careful.
Someone who could take *that* many clothes would have been a - what was Daddy’s word? A monster.
But there weren’t any monsters here. Just people working to help something called the economy.
“Okay, I think that’s like, just about one of everything,” Kitty announced. “C'mon Bluebelle. Let’s like, try some of this stuff on.”
“The pants won’t fit until they’re adjusted in the back,” said Daddy. "Just try the waistband up against her. If it reaches past halfway around, it should fit.“
"Like, thanks for the tip. C'mon Bluebelle, let go of your Dad and like, come with me. He can’t like, go into the girls’ changing rooms.”
“Ja,” said Daddy. “Es ist illegal.”
Bluebelle transferred her death grip to Kitty’s arm.
Daddy mouthed, “Very scared,” and Kitty nodded.
This was unknown territory, now. Here there be dragons. Bluebelle couldn’t help but remember all of Mistress’ various houses, where bad and scary things happened in little rooms. This place was full of little rooms. So they were closed with curtains instead of doors with locks. It didn’t matter. They were still little rooms.
She was shaking and whimpering by the time Kitty took her into one. Her eyes were starting to tear up.
So frightened…
Kitty put the clothes down and gave her a hug. “Hey. Hey. Shhh… It's okay, 'Belle. Come on. This is just a place where people try out clothes and see if they look good, okay? Nothing bad happens here. It’s *fun*. You remember like, playing with some of *my* stuff, right? This is better because most of it’ll fit.”
Bluebelle took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.
Kitty gently dried her face. “There, now. It’s okay to be scared. You just gotta remember that Mistress is like, *not* here, okay?”
Bluebelle nodded.
“Now, in order to try the new stuff *on*, we’ve got to like, take your dress off, okay?”
“Please don’t take it away?”
Kitty frowned. “I’m not gonna take it. You’ll get it back. It’s just like, easier to see if anything like, fits this way. It’s okay.”
Her beautiful-pretty dress was folded neatly in a corner away from the curtain, where Bluebelle could watch it at all times.
Of course, her panic about losing things turned out to be pointless, but it took her a few minutes to work that out for herself. She should have accepted it when Kitty told her, but trust didn’t come easily.
She’d had seven and a half years of Mistress.
She’d only had a few days of Daddy’s world.
*
Claire couldn’t help but intensely examine every girl who looked about ten. Even though this wasn’t New York, she had to look. She couldn't give up. It’d been three years and she didn’t want to think of her daughter as dead and cold. Neglected in the ground.
Sherrie had to be alive.
Had to be.
Even though Lucien was giving up hope, Claire refused to. This was her baby girl. She couldn’t give up on her baby girl.
Even though it was torture to go through the children’s department, she had to look, to scour the area for any hint. Any sign. Anything. A whisper here, a word there. All made her eyes dart to the source.
She almost overlooked the trio at the accessories, but the little girl playing with hats caught her attention and made her do a double-take. Made her look hard and stare.
That was Sherrie’s dress.
The dress Claire had made for her.
Her favourite dress.
The one she was last seen in.
_Oh God._
Her brain turned off and she leaped forward. “SHERRIE!” Claire siezed the little girl and turned her around. “*Sherrie*?”
Frightened green eyes instead of brown.
Dark, almost indigo hair, in curls, instead of sandy-blonde hair that hung down straight.
And a very, very pale face. She wore a surgical mask over her nose and mouth.
She wasn’t Sherrie.
“Where did you get that dress?”
The girl’s jaw moved, but no sound came out.
Claire shook her. “Where did you get that dress!”
She started to cry.
There was a teenage girl. Brunette. Ponytail. She made Claire let the little stranger go with an angry, “Is there a *problem*?”
The girl went to a teenage boy with blue hair in an instant and wept into his shoulder.
“You *scared* her,” he said. His accent marked him as German, and he said the words as if it was the worst crime in the world to scare a little girl. “*Why*?”
“That’s my daughter’s dress,” said Claire. “I haven’t seen her in three years.”
The German boy looked shocked, and clung to the girl all the tighter. He looked close to tears, himself.
The ponytailed girl’s face fell. “Oh, no…” she said.
In that instant, Claire knew. It was bad news. “Please?” she begged. "Not Sherrie…“
"Fraulein… Perhaps we should find somewhere quiet to sit together and talk.”
Oh God. Not Sherrie. Not Sherrie.