On the Edge of Time


Book Five 
Part Seven (II)
"End of Game"

Late 15th Century. A lonely country road outside Paris...Something out of the ordinary...

Well, not that out of the ordinary, but to many locals, that curious, diabolical machine was just that as it cruised into position. Its passengers were an odd assortment: some medieval, some post-modern. The machine's operator, a woman who was one of Frollo's ablest spies, rechecked her coordinates before launching the vehicle into transtemporal space. "Folks, get yourselves ready 'cause here goes nothing...And remember what Claude Frollo said: 'We are in this together; we have to save Danisha AND bring Marcel Rougelot to justice."
Her passengers nodded in agreement then fastened safety belts just as the car blasted off in a sea of white light.


In 1968...deep in the basement of an abandoned house...
"Dear Danisha, sweet child...Hmm...Perhaps I won't kill you after all...Perhaps, if I...YES! Why not?"

Marcel Rougelot sat at young Danisha's feet; his grimy fingers toyed with her hair. His dark eyes bored through her while he entertained the dark designs he had planned for this helpless child. Marcel knew that if he wanted to wreck havoc on Claude Frollo's life, the thing to do is NOT to kill the child who would grow up to become one of Frollo's treasured lovers. No, rather that Marcel ruin this little girl in other ways. Yes, like Danforth ruined me...

Little Nisha whimpered protests as Marcel unbound her feet, then slowly and lightly ran his hands over her slim brown legs. "Oh Danisha, you have the most appealing color...Just like honey...Now, don't be frightened; for I intend to make you my own...You do want to please me, don't you?"
Nisha shook her head violently and tried valiantly to scream against the confines of the smelly rag that gagged her. "Scream all you want; no one will hear you. Now, let me simply remove..."
Ever so slowly he raised the navy blue jumper up over her thighs; his hands reached for her ruffled panties...


Oh no, I can feel it...He's going to do this...He's about to...OH NO! Claude, where are you?! It's the Charles Woodbridge incident all over again, only this time Marcel intends to finish the job... Why do I feel as if someone is ...?
Darling Claude how I wish this was all a horrible nightmare...I hope Cherie comes through for me...Claude, I heard that you had some help -- Phoebus of all people, but I really like the ex-soldier...He's going to be all right...Iggy told us before he rushed back to '68...I'd call you but Cherie has my communicator...
Oh God, please don't let that man do what I think... Claude! Hurry! Marcel intends to ruin everything for us...


Back in '68...
"Quiet as church mice, guys," warned Iggy McMullen as the three men -- Claude, Julian, and Iggy -- entered the abandoned house through an open backdoor. The house had seen better days with its peeling wallpaper, creaking floorboards, and crumbling plaster. Oddly enough, the lights and plumbing, although faulty, still worked.
"I remember this part of town...The 'in' place for the bohemian, artsy crowd...This house belonged to a old classmate, but he moved out in December '67...Still kept the lights and water going," Iggy explained. Claude Frollo, his side still smarting from Marcel's assault, stood at the head of the basement stairs. At this moment he wasn't thinking of old classmates or declining neighborhoods; he wanted to find little Danisha before Marcel harmed her.
"Julian, is this the place?." indicated Frollo as the men peered down the darkened stairwell. Frollo's newest master of espionage rechecked the tracking mode on his own transtemporal device and nodded. Frollo winced slightly, still holding his right side as if to allay the pain. "He has her...I can feel it..."
Suddenly Frollo felt something else, a strange feeling deep within him. Yes, that can only be... Danisha -- both the child and adult -- is in dire distress...Marcel fully intends to...
"Your Honor," whispered Julian, "why don't you take him from behind? Let Iggy and me go in first...If he still has that gun then at least you will have a chance..." Frollo shook his head. "No, I have to..."
Iggy interrupted, "Hey, Claude, the odds are stacked against us...He's got that revolver and he's not afraid to use it...I say let me and Julian take that risk." The medieval magistrate pondered all this while, in his mind, he heard Nisha's frantic calls for help. His hand flew to his side again as if to stay the pain as he took a deep breath then said after a beat, "It is now or never, gentlemen."



Little Danisha Wood screamed into the rag that bound her mouth; she squirmed and kicked as Marcel Rougelot struggled to remove her underwear. He was decidedly perturbed -- and desperate. "My child, I must do this! Here, stop this moving about...Lie still, you little wench!"
Ah, his fingers found their target: the panties, those silky, ruffled panties. So delightfully girlish...What fun I'll have...Only this time I'm in control, the way it should be...

"Umm! Stop!" Danisha's non-stop muffled protests caused Marcel to become so unglued that in an instant he transformed into the frenzied killer who mercilessly butchered Big Sal to death. Scrambling to his feet, Marcel towered over his young captive; his eyes burned with sheer hatred. "You damned vile evil little demon! You and Frollo! If it wasn't for you and Frollo I'd be back in Nantes now, with Isabelle!"
The child didn't quite understand --  Who's Isabelle, and why is this man talking so bad about Judge Frollo? That judge wanted to take me home...but this bad man hurt him...I wish that judge was here now...OW!
Again, Marcel stooped before Danisha; his hands roughly forcing her thighs apart. The poor child sobbed and wailed while Marcel Rougelot ripped her panties from her body. Now, thought Marcel, this is the moment of truth. "Danisha, dearest, do you know I can tell you about your future...You will meet this man named Frollo, and the pair of you will produce a child, a daughter..."
Nisha's eyes steamed tears as Marcel babbled on and on while his fingers inched their way upwards and inside her open thighs. She squealed louder hoping that someone would come along and...

"Marcel Rougelot, stop! Give yourself up at once!"

'Le Chameleon', markedly distressed that his moment of pleasure and triumph ended so abruptly, turned his head to face the voice. Imagine his surprise when he beheld Julian McNaney and Iggy McMullen standing before him; he never detected the other man coming from behind until...
"Mr. Rougleot, step away from Danisha," Julian said as he motioned to Iggy to pick up the gun that laid on the floor nearby. The aging flower child complied only to be met by a glancing blow to the head. Marcel turned around in time to see Claude Frollo untie an extremely terrified seven year old Danisha. No sooner had Frollo removed the gag that Marcel Rougelot swung around and dealt the medieval judge a hard slam to that same injured side. Claude Frollo let out a yelp of pain and immediately fell to the floor.

"Claude!," screamed Julian as he rushed to Marcel, and began to pummel 'le Chameleon'. The Minister of Justice writhed and moaned in agony as he helplessly witnessed his future lover's fate in the hands of a madman. Marcel, grabbing the gun, held the men at bay as he wrenched little Nisha's arm then forced the child up the wooden steps. Claude Frollo struggled to get up; the pain was so unbearable. Only His Grace's indomitable will pressed him onwards. I have to save her...Damn you, Marcel Rougelot! Unholy demon! A soul and mind so warped...
"Mr. Rougelot, let me go! Mr. Frollo, get up!"  Little Nisha's pleas for help and her ever-thwarted attempts to escape Marcel urged Claude Frollo to call out to her, and to Marcel. "Marcel," the medieval judge began weakly, "let the child go...I shall speak to Isabelle once we return to Paris, to our time...Perhaps she shall see fit to withhold her testimony..."
Rougelot's eyes shot fire at Frollo, but he relaxed his grip on Danisha long enough for Frollo to call to her, "Run, Danisha! Run as fast as you can!" No sooner had Claude Frollo spoken that Nisha broke free from Marcel and quickly sprinted up the steps.

"You tricked me!", screamed Marcel as he bounded up after the child. Julian, now helping Iggy to his feet, motioned to his employer to go after Rougelot. Although somewhat incapacitated, Claude Frollo struggled up the steps followed by Julian and a still groggy Iggy McMullen.

The house was dark except for the hallway ceiling light that dimly illuminated part of the first floor. Once the men emerged from the basement, they knew that extreme caution was in order; Rougelot is desperate and could spring yet another trap. The Minister of Justice, still clutching his throbbing right side, whispered to his companions, "We need to separate...But exercise caution...And if you must kill him, so be it!"
Iggy and Julian took the lower floor while Claude Frollo, flashlight in hand, ascended the creaking stairs which led to the second floor.

...Hmm...he could be up here...she may be in hiding...What? Someone else is in this house; I can sense it...


In an upstairs bedroom
The room was empty except for a stripped down bed and broken table. The lone light fixture dangled from the ceiling, its bare socket and corroded wires exposed. To the left was a closet, and that's where little Danisha hid. She could hear approaching footsteps and she prayed that Marcel Rougelot would not find her. She had no idea that her salvation would come quickly, and not just from Judge Claude Frollo.


O Lord, protect me from the evil man who wants to harm me, as a child. This man has killed so many, and has caused so much distress...
He intends to violate me in the worst possible fashion; then he'll kill me...And that means that I'll never grow up; I'll never meet Claude, and I'll never have my daughter.
For Nadine's sake, urge onwards those good people desperately trying to rescue me, and my future...


In a darkened hallway...
Claude Frollo slipped up the stairs without ever being detected by Marcel Rougelot. All His Grace wanted was to find young Danisha and bring Marcel to justice. He silently crept down the corridor, then slipped into a bathroom; he thought he heard someone coming. Sure enough, he spotted a familiar figure. Perhaps this is it...Marcel has finally run out of options...
Frollo had no idea that the little girl destined to become one his most cherished of lovers, and the mother of his child, was just in the next room, cowering in a closet. Marcel Rougelot sat in that room, determined to ruin a child's future.


"Come on, Nisha...Come out, my dear. I promise I'll buy a nice plaything for you. You do like dolls, don't you?"
Marcel stooped before the closet door, coaxing Danisha to come out; she refused. For the past several minutes Marcel had tried to persuade her with sweet words, but she never bought his lies.
In a frightened but surprisingly firm voice, she answered, "No, you want to hurt me...You are a very bad man."

In a rage, Marcel took a nearby crowbar and began to chip away at the door, paying no heed to the child's terrified squeals and sobs. "Damn you little black wench! If I have to tear this house apart board by board, I'll have you!" The door gave way as Marcel's repeated blows chiseled away the wood around the hinges. With little effort, he had the door open and proceeded to yank on Danisha's arm. "Let's go! Just you and me, eh? Oh you've been a very naughty little girl...Let's play a game...I know...'Who's Got the Best of Frollo Now?'"
Marcel's raspy laughter hissed in Danisha's ear like a snake as he slapped her across the face. The poor kid's left cheek soon sported an ugly red welt; her wails and screams were loud enough to spur Marcel to gag her again. "Maybe," he said roughly as he tightened his handkerchief around her mouth, "you will shut up and do what you're told..."
He grabbed Nisha by the hand, but she repeatedly swung at him with her free hand. His response? A vicious, violent shaking that was soon interrupted. Marcel sensed hands grabbing him; the voice from behind said warningly, "Let Nisha go -- RIGHT NOW!"

Marcel wheeled around and nearly fainted. Oh no, not...

(For Real!) The final showdown...A homecoming...


Copyright ©1999 by FrolloFreak®

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