Michael breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her pink-clad body sitting on the step, arms wrapped around her little knees. He was close, so close. He held out his hand and she stood, rushing forward and grabbing it, her small hand slipping into his. They turned as one, walking past her bike, turned over in the dirt, and on to his car, which sat at the outside corner of their lot, dark and silent in the night.
She realized something was wrong earlier than he had expected. She had believed him when he said that Becky had the kitten down the road, holding it in her car. She had gotten in, fastened the seatbelt and leaned forward expectantly—scanning the fields and approaching roads for Becky’s van. But now, six miles down the road, she was silent, her questions less frequent, and her face tighter.
“How long before we get there, Uncle Michael?”
“About fifteen minutes sweetie. I forgot, Becky decided to take the kitten to our house instead. She’s got it there, giving it some milk.”
“But what about my mommy and daddy seeing it? Aren’t I going to get to keep it at my house?”
He reached over, rubbing her knee. “Of course, Annie. We’re just going to make a quick stop at my house first.”
CHAPTER 36
I wait at the door until I hear the elevator open, Jeremy step on, and the car’s movement downward. Then I open the door and grab the large cardboard box marked ‘fragile.’ Lightbulbs for my cam spotlights. I carry the box in; swinging the door shut with my foot, I look down at the top of it, at the foreign object stuffed halfway into the pocket of the label.
It is a card, the envelope pink, and the words on the front painstakingly neat—”To The Girl Who Lives in Apt 6E.” I smile at the title, understanding the meaning behind it, its reference to my many aliases. I open the unsealed flap, sliding out the plain white card. Inside, the message is short, block writing in blue ink:
I don’t know what’s going on with you, with your whole ‘I don’t talk to people, I kill them’ act. But I know what’s going on with me, and that’s that I can’t get you out of my mind. Please let me in.
Sincerely, Jeremy
I read it twice before setting it on the desk in front of me. I sit and stare at it, thinking. Then I pick up the phone and call Derek.
He answers on the second ring. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I can’t call a friend to chat?”
“We’re not friends, and we don’t have an appointment. You never call without an appointment.”
“Are you busy?” I feel a flash of jealousy, quick and green, but then it’s gone..
“No. What’s up?” I hear a creak and envision him leaning back in his chair, relaxing.
“Nothing. I mean, something happened, and I need advice.”
“Another episode?”
“No—nothing about that. It’s Jeremy … you know the guy who—”
“You’ve had one human interaction in three years, I know who you’re talking about. What happened?”
“He left me a note. Outside. With my package.” I read him the note, trying not to add inflections that probably don’t exist. When I finish, there is silence—silence that stretches out so long that I find myself fidgeting.
“What do you want from me, Deanna?”
“I want you to tell me what to do! I don’t know how to handle this shit.”
“What do you want to do?”
“I—I don’t know what I want. I just need you to tell me what to do.”
“What was it like when you were with him?”
I stand, pacing the expanse between my two bedrooms. Crossing the thresholds feels like moving between my two selves—sex kitten to lonely woman. JessReilly19 to scheming murderess. I pushed against his hard chest, and then he was there, in my mouth, his tongue pressed gently against mine, and my own traitorous mouth responded, my heart rate increased, my hands moved of their own accord to his strong arms. Shoving the blade of the box cutters deep into his skin, the blood bursting from the movement, spraying gently upon my hand. I tasted him, greedy for everything; my hands roamed everywhere, grabbed at his shirt, hastily undoing the buttons. If he came back, if he came inside, I could be more prepared, could succeed in my quest for death.
“Deanna?”
I halt, trying to focus. “I’m sorry—what was the question?”
“What was it like when you were with him? How did you feel?”
“I wanted him.” On me, in me, dead beneath me.
“In what way?” Derek’s voice is so sensual, so soothing, so male. I make a decision, moving to my pink bed, and lay back on the sheets that smell of lube and latex.
“Every way. I wanted him to continue, to touch me, to run his hands up and down my body. I wanted to feel the warmth of him against my skin. I wanted his cock, hard and firm, f**king me in and out—” I stop, my fingers inside of me, my pu**y soaking wet, my back arched – posing for the camera that isn’t on me. I have done it. I have slipped into the Jessica role, into my habit of graphically describing sex, the habit that my clients loved and the habit that made them hard and caused them to come. With Derek. What the f**k is wrong with me? Is any part of me left? Or have my two egos claimed it all?
There is silence on his end. Silence and breath.
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly, sitting up and trying to resume some semblance of a professional tone. “I wanted him to f**k me, but I also wanted to kill him. It was exhausting—an inner battle that, at one moment, would have the sexual side dominating, winning the war—but then I would lose control and want only to hurt him. I don’t want to go through that again.”
“Then you have your decision.”
“Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
I glance at the clock, waiting, willing the numbers to change. They behave, dutifully changing as my eyes watched. “It’s been thirty minutes. I’ll talk to you on Monday.”
“Deanna, we need to finish this—”
I hang up, pressing the end button longer than necessary, watching the phone dim then go black. Then I roll, coming off of the bed and yank open my right top drawer, pulling out black leather and silver studs. Today is definitely a dominatrix day.
CHAPTER 37: Carolyn Thompson
The utility bill was due. Actually, it was overdue—by two weeks now. They owed $124.55, and couldn’t get another extension. Carolyn Thompson walked down the narrow hall to Annie’s room, trying to think of a solution. She didn’t want to ask the church for more money and didn’t want to bother any more family. Henry’s disability check wouldn’t arrive for another two weeks, and it barely covered his medication, let alone the mountain of bills. She pushed on Annie’s door, the thin wood sliding open soundlessly. Annie’s bed was empty, the light from the window filling the room with bright sunshine.