by Kitty Thomas
“Let's go,” he said. “You don't need to be in this place. The mail is all I'm going to get. I think it's enough to find the son of a bitch.”
Claire glanced up and saw the basement door. It stood open, taunting her. She moved toward it as if under some spell.
“Claire, no,” Ari said.
“I have to. I have to see it.” She didn't know why she needed to see it. She'd seen it plenty. It had haunted her dreams for years. But she felt pulled there as though somehow she knew closure could never be possible unless she took just one last look at that basement. Maybe if she saw it empty in the daylight she could wake up from the nightmare for good.
Ari sighed. “Okay.”
He followed her down the stairs while she gripped his gloved hand for dear life. When she was halfway down the stairs, she let out a gasp.
A chill traveled over her skin, chased by goosebumps. “He's been dead this whole time. I killed him.”
What remained of Edward Fuller lay stretched out along the floor, arm extended out as if grabbing for someone... grabbing for her. The knife lay a few feet away. A large dark red stain had formed on the ground underneath him. There was a broken window at the top of the basement wall—the obvious entry point for the wild animals that had picked the bones clean.
38
Claire stood numbly in the backyard of the farmhouse, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as Ari buried the very little that was left of the man who'd kept her in the basement. Edward Fuller. It was still impossible to think he had a name. That whole time he'd had a name and bills and a job out in the real world somewhere. He'd bought groceries and gone to the doctor and watched TV like a normal person.
She thought back to the day she'd escaped... that hand around her ankle, the feel of which seemed as if it had been burned permanently into her skin... kicking him in the face, running and not stopping until she reached a road with cars she could flag down.
The whole time she'd thought he'd been coming after her, that he would catch her. But he'd been busy down in that basement, dying. She'd killed a man. But she didn't feel broken because of it... not like she had with what she'd done to Ari. She felt relieved. Maybe some unconscious part of her had known Ari wasn't the guy.
Claire watched as dirt was thrown in on top of Edward's remains. It had taken Ari hours to dig even with the ground soft from recent rains, but it still wasn't six feet deep. He said he thought it was probably deep enough. And with nothing really left but bone, well the animals had already taken what they wanted. So it seemed unlikely more would be coming back to dig the rest up.
When he was finished, Ari went back to the old beat-up truck, put it into neutral, and pushed it until it was over the ground he'd just dug up. Then he went out to the barn and brought back a bunch of wooden planks and concrete blocks and piled them haphazardly near the truck, further disguising any evidence the ground had been disturbed. Not that anybody else would be out here. And if anybody ever was again, by that point there wouldn't be any sign that anything had happened at all as grass grew around concrete blocks and planks and tires, the ground going solid and hard again. Maybe someday bulldozers would tear the house down, and Edward would be discovered. It would just be another mystery no one could solve and that no one cared to, since this man had obviously been loved and missed by no one.
Claire followed Ari back into the house and watched as he got rid of all evidence anything had happened in the basement. It was all somehow less horrifying knowing that she'd killed that man years ago. He couldn't find her again.
“When you escaped what did you touch?” Ari asked.
They both knew it was unlikely anyone would ever investigate this site—since they hadn't already. But Ari had decided it was better to erase any evidence she'd been there at all. And she couldn't say she disagreed with that. Somehow it seemed as though wiping away the fingerprints could somehow undo it... make it not real.
“Just the door handles. A-and the counter today.”
Ari nodded. He wiped down any area in the basement she could have left fingerprints as well as the door knobs and the counter. By the time everything was done, she was starving. So she knew he must be with all the work he'd done in all the hours that had passed.
He took a trash bag from under the sink and took his shirt off, tossing it into the bag, then he put the bag in the trunk of his car. They didn't talk on the drive. But he stopped at a drive-thru of a burger joint just inside town and got them both burgers and fries and colas. The girl at the drive thru stared appreciatively at his bare chest, but made no comment. If she thought it odd that he was driving around town without a shirt before the full springtime had even hit, she was too dazed with lust to question it. Ari parked in the parking lot while they ate.
Still silence.
The sun was setting when they reached the house. Ari parked in the garage, took the bag from the trunk, and carried it inside, holding the door open for Claire. He stripped the rest of his clothes off, shoes too, until he stood naked in the kitchen. He shoved everything he'd been wearing, including the black gloves, into the bag. The gun and holster were spared this indignity and lay on the kitchen table.
“Claire? I need yours too. Strip.” It was the first words he'd said since he'd spoken into the drive-thru speaker box to articulate their food order.
Claire took off the clothes and shoes she'd worn to the farmhouse. She had no objections to Ari destroying them. She didn't think she could ever look at these articles of clothing again without being reminded of this day.
She stood beside the glass door and watched as he took the bag of clothes outside. Ari built a fire in a fire pit he'd no doubt made himself. He tossed everything but the bag into the fire. He looked savage, standing naked under the darkening sky, the fire lighting up the hard planes of his face and body.
In that moment he seemed like someone who existed in another time. A more primal, animal time. This feeling was punctuated by how little he'd said to her over the course of the day. She could see the intense anger in his face, but it wasn't aimed at her. She knew just by looking at Ari, that the anger inside him was directed at the man she'd already killed.
Was he sorry he hadn't been able to take Edward's life from him? A wild and frenetic energy still clung to Ari as their clothes burned in the fire. Finally, he turned back toward the house, his eyes meeting hers through the glass pane that stood between them. He moved with purpose to her.
When he was inside, he grabbed her arm without a word and steered her back to his bedroom and then to the master bathroom. He turned the water on and got two towels and laid them on the marble counter top while the water heated. Steam started to fill the room.
He led her into the shower where he proceeded to carefully wash every part of her, starting with shampoo in her hair. When she was clean he pointed to the towel on the counter. Claire got out and wrapped herself in one of the towels. She sat on the edge of the oversized garden tub, watching Ari as he finished showering. He shut the water off and dried himself with the remaining towel.
“Get in the bed,” he practically growled at her.
Claire did as he said, unsure still what to make of this terrifying and decidedly less calm version of him. He joined her a few moments later. Warm naked skin pressed against warm naked skin.
His breathing came out harsh. His heartbeat thundered in his chest, thumping against her skin. She felt like she should be the one upset today. She'd gone back to the farmhouse—that awful place that had broken her down into so many pieces. She'd had the beginnings of a flashback. Between the two of them she should be the one on the verge of a meltdown, but in recent hours Ari had gone some place dark and wild deep within himself. A place beyond speech or organized thought.
She wasn't even sure if he understood all the things he was feeling.
“Master? Are you okay?” she found herself asking.
A harsh, dry laugh was the only response.
“You know, I could let you go now. The b
iggest excuse I've used to keep you is gone. He's dead. He can't get you. You'd be safe out in the world now. It's not like you don't have money to take care of yourself. You don't need me. And I know you wouldn't go to the police.”
Claire tensed. She didn't care what it said about her, she didn't want him to let her go. She did need him. She was about to give voice to these feelings but Ari's voice stopped her.
“But I won't. I don't care if you'd be safe. I don't care if I'm not the noble hero anymore, and I have to play the villain. I need you here with me.”
“I need the same thing,” she whispered, barely feeling real as those words slipped softly past her lips.
He held her tighter against him. His grip didn't loosen until the exhaustion and all the emotions he'd been holding onto released in sleep.
Claire wriggled out of his embrace. She went to the big walk-in closet and put on another T-shirt, and a hoodie and jeans and shoes and went outside. Ari hadn't locked the sliding glass door behind him with his fingerprint when he'd come back into the house. But the gates on the outer perimeter were locked so it wasn't as if anyone could really get in or out. It was only the illusion of freedom.
Claire stood outside next to the fire, watching as the flames leapt up to lick at the cool air. Their clothes had long burned away. The fox stood several yards off, his gaze going between the fire and her. He stared at her for a long time as though trying to figure out the answer to a riddle—or maybe trying to understand who she was and why she was here.
As she watched the fire die down into embers, she thought about the long journey to this moment. All the fucked-up things that had happened. But if they hadn't happened, she never would have met Ari. She never would have had this thing that was so right it no longer mattered to her how wrong it was.
She went back into the house and spied a box of dog treats on top of the refrigerator hidden behind a box of cereal. She took the box down, took out a couple of treats, and went back outside. But the fox was gone.
Claire sighed and left the treats out on the terrace then went inside and got back into bed with Ari. He shifted in his sleep, pulling her to him. And they slept the sleep of two people ready to leave the past in the past.
Epilogue
With each month that went by the things that had happened in the basement seemed to blend further into faded half-forgotten memory. Finding the evidence her tormentor was truly gone and watching Ari bury it had offered her a kind of closure. The nightmares never returned. And Holly never returned.
The two of them had settled into a strange sort of kinky domesticity punctuated by the occasional foursome with Kane and Saskia. And the occasional appearance from Marcus who kept a respectful distance from Claire.
As it turned out, Kane knew all about art restoration. He was teaching her. Once she could do the work properly, he had the connections to get her freelance restoration projects. She was so excited to be able to do the work she'd always wanted to do. Ari had already set up a workroom for her in the art wing of the house.
Now it was Thanksgiving. Claire sat in the passenger side of Ari's car in the circular driveway of her parents' estate. He came around and opened the door for her. He offered a hand to help steady her in the high-heeled boots she wore. When she stood, her black wool skirt slid back down over the tops of the knee-high boots.
“What do you call me inside?” Ari asked.
“Ari,” she repeated for the thousandth time. He'd made her call him by his nickname the entire long drive to Thanksgiving dinner. And she was still afraid she'd slip and call him Master.
“Trust me, even if I slipped up, nobody would notice. These are the most self-absorbed people you will ever meet.”
“What are your parents’ names again?” Ari asked. He looked like he was actually nervous about meeting them.
“Wendi and Charles.”
She hadn't really wanted to go to Thanksgiving dinner. Claire hadn't spoken to her mother since New Year's when she'd begged out of the party, with the fake flu. But they would notice if she didn't show up for the holidays, and unless Ari wanted her to be listed as a missing person, she had to show up at some point.
At first she hadn't thought he would risk taking her. After all, she could get help, escape him. But he no longer seemed concerned by this possibility.
It was so strange holding hands with him like some normal couple—the kind of people who picked out blenders and bath towels together. He didn't let go of her hand when he rang the bell. They stood on the porch under the massive columns, freezing their asses off while they waited for someone to hear the door.
“Oh fuck it, let's just go in,” Claire said. It was way too cold already to just be Thanksgiving. She pushed the door open and pulled Ari inside.
“Do they know I'm coming?” he asked.
“No, M-” she caught herself.
Ari bent down to her ear and whispered. “If you say that word while we're at your parents' house, you will receive the most dire punishment you've ever received when we get home. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes.” She had to fight the clawing need to say that word. It just didn't feel right not giving him a title. It felt like everything she said was somehow incomplete without it now.
“Good girl,” he said, leaning in and nipping her throat with his teeth. He grabbed her ass just as her mother walked into the entry way.
“Claire, you look fabulous! Have you lost weight? And that necklace is stunning! It's so chic and sophisticated. You should wear that all the time.” Wendi pulled her close for air kisses then released her to look at Ari.
Claire's fingertips strayed absently over the gold collar at her throat. Her mother would lose all composure if she knew what the jewelry meant. But at least Wendi could get her wish. Claire would be following her advice to wear it all the time.
Wendi gave Ari a very obvious once over. “And who is this tall drink of viking re-enactment?”
Ari actually blushed at that.
“This is Ari,” Claire said.
“Please tell me it's serious,” her mother said as if she were imagining mini vikings running around the house at Christmas.
“Oh, it's very serious,” Ari said. “I'm not sure there is a way it could be more serious.”
The butler appeared then to unobtrusively take their coats. Then Wendi led them to the dining room, apologizing that they were too late for cocktails.
“Charles!” Wendi said when they reached the dining room. “Claire brought a man to Thanksgiving! I can't remember the last time Claire brought a man to Thanksgiving! Can you?”
Her father rose from his seat and came around the table to where Claire and Ari stood. The two men shook hands in that perfunctory firm way men do. “And what do you do?” he asked Ari straight away.
“I'm an architect,” he said.
“Oh? Would I know any of your work?”
“The new library downtown? The Opera house restoration? There were a lot of new design elements that went into it. I also did the bank on Third and Main.”
Her father looked impressed. “That's quite a resume. We were at a charity gala at the new library two months ago and were remarking on the exquisite architecture.”
Claire noticed Roman when he came into the room. She hadn't expected to see him at Thanksgiving; it was usually just family. She excused herself to go say hi while Charles and Ari discussed building design. That might go on for a while.
Roman gave her a big hug when she reached him. “Missed you at New Year's.”
“I know. I came down with the flu,” she said. There was no sense in introducing a different lie, especially when her mother might have told him why she'd said she wasn't coming.
“I would have brought a date if I thought you were bringing one. When your mother invited me it seemed like it might be a set-up.”
Claire laughed. “And yet you still showed up.”
He winked. “Well I couldn't let you die an old lady with cats.”
�
��Thanks. Love you too.”
“Is he being good to you?” Roman asked, not hiding his open staring at Ari.
“Yes,” she said. She was only just now realizing that perhaps Roman had a bit of a thing for her. She never would have guessed. She'd always just thought they were friends. He was a very nice guy and very handsome, but she had no doubt he was into sweet and normal romantic sex. If he knew the things she needed, he'd run the other direction.
“So is it serious?” Roman asked.
“Very,” she said.
“And you're happy?”
She smiled. “Very.”
Roman sighed. “All right. Well, I'm bringing a date for the Christmas Eve party.”
Claire laughed.
There were about thirty people gathered for dinner along the very long dining room table. Aunts and uncles and cousins and nieces and nephews and her remaining set of grandparents.
“So,” Wendi said, when the dessert tray was rolled out, “How did you two meet?”
In truth Claire was surprised that neither her mother nor anyone else at the table had asked that question yet. The entire room was silent, each person waiting to hear how Claire had met this guy all the women were drooling over and the men seemed intimidated by.
“She kidnapped me and held me captive in a cell for three weeks, and we just hit it off. It was fate,” Ari said without missing a beat.
Claire just gawked at him. But he winked at her, obviously getting a kick out of telling the absolute truth of how they met to her family, knowing they wouldn't take it seriously.
The table erupted in laughter.
“Gorgeous and a sense of humor. Don't let this one get away,” her mother said.
As if she could. “I don't think you have to worry about that,” Claire said.
Dinner was more pleasant than she'd remembered dinner with her family ever being. When the holiday ordeal was over, Ari helped her back into his car. As they pulled out of the driveway, she looked out the window, watching her parent's estate become smaller until it finally disappeared from view.
