Devil's Bargain

by Natasha Knight

  I wish I could talk to him now. Make him tell me more.

  I wish I could stop thinking about going back without him.

  I take my phone and head downstairs hoping to find a charger for it. I have an iPhone and I’m sure at least one other person here has one. First thing I do is go into the kitchen where I find Alice wiping down the counters.

  “Alice, do you know where I can find a charger for this?”

  She turns to look at the phone. “Oh, yes, dear. In the study. Check the desk. Third door to your left.” She points and I go, counting the doors, taking in the faint musty scent of the ancient house, imagining how old the stones that make up the walls are.

  When I reach it, I knock on the door, just in case someone is inside, but there’s no answer. When I turn the knob, I find it’s empty.

  I switch on the light, looking around at the large room. Bookshelves line the wall behind the enormous wooden desk, and I wonder how old it is. If it’s an antique. It must be.

  Leather-bound books take up most of the shelves. One houses empty whiskey bottles.

  I walk over to it, read the labels. MacLeod Whiskey each with a year on it. I follow the row and notice how the logo has changed over time. See how the colors of the tartan, the only thing from here that was at Hawk’s Vegas penthouse, are somewhere on each label.

  The mahogany leather chair looks like it’s been here forever. Two windows overlook the lush green back of the house and a large armoire takes up the space between them.

  On the desk are piles of papers, not neat but not messy either. I think about Hawk and wonder if he’s twitching being here. He likes order and things put away. Everything in its place. This house is the absolute opposite of that.

  I open the wide, thin drawer at the center and inside it, I find pens and pencils, paperclips, no phone charger. I close it and open the one on the top right. There are some folders and papers, and I pull it out farther but don’t find a charger here either.

  Closing the drawer, I open the next one and when I see more folders, I’m not optimistic. I’ve almost closed it when I see a charging cable at the back of the stack.

  “Bingo,” I say out loud and reach for it. I plug my phone into the wall socket and sit back down to wait. Once it has enough juice, I’ll call Deirdre to check on things.

  But when I go to close the drawer, one of the folders catches. There’s so much stuff in the drawer that I have to tug it to get it out and when I do, something slips out and falls to the floor.

  I look down and it takes me a moment to process what it is.

  An American passport.

  I pick it up, open it and see the photo of me taken hastily in one of those booths at the mall. I remember Hawk hadn’t given it back to me after our flight. I open the folder wondering if his is in there too. Maybe for safe keeping? Makes no sense though.

  But when I open the top flap to see what’s underneath, the air in the room suddenly becomes thinner.

  My missing flash drive, I’d forgotten about it. So much has happened that the last few days feel like months.

  But this, what I’m looking at, it reminds me. Abruptly and absolutely, it reminds me.

  And it’s not the flash drive.

  This is worse.

  It’s what’s on the drive. It’s all those files printed out. The police reports. The photographs. Everything.

  I think I would be sick if I had any food in my stomach.

  I’m unprepared for this.

  I know these photographs. I’ve memorized every detail, and yet, every time I see them, the power they still have, it’s like those years between now and then are just stripped away.

  My face is that of a child’s. My hair shorn. I remember when I’d crudely cut it, not wanting the pretty long locks they liked so much. That’s what had gotten me into trouble. They needed me pretty and my butchered hair was anything but.

  I remember when it was taken. How nice the lady had been at the police station, how gentle and sweet.

  And then I remember how she’d looked at me after Liza had lied to her and the Boyds had ushered me out. I remember the car ride home—no, not my home.

  Their home.

  My prison.

  I remember how they’d punished me, and I can’t seem to drag my eyes away. Can’t stop remembering.

  Because the past, it’s here.

  Liza knows where I am, and Sean knows too because that man who came to the shop, who gave Deirdre the creeps, I know it had to be Sean. Nothing else makes sense.

  And as much as I want to avoid this truth, as much as I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening, pretend the fact that I’m here on another continent, across an ocean, here in front of me is reality in full color. Here is proof that no matter how far or where I run to, the past will always be just a few steps behind.

  Hawk knows. How long has he known? Since that day at the house? The files were password protected, though. How did he break the code?

  But maybe he doesn’t know everything. Maybe he doesn’t know about the rest of it. The worst of it. There’s nothing about those videos on the flash drive.

  Why in hell does he have these pictures? How did he get my password? Or did he get the files from somewhere else? Is there still a record buried somewhere?

  I make myself look at the photos, the first one, then the next one. Whenever I open these files, I make myself look. It’s like a ritual. I make myself see. Make myself touch the bruises, the ones on my face and neck. The one on my belly.

  I remember how that one had hurt.

  No, they had all hurt. That was just the meanest, to kill any spawn when he got the idea I might be pregnant. Christ. I didn’t even have my period yet. I didn’t get it until I was fourteen and by then they’d been raping me for three years.

  By fourteen, I had the birth control shot. The doctor didn’t even ask my permission. But then again, Senator Boyd made me out to be some sort of slut.

  I turn to read through the reports, read through Liza’s lies, her betrayal.

  She’d been afraid of them too, though. I have to remember that.

  But was it fear that drove her to lie? Or the promise of adoption. Of belonging to that family. She was desperate for it. Desperate to belong. And look where it got her.

  I turn the last page over thinking that’s it, that’s all there is, but then there’s one more thing. One more thing which tells me how Hawk guessed my password.

  I recognize Sean’s handwriting. It’s a little feminine. He hit me once when I said that. Just backhanded me right there at the kitchen table. I hadn’t been in their house that long then and it was the first time he struck me.

  For a long time, I wished I’d never said it, never teased him about it but I realize now the violence was always coming. Me having made the comment or not, it was coming.

  Here’s that familiar handwriting again on the envelope.

  Little Bitch Whore.

  My hands shake, and sweat drips down the back of my neck.

  I’m able to block this out for months at a time. Years. But when it comes back, when there’s any hint of him, of them, something on the news like when Senator Boyd died, or walking by a man who happens to wear the same cologne, any random thing, it’s like it sends me back in time and traps me there.

  From inside the envelope, I take out the folded sheet of paper and read the three little words written there: Been a while.

  31

  Melissa

  My phone comes to life, startling me.

  I catch my breath, put the sheet of paper down.

  Taking my phone, I absently enter my password and look at all the missed calls.

  I listen to the first from Deirdre telling me she’d work extra hours until I got back, then another from Jim at the garage telling me about a newer model Ford Escort that he just took in to sell and would I be interested? He says it’s a good car without too many miles and makes a crack about my duct tape fender.

 
The next two are disconnects. Probably wrong numbers.

  I think the one after those must be a wrong number too because it’s silent at first but there’s something different about this silence. It’s not empty. I can hear whoever is on the line breathing.

  And when the caller clicks his tongue, I feel myself go rigid, feel myself grow cold as every hair on my body stands on end.

  How can a sound, the simple clicking of a tongue, have that kind of power over someone?

  How can it just erase years?

  Because it does just that. It simply wipes the years between us away and transports me back in time. Back to when I was a little girl.

  A scared little girl at the mercy of monsters.

  “Been a while.”

  The phone slips from my hand, clatters to the floor and I know if I wasn’t sitting down, I’d fall.

  I know he’s talking again. I hear the mumble of words while I just sit looking at the phone down there and thinking how modern it looks against this old floor, this wasted carpet.

  Minutes pass until finally, I hear the recording telling me my options and I reach down to pick it up. The recording repeats, and I choose the option to listen again.

  And there it is again. The silence, the breathing, that clicking of his tongue. Those same words he’d written on that sheet of paper that Hawk somehow intercepted. Probably in my mail. He’s had someone pick it up. He’s got this whole thing all sorted out.

  “You look good,” Sean says, drawing the words out. “Just got a glimpse at the shop. Can’t wait to have a real close look.”

  I shrink into myself.

  “And I’d love to see you, since I’m in town. Hell, since all three of us are in town. When’s the last time that happened?” He takes a deep breath in. “You and me and Liza will have a family reunion.”

  I can’t breathe.

  “And besides, I miss you.”

  I want to disconnect. To delete the message. Bury my head in the sand.

  But Sean Boyd won’t go away, though. Even if I delete a hundred messages. Even across an ocean, I’m not safe.

  But what he said about seeing me. The shop. I think about Deirdre alone there.

  “Guessing your boyfriend won’t like sharing you though, huh? He doesn’t know what a little whore you are, I bet. Or does he know you cream yourself having your mouth and cunt stuffed at once? I wonder if he’s seen the videos.”

  “Stop,” I say weakly, but I’m not sure to who.

  Even my voice, it’s that of the little girl and my eyes are wet. I am her again. That powerless little girl.

  “I miss my Little Bitch Whore.”

  The taunt has an edge of hate to it and I make a choked sound at those words.

  Little Bitch Whore.

  That’s his name for me. Was from the first time he raped me.

  “You’ll meet me, Melissa. Or I’ll make sure your boyfriend and all his buddies see what a dirty pervert you are.” His voice is hard now. He’s not playing. I know this Sean. This one’s the meanest.

  “I’m at the Palazzo. I’ll leave a key for you in an envelope marked L.B.W. What do you think?”

  Shouldn’t the voice mail have cut him off already? Why is he going on?

  “Tomorrow at noon. A nooner. I miss those, don’t you? I’ll see you then, Little Bitch Whore. Don’t be late. I don’t want to have to start in on Liza without you there. Bruises are a pain to cover up. You remember that, don’t you? And she’s already in bad shape. Can you believe she came out here to find you? Says she wanted to reconnect. I guess she missed you, too. Honestly though, I just think she needed some cash.” There’s a pause before he continues, his tone more threatening now. “Don’t make me come get you, Melissa.”

  With that, he disconnects.

  I sit there for a long minute listening to the racing of my heart. Trying to stop my hands from shaking.

  I dial the shop, but the recording goes on and I remember the time zones. It’s the middle of the night there.

  Liza. I have to call Liza.

  I find the number of the Brewster Clinic and dial. Someone answers there. I assume they have someone on twenty-four hours a day.

  “Hello, I’m looking for a patient, Liza Boyd.”

  “Ms. Boyd is no longer a patient here, ma’am.”

  “You mean she was released?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t give out personal information.”

  “Do you have contact information for her?” I ask.

  “Ma’am that is all confidential. We take care to protect our—”

  I disconnect, frustrated, then remember the other messages.

  One more of those is disconnected right away, but the next one, it’s from Deirdre and it takes her minute a speak like she doesn’t realize it’s time to.

  “Hey hun, I was hoping to catch you. I have something here for you. That man from the other day was back. Honestly, he was more than a little upset when he heard you weren’t here again. Left something for you. An envelope addressed strangely to L. B. W.” I can almost hear her shaking her head. “Just a sec, dear.” I hear her say something to someone and I assume it’s a customer. “Anyhow, I have to go but you just call me back and let me know if you want me to open the envelope and read it for you. I’ll talk to you soon, dear.”

  I check the date of the message. It’s from yesterday. The one from Sean is from two days ago. Did he get pissed that I didn’t show up at his hotel room?

  And what about his threat to share those videos with Hawk?

  The final voicemail comes right after Deirdre’s and the time stamp tells me it’s from minutes after her call. It’s him again, but I knew it would be.

  “You think you ever had a fucking choice? You don’t show up and I’m going to have to hurt the old lady after I send those videos to your boyfriend. You get one more chance, you little bitch.”

  His voice is so full of loathing, I think he almost spits the words.

  My heart pounds and I call Deirdre, but I get her voice mail right away. It’s the time difference. That’s all. Just the time difference.

  “Deirdre, it’s me. Listen, I want you to stay home. Do not go back to the shop, understand? That man, he’s not my friend. Just stay home. And if you see him, call the police. God. I…please call me as soon as you get this. I’m on my way back.”

  I get up, look around. I pick up my passport.

  I need to go. I need to get back. If he hurts Deirdre because of me, I’ll never forgive myself.

  I’m so distracted with shoving the bundle into my bag that I barely register the sound of James talking. I don’t see his toy train on the floor, either. I step right on it and let out a little scream as I go sprawling backward, all those pages flying from my hands, scattering all around me. I land right on my tailbone, catching myself on the heels of my hands as I watch the little train slide across the floor and crash against the far wall.

  “Melissa!”

  James comes running around the corner, a toy airplane in one hand, another train in the other.

  I turn to him.

  His little face is shocked, eyes filling up with tears.

  I look around me at the papers all over and all I can think is he shouldn’t see those. Shouldn’t see the pictures. They would terrify him.

  Tears start to fall from his eyes, and I sit up, wiping off my hands.

  “It’s okay, James. I’m okay.” I get on my knees, pushing through the pain, and quickly gather everything up.

  “I’m sorry, Melissa,” he says through his tears. “I’m sorry.”

  I get up, go to him, the papers I’ve managed to collect in one hand as I hug him.

  “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart. I’m fine. See, look, nothing is broken,” I say, standing back, ignoring the throbbing in my tailbone.

  He looks at me, drags his eyes to mine. Hawk’s eyes. He has Hawk’s eyes. It strikes me again and I think about Hawk and how he’s seen these photos, read these files.

  “I’m i
n trouble,” James says, starting to cry again.

  I bend down, hug him to me again. “No, no sweetheart. You’re not in trouble. It was an accident. I wasn’t watching where I was going. It wasn’t your fault.” I draw back, wipe away his tears. “And I’m not going to tell anyone,” I say, forcing a smile because I hear Alice calling for James. “Our secret, okay?”

  He nods.

  The kitchen door opens, and Alice comes out wiping her hands on her apron.

  “What’s happened here?” she asks when she gets a look at us.

  James looks at her and she looks at him and I get the feeling this isn’t the first time someone’s slipped on one of his toys.

  “I tripped and fell,” I say. “I wasn’t paying attention and James was helping me pick up the things I dropped.”

  “I hope it wasn’t one of your toys—”

  “It was my fault, Alice,” I say, putting one hand on James’ shoulder and saving him from having to lie. “Is that shortbread I smell?” I ask to change the subject.

  Alice smiles proudly at me. “Recipe comes from my great-great-grandmother,” she says. “I’ve made some tea. Come on and have some.”

  “Is Hawk here?” I ask.

  “He went for a walk early,” James says.

  “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. The sky’s going to open up any minute now,” Alice says. “Come have some tea.”

  “You and James go ahead. I have to take care of something first.”

  James is hesitant, but Alice takes him into the kitchen.

  Once they’re gone, I walk to the front door where a glance out the window tells me the rental is still here.

  There are two sets of keys on the table beside the door where I find the one for the SUV and I walk outside.

  But what if I’m already too late?

  No, I can’t think about that.

  I start the engine and the clutch screeches as I put it into reverse, but I manage it. Glancing in the rear-view mirror when I’m on the bridge, I see James standing at the front door and Alice running out behind him. The look on his face is so defeated, it brings tears to my eyes.