Ruthless

by Myers, Kelly

  Gabriel Palanick.

  Palanick Holding.

  Gabriel Palanick biography.

  Gabriel Palanick court case.

  Gabriel Palanick lawsuit.

  Gabriel Palanick victim.

  Gabriel Palanick former partner.

  Gabriel Palanick disappearance.

  Gabriel Palanick mysterious.

  “Oh, I see I’ve given you some sleepless nights,” I smile.

  The effects of physical violence on women's sexual health.

  “Dark,” the older search makes me scoff. “What piece was that for, Didi?”

  I launch another tab and go to the B-Gazette website, searching for her name. A long list of articles lines up along the page, and my eyes scan the titles. Women. Sexual. Violence. Abuse.

  As I read, one by one, some of the material touching on the matter but not in-depth. A piece that got turned down? That must have stung.

  I switch back to the history tab and go to the next entry, which tackles a merger between two technology giants. The following entries refer to the many topics she has covered for work. But then another one catches my eyes.

  Women’s health therapist in Boston.

  I quickly switch to a new tab and access her saved contacts in search of therapists. She has a few numbers saved and no email addresses. Dipping my hand into the bag, I fetch her phone and unlock it. I go to the call log and scroll, trying to see if she’s been in touch with any of them recently. Nothing. I then go to her messages and see if she’s been texting one instead. Also nothing.

  “Coward,” I scoff. “Admitting that there’s a problem is the first step towards healing,” I speak quickly as I return to the history. “Has Hollywood taught you nothing?”

  I can’t explain the thrill that takes over me as I place Dina Cormack’s life under the microscope and dissect it, bit by bit, revealing little pieces of the puzzle I suddenly couldn’t wait to finish. So, I go to her chat with doctor Michael.

  I had a great time last night. He had texted.

  So did I. It was really fun.

  I hope you’re not too tired from work.

  I’m tiny but mighty.

  I feel sick to my stomach, so I switch over to her chat with her best friend. I scroll through the small talk before I decide to search for Michael’s name instead.

  So, on a scale from one to ten, how was Michael? Zoe asked.

  You’re bad.

  For asking?

  For requesting numerical evaluation. He’s a person, not a production line.

  People can suck. Can you blame me for looking out for you?

  He was alright.

  Gee, can you be any less enthused?

  It’s new, and I’m not going to judge based on the first time. Those are always awkward.

  Not in my experience.

  I hate you for being so lucky.

  After some real frogs, I made my luck by picking the princes.

  Do they walk around with a sign hanging from their necks?

  You know me, if he can’t talk dirty on the first date, he can’t be a winner in my book.

  Spoken like a true lady.

  Hey, lady…when was the last time you had an orgasm?

  I’m going away now!

  Don’t you dare.

  Duty calls. Bye.

  You bitch!

  “Zoe just wants what’s best for you, Didi,” I joke, taking another sip. Realizing that my drink is now lukewarm, I grab a couple of ice cubes and drop them in to refresh it.

  Going back to the emails, I start to see another name repeated: Joan Marks, Ph.D. I open the first thread to see an electronic bill.

  Session date…

  Duration: Fifty minutes.

  “Gotcha!”

  I pick up the phone again and find the chat with Marks. Scrolling, I see it go on and on. I return to the email inbox and search by name. The results line up in a long column, the bottom of which dates back to seven years ago.

  “Jesus, Didi,” I blink quickly. “what do your demons say?”

  I spend nothing short of a half-hour trying to decipher the messages in the emails between her and her therapist. Clearly, it’s a problem that she’s been struggling with since college. And obviously, therapy hasn’t quite worked. I see a few pharmaceutical names and side effects in the messages. Poor Didi had been medicated for extended periods of time.

  “That’s what you get for living in this world, huh?” I smirk, going back to the inbox. “The world you’re willing to risk your whole career to defend. What’s happening here?”

  I decide to open some of her emails to Zoe, but they only seem to be links to articles and blogs. I switch to emails to her mother. There’s nothing interesting there, so I decide to go back in time and check the ones from when she first left New York.

  Work is fine. Their humanitarian section is a tiny, overlooked bit, but I hope to change that soon.

  Another email from a few months later.

  The head of my division is such a deadbeat. I’m so angry! Can you believe that he loaned me to the business section? One of their writers is on maternity leave, and they need an extra hand.

  Six months later…

  The gazette is alright. Everything is in order. My transfer papers are finalized, so you are now officially the proud mother of a senior business journalist.

  I go to the email after that—her mother’s reply.

  Honey, I’m so sorry. I know you didn’t want that. But you know what? I’ve seen more people becoming great at the jobs they least expected than ones they work their whole lives for. God works in mysterious ways. Who knows? Maybe your Pulitzer is waiting right around the corner from that great exposé you don’t even know you’re about to write.

  Hang in there, sweetie. Daddy and I are so proud of you.

  I can’t help but feel sorry for little old Dina. Is that why she needs therapy? Is she depressed because her career took an unexpected turn?

  I go to her social media page, and lo and behold, it’s already signed in.

  “I should teach you a lesson or two, Didi,” I pick up my glass. “You’re making this way easier than what I expected,” I take a sip and carry on.

  Pictures of Dina adorn the screen. Her vivid, jade eyes and that hopeful smile make me mirror that goofy expression. There she is at someone’s wedding—nice dress, black really suits her. This is her at a birthday party, and who’s that with his arm around her waist? He looks like a nice guy. Skinny. Harmless. I scroll further and spot another picture of her kissing a man. This one is rather bulky with a lumberjack look, complete with a beard, multiple tattoos.

  “Jesus Christ.” I tilt my head. “Stick to a type, will yah?”

  Several photographs of her with children, sickly women and senior citizens. Here she is, receiving what looks like an award on a poorly decorated stage.

  I scroll and scroll, the image of her face imprinting on my brain like a permanent tattoo. The deeper I go, the cuter she seems. But something is lurking behind those mesmerizing eyes. One picture shows her in a sweet cocktail dress, yet the next depicts her tough demeanor in denim overalls, a tool belt and an axe in her hand. Everything about the way she smiles, the way she poses and the way she holds a glass makes me wonder about what’s real.

  “War is peace. Freedom is slavery. Ignorance is strength,” I recite Orwell’s quote out loud, folding the laptop shut and lifting up my gaze to stare at the ceiling. With my hands behind my head, I let out a deep sigh.

  It’s showtime.

  16

  Dina

  “Good morning…”

  I wake up with a start to a new voice. Another man, shocking. Clearly, women aren’t anywhere near this facility. Most men are tempted to commit such horrific acts.

  “Oh,” my voice comes out hoarse as I shuffle to sit up with difficulty since I’m still tied up. “Morning already?”

  “Well, it’s way past midnight, princess,” his voice—although a little upbeat—is more comman
ding. I don’t hear a chair being dragged across the floor this time, only his slow, deliberate footsteps.

  “So I met One and Two.” I sigh. “Let me guess…you’re Three?”

  “Oh, no, Didi,” he chuckles. “I’m Zero.”

  Does that mean he’s Gabriel? That’s near impossible. He can’t conceivably let himself be known to a potential doom-starter. He’s too smart for that.

  “Don’t call me Didi,” I challenge him. “I’m not nine.”

  “Some of my very intelligent lady friends value a good nickname.”

  “I’m not your friend.”

  “No?” he chuckles with a low voice. “How do you define a friend?”

  “Are you here because you’re lonely or to conduct a philosophy lecture? Because either way, you’re coming off a little pathetic.”

  “Says the woman shrinking in the corner like a wet mouse.”

  “Why don’t you untie this little rodent then and see where it takes you?”

  He chuckles out loud. “Oh, you’re really something.”

  I feel his presence nearer and hold my breath, deliberately straightening my shoulders and keeping my head high.

  “You think you can take me?” I can visualize his smug smile.

  “Can you blame me? I can’t see you. But you sure sound like a small man,” I utter the last words with glaring spite.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but you’re wrong.”

  “So that’s how you like it?” I scoff. “Taking it out on a woman when the world doesn’t go your way?”

  “It’s not that I can’t appreciate your needs,” he says. “It’s that I failed at understanding how to make them work for me. For us.”

  I’m completely baffled. “Are you having a stroke?”

  “Who broke up with whom?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Daniel Frank. Did he dump you, or did you break his heart?”

  My breathing automatically hastens, and I feel the heat invading my body, crawling under my skin like a disease. That scoundrel went through my personal messages.

  “Pathetic and a creep,” I hiss. “I’m not in the least bit surprised.”

  “Then you have your wits about you enough to answer me.”

  “I left him, not that I understand what this means to you or how relevant it is to me being tied up in this hell hole.”

  “Hell hole?” he scoffs. “It’s just a box, really. What do you know of hell?”

  “It must be filled with zeroes like you.”

  “Clever.”

  “Bite me.”

  “Oh, I just might,” the gratification in his voice sends a shiver down my spine. “And you’re likely to enjoy it. What a field day that would be for doctor Marks.”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat, somewhat grateful that he can’t see my eyes. “You’d better kill me when this is all over because your crimes are piling up, my friend.”

  “Crimes? Let’s go back to your definition of friendship, then. All I did was peek into your life. I wanna be friends for real.”

  I force a loud, cynical laugh. It hurts just to try.

  “Tell me,” I hear his voice come from a spot closer to the ground. Is he sitting down on the floor? I can’t be certain. “Why did you take the gazette job and move? Really.”

  “It was a tempting offer.”

  “Not…escaping an old boyfriend? Seeking a fresh start?”

  “Do you always think that women’s lives revolve around assholes like you?”

  “I highly doubt that you’ve ever dated an asshole like me. We’re a rare breed.” His voice is calm and collected, while I struggle to render mine barely monotonous. He has the upper hand, and I loathe him for it.

  “Narcissist? No shock there. Since you already have Marks’ number, why don’t you give her a call? She can really help you.”

  “Like she’s helped you?” sarcasm drips from his tone. “By the way, what were those meds like? Did they keep you up all night, a groomed prey for your demons?”

  I grit my teeth and say nothing.

  “Did they drive you to eat your feelings? Gain twenty pounds, maybe?” He pauses. “Nah, I don’t see it. Or perhaps they left you stuck in bed for days, unable to get up or function. Or was it the flatness of emotion? Were you able to laugh…or cry…on those pills?”

  I want to scream: Enough!

  But I refuse to give him the satisfaction. He can’t be made aware of how deeply his words cut. He should never know that he’s getting to me. That’s the entire premise of his mind games, and I…decline.

  “You couldn’t have possibly liked them,” he continues. “or you’d still be on them. We went through your medical records and your purse. You stopped taking those pills a few months ago. Why?”

  I try to sound nonchalant. “None of your fucking business.”

  “But it is. You’re my guest,” he quickly answers. “I need to know everything to keep you comfortable and safe.”

  “You and your buddies keep saying that, but I haven’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. How’s that gonna sound in your guest book?”

  “You’ve turned down a seventy-five-dollar meal. How would that sound to your marginalized, starving beneficiaries? You know how they’d see it. White…upper class…privilege.”

  “Oh, you sound like the epitome of disadvantage,” I titter, shaking my head. “Tell me, Zero, how much does Gabriel pay you for the work he refuses to stain his own hands with?”

  Silence…

  “Tell me, Dina,” he finally speaks. “What was the gazette’s offer? The one that tempted you so much you abandoned your ambitions?”

  “Is that how they’re justifying this to you?” I chortle. “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, but Gabriel Palanick doesn’t give a flying fuck about noble ambitions or saving the world.”

  “He doesn’t?”

  “No, you moron!” I raise my voice an octave. “What—You think because he makes a few donations and appears at every benefit and fundraiser in Boston, that he actually cares?” I viciously scoff. “It’s called marketing. Photo-ops. Grow…up!”

  “Right, but it’s okay that you now spare your most valuable and influential talent to make a buck, thinking that your skimpy contributions to a limited society will make up for your docility.”

  “I’m keeping the world in check,” I hiss louder. “I tell the people the truth that you and your employers work so diligently to hide.”

  “Yeah? And where do a few bumps on the road lead you? What did you do after you discovered that your so-called truth about Dennis Recario didn’t matter one bit in the way the real world works? Huh?”

  For the love of God, who is that man, and why is he trying so hard to break my spirit when he can easily break my ribs?

  “Your point being?”

  “Palanick rises after every fall…unlike you—a coward and a quitter.”

  “Is that why you’re keeping me here? I thought it’s because I refuse to quit.”

  “It’s because you’re a fucking idiot, that why!” he yells. “You don’t even know the truth, and you’re out there blabbing that little mouth of yours off with your minion Derek and your ancient boss who still thinks that another Watergate will put his sad little gazette on the map.”

  I draw a deep breath. They’re not doing the same thing to Derek and Armin, are they?

  “Keep them out of this. It was my idea.”

  “Bullshit,” he enunciates. “Adding your name to the second piece tells it all.”

  “You’re well-informed for a common thug.”

  He scoffs and chuckles. “Oh, I’m anything but common, honey. Would a common thug manage to make it look like you’re working as we speak?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Oh yeah,” his tone becomes breezier. “Right now? You’ve already sent a bunch of emails to everyone. Responded to all of your texts. And in the morning? You’ll even hand in a replacement piece in place for Derek’s old follow-up that’s
now history.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Too much at stake for that. Speaking of stakes…” he clears his throat, prolonging the anticipation. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Screw you.”

  “No, no, I’m curious. Now that therapy with Marks isn’t really working, you were searching for a new shrink. What’s the scoop? Spill. Depression? Anxiety? PTSD? All of the above? Oh, oh, let me guess… OCD, you must be. You fit the profile perfectly.”

  “Your friends haven’t been doing their job, have they? If you’ve seen my apartment, you wouldn’t be saying that now.”

  “No? Hmm…were you raped?”

  “Fuck. You.” I shout.

  “Jeez, warmer, I see.”

  “Not even close, but what can I say? You’re just a pitiful little man after all.”

  “You hate all men? Is that it?”

  “Don’t try to blame the rest of your gender for your shortcomings. There are great men out there, and you’re not one of them. Is your dick small? Is that it?”

  “Cheap shot, but I like where you’re going with this. Did Daniel have a small penis? Is that why you dumped his sorry ass?”

  I start to giggle just to irritate him. But inside, I’m utterly mortified.

  “If I liked big dicks I’d be going after your boss. After all, what is he more than just a giant prick flailing about? He’d be my own personal dildo.”

  “Hey, hey, hey…” he briefly chuckles. “That little mouth is dirty. I like it.”

  “When do you conclude this charade, huh? You’ve kept me here an entire day. What’s your endgame? I bet you don’t even know. Your boss hasn’t even let you in on his plan for me. You’re just a pawn he’s using to buy himself time.”

  “Yeah? What do you think he wants to do? Fuck you when nobody’s looking?”

  “Proud to admit that I know very little of the deranged asshole, to confirm that.”

  “So, Marks stuffed your face with happy pills for kicks? C’mon, now, Dina, I’m beginning to think we can actually be friends. A couple of psychos shooting the breeze, huh? Whaddaya say?”

  I shake my head and titter.

  “If Palanick doubles your salary at the gazette in exchange for your early retirement…how does that sound?”