by Zoe Blake
Swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth, I knew, deep down, I had no choice but to play this out. I was a pawn in Richard’s twisted game. I could try to make a run for it down the street, but I knew he would only find another way to manipulate me into doing his bidding. I might as well obey the rules of my game piece and enter the building. It was, after all, what Richard wanted of me.
Clenching my stomach to stop my body from trembling, I took a few steps forward. Several people cast strange looks at me as they passed, before quickly forgetting all about me and my odd Victorian attire as they continued on with their lives.
The glass door swung open and a tall gentleman impeccably dressed in a Dolce & Gabbana black cashmere polo and double-pleated trousers stepped through.
My heart stopped as I willed my eyes to look up past his shoulders… into a pair of lackluster brown eyes.
It wasn’t Richard.
My traitorous heart sank.
Forcing the feeling away, I shyly nodded my thanks as he held the door open. Crossing over the threshold, I felt the clammy chill of air conditioning as I walked into the spacious lobby. The interior was very modern. Decorated with black wrought-iron and accents of white and yellow.
A slim woman with white-blonde hair pulled relentlessly back into a tight bun at her nape descended the black spiral staircase to the right. Her eyes traced my appearance from head to toe. Her lips tightened with disapproval before she asked in sharp, clipped tones, “May I help you?”
Self-consciously grabbing the knotted ends of my hair and twisting them into order over my shoulder, I cleared my throat before saying, “I’m here to see a friend in flat 8C.”
Without taking her cold, grey eyes off me, she raised one unnaturally thin arm and gestured to the right. “The lifts are over there. Press in the code 461 to gain access to the eighth floor.”
Smoothing the front of my bodice down with my right hand, I forgot I was still clutching the letter opener from my altercation with Richard. The woman’s narrow, pencil-drawn eyebrow raised as her eyes caught sight of the sharp, tarnished object.
Defiantly tilting my chin up, I breezed past her. Unfortunately, I ruined the effect when I stumbled over my too-long skirts. Feeling my cheeks burn, I squeezed my eyes shut as I waited for the lift doors to open. The moment they did, I clambered inside.
It took several tries for my shaking fingers to punch in the correct code. Each time I entered the wrong number sequence, I expected to hear an alarm sound as the interior of the elevator flashed with red strobe lights and some robotic voice boomed ‘intruder, intruder.’
Finally, the small chamber vibrated as the elevator moved upward.
Twisting the fabric of my dress between my nervous hands, I tentatively walked out of the elevator and down the softly lit hallway as I scanned the eighth floor looking for flat C. After turning a corner, I spotted it.
I raised my arm to knock.
Then lowered it.
Leaning forward, I pressed my ear to the cold black metal door but could hear nothing.
Taking a deep breath, I once more raised my arm and knocked. At first, I knocked too faintly and after waiting a few moments, I pounded my fist against the door.
The light under the door shifted as someone approached.
Was that the heavy footfall of Richard?
I couldn’t tell.
My head swam as I held my breath.
The scratch of metal against metal sounded as a latch was drawn free.
The doorknob turned.
As the door swung open, a flood of light blinded me from the windows and shrouded a figure in shadow.
The moment my eyes adjusted, I cried out before falling into their waiting arms.
Chapter 3
Lizzie
“What a fun surprise!” Looking over my shoulder into the empty hallway, she asked, seemingly innocently, “Is Richard with you?”
Jane looked… different.
Although she used to say we were the same size as she borrowed my clothes, the truth was Jane was an inch taller and just slightly more curved around the hips. So, try as she might, she always looked like she was wearing someone else’s wardrobe. Judging by her fresh look, apparently Jane had come into some significant money.
The white lace and ruffled boho blouse she was wearing was from her favorite designer, Hedi Slimane. It was easily a couple thousand pounds and tailored to fit her. A pair of Hedi Slimane jeans and a gold charm necklace with matching earrings completed the look.
Jane looked every inch as if I had just casually interrupted her Saturday afternoon brunch plans.
I wasn’t buying it.
“Come in! Let’s catch up.” She fingered a limp ruffle on my bodice. “What on earth are you wearing, sweetie? I thought Prince Charming was dressing you better these days.”
Having no energy to respond, I left her embrace and stepped into the flat. Everything was very chic… and expensive looking. The only things I recognized were our canvas prints of Audrey, Marilyn, and Brigitte.
Then I saw my birdcage.
Crossing swiftly over to it, I put my fingers through the gold bars and stared at the potted plant inside. My finches were gone.
My throat tightened as my vision blurred. “Are Dior and Coco dead?”
Jane scoffed as she crossed the open loft space to the black marble-topped kitchen island. “Don’t be silly! They’re fine. Don’t you remember? You asked me to take them over to your and Richard’s place in Mayfair. Those two little feathered bastards are living like royalty in that massive bamboo cage Richard got for them.”
I didn’t remember, but that wasn’t surprising. There was a lot I couldn’t remember… or wasn’t supposed to remember.
Turning back to face her, I glanced around the room, taking in the sleek black leather sofa with its outrageous pink feather throw pillows. Suddenly I longed to plump down on the stained, secondhand pull-out sofa from our old place.
Letting my skirts drag across the grey maple hardwood flooring, I confronted Jane.
“What the hell is going on?”
Her hands twitched as she gathered various bits of mail and fashion magazines and shuffled them into a pile. “What do you mean?”
Slamming my hands down on the counter to get her attention, I raised my voice. “Cut the crap, Jane. I want to know if he involved you in all the lies.”
Avoiding my gaze, Jane turned and opened the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of expensive-looking white wine. “It’s still early but you look like you could use a drink.” Reaching into a cabinet, she pulled free two wineglasses and filled them before pushing one across the marble counter to me.
“I thought you were dead,” I murmured, as I traced the foot of the wineglass with my finger. I didn’t want to look up into her eyes. Somehow I felt it would sting less if she didn’t lie directly to my face. When Richard had instructed Jane to bring a message to his henchman Harris, I was certain it had meant he would have had her killed for trying to talk sense to me.
“Dead? What a dramatic imagination! I think you’re taking your role a little too seriously.”
“Did you know? What was happening to me?”
Jane’s fingers dug into my upper arm as she dragged me over to the sofa. Her eyes darted about the room as if she were worried someone was overhearing our conversation. Her voice sounded high and brittle as she forced a casual tone. “What do you mean? Did I know you landed a handsome, uber-rich duke who loved you to distraction and was making all your dreams come true? Yeah, of course. I’m jealous as hell.”
“That’s not what I meant. Why are you avoiding answering?”
Ignoring me, Jane continued on. Speaking loudly, more to the room than me. “You are way better of an actress than I gave you credit for. The way you embraced your role. I had no idea you were so method! It was so James Dean of you.”
“Jane—”
“Thanks for convincing the duke to give me the parlor maid part. It was only a walk-on but I think I made the b
est of it.”
Placing my wine down on the glass coffee table, I turned my body to face her. “What the fuc—”
“I don’t have to tell you how pissed Mike was when he learned that night that they had cut his role. He was hoping to stay for the complete season run,” she clamored feverishly on.
My cheeks burned as an unbidden memory came back to me.
Richard ordering me to my knees in front of Mike. Me willingly opening my mouth, so Richard could plunge his thick cock in so deep and hard I choked and couldn’t breathe. Over and over again he would thrust, all the while staring arrogantly at Mike.
I know now that not all of what I experienced was real, but my supplication and subsequent public humiliation were definitely real.
“We weren’t on some stupid television show, Jane! He kidnapped me!”
The stem of Jane’s wineglass snapped in two as she slammed it onto the coffee table.
Then she lunged for me.
I was too shocked to react; she had me pinned against the arm of the sofa, her hand firmly over my mouth, before I could do anything to stop her.
Frantically looking around the room, her eyes wild and unfocused, she exclaimed, “You look terrible. How about a nice hot shower? Then we’ll order some take-away.”
With her staring down at me, I nodded my head, trying to signal I understood. She dragged her hand away. “Yes. A shower sounds like just what I need,” I said calmly as I stood on shaking legs.
Silently, Jane led the way through the enormous master bedroom into the bath. Like the kitchen countertop, there were sleek black marble counters and floors, and rather gaudy brass fixtures.
Placing a finger to her lips, Jane reached past me and turned on the shower as well as the sink faucet.
“What the fuck is going on, Jane?”
Jane waved her hands. “Keep your voice down.”
“What the fuck?” I whispered harshly.
“I could ask you the same thing,” she accused, hands on hips. “Are you trying to ruin a good thing?”
Pacing the small confines of the bathroom, I rounded on her. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through these last few months?”
“You mean, did I know you’ve had gorgeous gowns, a king’s ransom in jewelry, and a small army of servants at your beck and call on top of a hot as hell, sex on a stick, rich boyfriend who was fucking you sideways every chance he got? Yeah, I knew,” Jane fired back spitefully.
“Judge-y! And no, it wasn’t all like that,” I countered defensively as I crossed my arms over my chest. She was making me wonder if I was being overly dramatic. Had I let my imagination run away with me? Maybe I was remembering the events of the last few months wrong? Had I let my anger cloud my already shaky memory?
It was all a jumble. I remembered diamonds and silks and lazy afternoons filled with pleasure in bed with Richard. I also remembered leather and whips and nights filled with terror and pain.
What was real?
Digging my fingers into my hair, I pressed my palms against my head and resisted the urge to scream.
“Look, you obviously had a fight with Richard—”
My snort of derision interrupted her.
Giving me a hard look as she reached around me to grab a large, fluffy pink towel, she finished, “I think what you need is a long hot shower and some food.”
Snatching the towel from her outstretched hand, I fired back, “What I need is answers!”
Jane once more gestured for me to lower my voice.
Closing my eyes and praying for patience, I repeated, “I want answers.”
Sighing, Jane sat down on the toilet lid. “Answers to what? Whatever happened at Richard’s estate, you agreed to it. All of it. I was there when you did.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t remember coming back to our flat super excited about Richard’s Victorian project? Telling me how happy you were that he was throwing his full support behind your acting career after seeing you audition for The Lady Protests? Hell, he even produced the show because of you.”
I shook my head, twisting the towel in my hands. “No. No, that didn’t happen.”
“You wouldn’t stop talking about how in love with him you were and how he would make all your dreams come true. You even bragged about how he would use your designs for all the main costuming for the show.”
My head swam. Despite its loose stays, suddenly the heavy weight of the taffeta dress felt oppressive. Clawing at the small row of pearl buttons, I tore the fabric as I wrenched it down my arms and over my hips. Kicking the soiled and wrinkled skirts across the polished black marble floor, I leaned against the glass shower door, which felt cool despite the hot stream of water on the other side. The air was moist and reeked of rose-scented soap. My silk slip clung to my skin.
Standing, Jane approached me cautiously. Lifting her arm, she stroked my hair. She took a deep breath. It was obvious she was weighing her words carefully. “Look, maybe he took the game a little too far. He probably scared you. Richard can be a little intense over his feelings for you, but in my opinion it’s not a bad thing to have a man that into you.”
Tired and numb, I barely reacted to her admission.
Still stroking my hair, she reasoned, “Still, it’s nothing you didn’t want. I was there. You were having fun and were totally into it. Everyone said so. If you were truly there against your will, don’t you think someone would have noticed something? Or tried to help you? There were over a hundred servants crawling all over that estate.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I swung my head to the other side, staring blindly at a framed black-and-white photo of Marilyn Monroe in a bathtub. Leave it to Jane to move to an ultra-swanky new flat but still decorate the rooms with images of Monroe. Focusing again on her softly reasoned words, I hated the fact that everything she said made sense.
Richard was rich and powerful, but no one was that powerful. My memories might be confused, but there was no mistaking the number of people surrounding me on a daily basis; parlor maids, upstairs maids, downstairs maids, a lady’s maid, countless footmen and groundskeepers, drivers, a butler… the list went on and on. No one could have such absolute control over that number of people.
If I’d been truly in distress, someone would have seen… someone would have said something or called the authorities.
If no one did… does that mean it didn’t happen?
Looking down, I ran a finger over the now-healing scratch down the center of my palm.
This isn’t real.
My mantra came back to me. Over and over again.
This isn’t real.
What if I was right for the wrong reasons?
What if my nightmares were just that… dreams?
What if Richard had been trying to save me from myself this entire time?
Jane kept mentioning all the wonderful parts. In my anger and confusion, had I imagined the nightmarish ones? After all, she had been there. She had witnessed my interactions with Richard and the staff.
Richard loved me. Of that I was certain. He was my religion and I his. Caught in a twisted, obsession that would probably consume us both.
Could I fault him for getting lost in the same toxic game I myself was apparently a willing pawn in? Everything Jane said made sense. It would be just like Richard to move heaven and hell to create an entire fantasy world for me. The man had no limits, no constraints on his behavior, of that I had seen ample evidence. Nothing was beyond his reach.
I know I had mentioned on more than one occasion my entire motivation for becoming an actress was to lose myself entirely in a long-lost period of time. Everything he did—the estate, the gowns, the servants, even the forms of discipline and restraints against my freedom—was all in a quest to immerse me fully in the life of a Victorian woman. There were no half-ways with Richard.
He had done all this for me! Because he loved me! And I threw all of it in his face. I had gone too deep in a game of my own making and
had lost all perspective.
It was the only explanation.
If both Richard and Jane, the only two people in the world I was close to, said it was so… then it must be so.
What had Richard said when I had confronted him with the gun?
“You needed this, us, as much as I. Your soul is just as dark and twisted as my own. Don’t insult us both by pretending otherwise. Stop playing the innocent. It doesn’t suit you.”
He had been trying to warn me then that I was just as complicit in this game as he. Except I had changed the rules on him. I was to blame for the savage turn of events. It was my fault. I had taken a beautiful gesture of his love and devotion and turned it into something ugly with my confused thoughts and mistaken impressions.
These violent delights have violent ends.
Oh, God! What have I done!
Slapping a hand over my mouth, I turned back to Jane. “I shot him.” My words were muffled and indistinct through my palm.
Snatching at my wrist, Jane pulled my hand away and asked, “What?”
“I shot him,” I repeated, my eyes wide with fear.
“It’s fine. You didn’t kill him and I’m sure he’ll forgive you. That man would forgive you anything.”
Brushing off any further conversation, Jane hustled me into the shower with motherly admonishments about needing rest and some old-fashioned comfort food.
It wasn’t till much later that it even occurred to me to wonder how she knew I hadn’t killed Richard. I’d told her I shot him, but I hadn’t told her I missed.
And just where had she gotten the money for all the new clothes and fancy flat?
At least that was one question I already knew the answer to.
Jane
My hands shook as I pressed the numbers on my cell phone. A sickening rush of relief flooded my body when a woman answered instead of him. “Tell him I followed instructions. Please… he doesn’t have to do… please tell him, don’t do what he threatened. She’ll obey. Please, I don’t want her—”
The line went dead.
Sinking to my knees, slumped against the wall, I slowly turned my head to look at all the garish opulence I had sold my soul to possess. The devil came in many forms… and I had just convinced my friend that one of them was Prince Charming.
