The Stories We Whisper at Night

by Sky Corgan

  The cops are at my door first thing in the morning. They separate Marcy and I and question us. When they realize how much we actually know about what went on, they make us go down to the station and fill out full statements. I tell them everything I can think of, purposely omitting that Marcy is also a call girl. She informs me afterward that she left it out too, though she did tell them about Edward and where to find him.

  “You should tell me where to find him,” I grumble at her as we climb back into my truck to leave.

  “Let the law handle this. I don't want you in jail. You're all I have left.” Her eyes water, and I feel a weakness for her in that moment. I want to pull her into my arms and tell her that everything will be all right. It could be a lie though. I told Delilah that everything would be all right, and she ended up dead. Maybe I should keep my comforting words to myself.

  We return to my apartment, and there's nothing left to do but pick up the pieces of my shattered life. My boss isn't very sympathetic toward my situation. Since I work a night shift anyway, he figures I should deal with all of my business in the daytime. I'm to resume working immediately.

  Marcy begs me not to go. She tells me she's afraid that Edward will send someone after her. I gently remind her that Edward has no clue where she's at. Since she's no longer staying at my sister's place, she should be safe. It does little to comfort her. There's nothing else I can do though. I tell her to lock the door when I'm gone and not to let anyone in but the police. She nods, gives me a kiss on the lips, and sends me to work, shaking like a leaf. I can't tell if she's sincerely that frightened, or if she's trying to guilt-trip me. Either way, it doesn't change things.

  Thankfully, I'm not wrong about Edward not being able to find her. Whether he sent someone after her or not, we don't know, but no one ever shows up at my door for her.

  In the coming days, we receive the welcome news that Edward has been picked up by the police and charged with running an illegal prostitution ring. Delilah's killer ratted him out. And with our added testimony, it was enough to get him booked. By some miracle, he didn't give out the names of his girls, so Marcy gets off scot-free.

  The trial seems to last forever. It's six months of going back and forth between lawyers and the courthouse. They have enough evidence to convict the john, whose name is Stephen Watson, but he's hired the best lawyer in the state. The guy never loses, and thanks to him, Stephen is out of jail and free on the streets for most of the trial.

  There are countless nights that I sit in my apartment after work, balling and unballing my fists, trying to keep the urge to hunt him down at bay. Marcy is the only thing that keeps me from leaving, that keeps me sane. She speaks softly to me and makes me see reason, calming me with her words and distracting me with her body. If she were to leave my side, I don't know what would happen.

  Eventually, Stephen Watson is found guilty. There's just too much evidence against him. They found the murder weapon in a dumpster near the hotel where he killed my sister. It had his fingerprints and her blood all over it. The bastard stabbed her seven times and slit her throat. My sweet sister, who would never harm a fly, who was only trying to get ahead.

  That coupled with our testimony is enough to get him a life sentence in prison. I'd rather the death penalty, but Marcy says that he'll suffer more in jail than he would if he was dead. Death is so final. In prison, they'll likely rape him and do other unsavory things to him. He's a good-looking man, with charm and poise, not the type you'd take for a murderer. All I can do is hope that the rest of his miserable life is spent in fear and remorse for his actions. It's a lot to ask for though.

  With the case settled and my sister's death somewhat avenged, life is finally allowed to return to normal. It doesn't return to normal though. This city makes me sick, and the thought that the same thing could be going on somewhere else in the world makes me even sicker. I'm fed up with my job. Fed up with doing something that doesn't make a difference in the world. Fed up with the crappy pay and the lack of respect. I'm just fed up.

  Marcy doesn't move out. She uses the money she saved up from being a call girl to split the bills with me. She says that being with me makes her feel safe.

  It's nice to have her around. She does all the domestic chores that a good woman does. Cooks and cleans while I'm at work. Plus her softness curbs my rough edges. I'm starting to realize that having her around makes me a better person, makes me a happier man.

  Delilah's death haunts me, and I keep worrying about girls I've never even met. One night I ask Marcy if she ever found out about the call girl agency in New York. I don't expect her to have bothered looking into it after she left the business.

  “Why? You want me to go back to work?” She hooks her leg over mine as we sit on the sofa together, giving me a teasing look.

  I place my hand on her thigh, thinking about how I never want to have to share her again. “No. I'm thinking about paying the place a visit.”

  “Why?” She raises an eyebrow in interest.

  “Because I don't want what happened to my sister to ever happen to another girl again.” I stare into the distance, remembering Delilah's smiling face. She was taken from the world way too soon.

  “What are you planning on doing?” I know that worried tone in Marcy's voice. She thinks I'm going to break bones. To put the establishment out of business. Maybe I am. I don't even know yet.

  “I'm just going to talk.” It's the best I can offer.

  Reluctantly, she gives me the address.

  On my next day off, I decide to make a special trip. I leave Marcy at home. She doesn't want to be involved with this anyway.

  I pull up in front of a building that looks like a normal office. I go inside and am surprised to see a fully functional business. There are cubicles everywhere and people working at their desks. Maybe Marcy got the address wrong. I wouldn't be surprised if the girl who gave it to her had lied.

  To top it off, the girl told Marcy that this agency is run by a woman. That's unusual in and of itself. Usually, they're run by men. This is probably not legit, but I'm already here, so I might as well ask around.

  One of the employees walks up and greets me. I promptly tell him that I'm here to see Miss White. He doesn't question it. He simply leads me toward an office in the back of the room, knocks twice on the door, and then peeks his head in to tell the person inside that there's someone here to see them.

  An authoritative female voice replies, “Send him in.”

  The employee gestures for me to go inside and then retreats back to his cubicle.

  I peer into the room at a woman sitting in front of a wooden desk stacked high with papers. She looks down her nose at me. “Well, come in. I don't have all day.”

  There's a strange air of intimidation about her, even though she seems to be about my age. I step inside the office and close the door behind myself, wanting to keep our conversation private. If that girl lied to Marcy, then I'm about to embarrass the hell out of myself. This woman will probably think I'm some lunatic. I'll be lucky if she doesn't call the cops.

  “Who are you and what are you here for?” Miss White gestures to one of the chairs on the other side of her desk.

  I'm not sure it's even worth taking a seat. How do I begin? “I didn't expect there to be an actual business here.” I stare at the stack of papers sitting to the left of her hands, which are clasped together on top of the desk.

  “You seem to be lost.” She looks up at me with unwavering confidence.

  Might as well come out with it. Stalling is just going to piss her off. “I've been told that you run a business here. A business that involves girls making money by entertaining rich men.”

  “Are you a cop?” Her boldness shocks me.

  She's about to go on the defense, and then I'll never find out the truth. “No. My sister was a call girl. She was murdered. I'm just taking it upon myself to make sure that doesn't happen to anyone else.”

  “You never told me your name.” Miss White l
eans back in her chair.

  “Knox.”

  “Well, Knox, I'm listening.” This woman is strictly business. I'm not sure what she expects me to say next. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to say, but I have to say something.

  “Do your girls have any type of protection?” I sit down in the chair she offered me.

  “All of our clients are screened. We do a thorough criminal background check on them,” she says matter-of-factly.

  “I mean real protection. You never know when one of these guys is going to fly off the hinges.”

  “If you're talking about sending our girls with guns and knives, no, that's not part of our policy.” She smirks as if she finds the conversation amusing.

  “What happens if one of the guys gets violent?” I furrow my eyebrows, fighting to keep my anger at bay. She's acting as if my concerns are just a joke. It's pissing me off.

  The smirk fades from her face. “It doesn't happen very often.”

  “It shouldn't happen at all,” I counter, raising my voice slightly.

  “And what do you propose I do about it?” She leans forward, matching my aggression. It seems like she's one hair away from kicking me out of her office. I need to tread carefully.

  “Hire some muscle—”

  “Who? You?” She gestures at me. “I'm guessing this is some shakedown. You're going to threaten to expose me if I don't give you part of the profits.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “That's not my intention at all. I just want to protect these girls. I wasn't even suggesting myself.”

  “Well, that's odd. You seem able-bodied.” She scans me up and down. It's disturbing how quickly her mood can change. One minute she's accusing me of trying to destroy her business, the next she's looking me over in contemplation.

  “I wish I could be that guy. I do. But I have a job too. I'm just saying you need to make sure your girls have more protection than what they do. Otherwise, they could end up like my sister.

  “Every one of these girls is someone special to someone in the world. They might not have parents, but they do have friends. Relatives. People who care about them. They're not just pieces of meat you can sell for profi—”

  “Ten percent,” she cuts me off.

  “What?” My head jerks back. What is she talking about?

  “If you want the job, I'll give you ten percent of the profits. Ten percent of every girl's fee, paid in cash. I've been looking for someone like you. It just hasn't been at the top of my list of priorities.” She steeples her hands, staring into my face to gauge my reaction.

  “You're offering me a job?” I still can't believe what I just heard. If her fees are anything like Edward was charging, I'd be making over four times as much money in one night than I am at my current job. Maybe even more than that if I'm protecting more than one girl a night.

  “Are you hard of hearing? Because if you are, that might be a problem.” There's no humor in her voice.

  “No. I heard you. I'm just surprised is all.”

  “Do you want the job or not?” She taps her foot impatiently, indicating that our little meeting is almost up.

  “What would I have to do?” I'm not agreeing without the details.

  “Drive my girls to and from their appointments. Pick up clients. Take care of clients who hurt our girls. Hunt down girls who default on their contracts and teach them a lesson. We'll work out the details later, but that's the gist of it.”

  I want to take a moment to process it all, but she's becoming more irritable by the moment. “Miss White, I believe I'll take you up on that offer.”

  “Good. Glad to have you on board, Knox.” She stands and offers me her hand. I give it a firm shake. “Be here on Friday afternoon and we'll go over your schedule and assignments.”

  “Yes, ma'am.”

  “You're dismissed.” She gestures toward the door, sending me on my way.

  I drive away from the building stunned. Did that just happen? Did I really just come here to talk and leave with a job?

  When I get back to the apartment, Marcy is there waiting for me as always. She doesn't leave often, unless it's to get groceries or run some other errand. That doesn't bother me though. She's always pulled her weight.

  She greets me with a concerned look. I'd rather see her smile, but considering what I went to do, I can understand her apprehension. “How'd it go?” she asks, pulling the door aside for me to come in.

  “You're never going to believe what happened.” I don't even believe it.

  “Tell me.” She leads me to the sofa and sits down.

  I lower myself beside her. “Well, first off, the place is in an actual business. I think it's a front for what goes on at night. The woman I talked to was very nice and professional. When I told her my concerns, she offered me a job as a guard for the girls. She's going to give me ten percent of their commission.”

  Marcy turns her head forward, staring into the distance as if trying to process everything. “That's great. Isn't it?”

  “Yeah. At least, I think it is. It's just unexpected.”

  “So you'll be making more money than you are at the bar?”

  “That's the impression I got. If she charges the same that Edward did, then I should definitely be making more money.” I can't even imagine the income potential. It's enough to get us out of this dump. Enough to change our lives for the better.

  “Will you have to move?” It's a strange question, and filled with more anxiety than it should be.

  “Well, I'd like to move eventually. Wouldn't you like to get out of this place?” I give the shabby apartment a quick lookover, speaking more about the bad neighborhood than anything else.

  Her mouth dips into a soft frown. “I'm not sure where I'd go.”

  “Where you'd go?” We've been living together for over six months now. The thought of her leaving never even crossed my mind. It causes my stomach to twist in discomfort. I like Marcy. A lot. She's stuck with me through thick and thin. I don't want her to leave.

  “Yes. I know I've been staying here with you for a long time. You're probably getting sick of me, looking forward to having your own place again.” Marcy averts her eyes, gazing down at the carpet.

  “Hey.” I press my fingers beneath her chin and tilt her face up. “Who said I was getting sick of you?”

  She brushes my hand away. “Knox, you don't have to pretend. I know you enjoyed living alone before I came—”

  “Shut up.” I stare at her in disbelief.

  “What?” Her eyes widen in surprise. I've never told her to shut up before. In fact, I haven't even raised my voice at her since Delilah died.

  “I'm not sick of you.” I shake my head.

  “You're not?”

  “No. I actually like having you around. In fact, I don't want you to leave.” The confession feels so strange. It's like I'm telling her I love her, but in less intimate words.

  The truth is… I do love her. It's not something I was ever willing to admit to myself before, but knowing that she would even think about leaving makes it come out full force.

  “You don't?” Her frown disappears and begins to lift into a smile.

  The sentimental moment is making me feel awkward. I turn towards the television and lean back into the sofa. After Marcy moved in, we went in together on the television so that she wouldn't be bored during the daytime. I still don't watch it much, but it is kind of nice to have around. It's turned on, but the volume is low so as to not disturb our conversation.

  “I'm not good at stuff like this,” I confess. I've never been a hopeless romantic, or a romantic at all. I've always been too busy worrying about surviving to care about love. Marcy coming into my life was unexpected, and the way I've grown to feel about her is even more so. I'm not good at articulating how I feel, and I'm not even sure how to go about doing it.

  “Try.” Amusement laces her voice.

  I let out an exaggerated sigh and give her a sarcastic look. “Are you really going to make me do t
his?”

  “Mm-hmm.” She pulls her legs up under herself. The smile that was peeking through on her perfect red lips is now stretching across them. She's toying with me, enjoying my discomfort.

  I don't want to say anything more, but I know she's expecting it now. I'm not sure why it's so difficult. It's not like what she wants to hear is a lie.

  A silly thought takes over me, and I start half-mumbling, half-singing the first verse of Elton John's Your Song. Hell, if you can't come up with your own words, use someone else's.

  Marcy bursts out laughing, and I join in. It's odd spilling my guts about how I feel for her. But damn, if her laughter isn't music to my ears. She lights up when she's happy. I like to see her happy. I want to be the one who makes her happy.

  “So does this mean we're going to be moving into a mansion when you start making the big bucks?” she teases.

  “Well, I don't know about a mansion, but life will be better… for both of us.” I reach my arm out to draw her into it.

  She nuzzles my side. “So I guess it's me and you, kid.”

  “Me and you,” I repeat with a grin on my face, giving her a gentle squeeze.

  We sit there for several seconds. The warmth of her body amplifies the euphoria coursing through me. Everything is going perfectly. It's hard to fathom going through life with a beautiful woman by my side, not struggling anymore. I can only hope she'll want to stay with me for the long term.

  “You make me happy.” It's a small offering in comparison to all the thoughts playing through my head.

  “Do I?” She looks up at me. “Why do I make you happy?”

  I shrug, though I don't know why. There are plenty of reasons. “You've been here for me through everything with Delilah. You've never left my side. I like having you around. Like waking up next to you in the morning. Like kissing you before bed at night. You keep me warm. You keep me fed.” I smirk, thinking of all the times I've come home from work, and she's surprised me with cookies or some special meal. She's a good woman. A damn good woman. “I'm lucky I found you.”