by Joshua Ingle
That entry had stuck with Brandon through the years. He’d made it his manifesto, if he could be said to have one. It reminded him that he owed it to his younger self to take what he wanted out of life while he still could.
Brandon threw open the door to Crystal’s bedroom. Still wearing that turquoise dress, she sat on her bed texting someone. At Brandon’s entrance, she looked up from her phone, then stood and backed away when he shut and locked the door. “No, no, no,” Crystal said. “We’re not doing this again.”
That’s right, bitch. See which one of us has the power. He strode toward her. “Beg,” he said to her.
Crystal bolted for the far end of the room, where a sliding door revealed a small balcony. She ran to the door, pulled, and fled onto the terrace. Her breathing quickened, thrilling Brandon all the more. As he neared her, she backed toward the terrace’s railing, and he glanced past her at the ground ten stories below.
“Where you gonna go? Only direction outta here is down.”
Crystal darted forward, trying to flee past Brandon, but he grabbed her arm and wrenched her back inside the bedroom with him. “I don’t wanna,” she pleaded. “Not again. Please.”
He pulled her face toward his until they were centimeters apart, just as he’d been with Cole only minutes ago. “Get out of my house,” he whispered. Then he threw her onto the bed face-first. She tried to cry out, but he climbed on top of her, covered her mouth with one hand, and undid his belt buckle with the other.
•
Thorn couldn’t stop Brandon, but neither would he keep watching the unthinkable act through the window. He rounded the southern face of the condo and sneaked down into the palms by the docks. He knew now that tragedy permeated the lives of the people upstairs. Only Heather seemed psychologically stable.
Crystal’s case was beyond troubling, but it could possibly be mended before the night was through. How fitting that she’d given Cole Paradise Lost on this specific night! Thorn had read it ages ago, and although some of its details were preternaturally correct, he’d found its depictions mostly inaccurate, especially of the War in Heaven. Milton had given too much credit to the Enemy, and left out Marcus’s role entirely.
Thorn saw echoes of himself and Marcus in Cole and Brandon: deeply close friends torn apart by circumstances, each now grappling for power over the other. Marcus, however, was more focused and methodical than Brandon, and therefore more dangerous.
“Be seeing you soon,” Marcus had said to Thorn, just hours ago. Thorn dreaded Marcus’s arrival; he’d sooner let the demon army end his life than fall into Marcus’s hands. If it came to it, Thorn wouldn’t give Marcus the satisfaction of slaughtering him himself. Though he’ll have his hands in it regardless. If it weren’t for Marcus’s ploy, this army wouldn’t be here to kill me now.
Thorn considered fleeing, but he didn’t know how to escape this place. If the humans died, the Sanctuary would end and he’d be free; but he’d abandoned his notions of killing them shortly after he’d arrived. Conversely, if the humans made their Big Choices and survived the Sanctuary, would Thorn go on living then as well? No demon who’d “failed” a Sanctuary had ever returned to Earth, so Thorn doubted he’d survive in that event, either.
But perhaps there was another way out. The transit door through which Thorn had entered the Sanctuary had been destroyed behind him, but clearly there were other ways in. The demon army would leave guards by their door out in the sea, but maybe—just maybe—there was a third door in here somewhere. A door that would lead Thorn back to Earth.
Such things were well hidden from demonic eyes, though, despite demonkind’s frequent discoveries of the temporary gateways. Thorn’s only real chance of learning a door’s location was by befriending one of his foes and asking for it. Fat chance.
Five more demons had arrived since Thorn’s brief trip upstairs, and they’d now joined the first one with the scarred face, who was still toying with Virgil by the nearest pier. The guard’s eyes were glazed over, his posture relaxed, his lazy gait reminiscent of a zombie’s staggering in a horror film. Thorn had reluctantly deemed the man a lost cause as soon as the others had nabbed him.
One slow step at a time, the guard wandered onto the pier, blindly following his unseen leader until he reached the walkway’s end, where only the water of the harbor and the bay beyond lay in front of him. Sheet lightning pulsed in the clouds as Virgil smiled, vaguely euphoric. Seeing whatever they want him to see.
Thorn left the trees’ cover and submerged most of his body beneath the surf. His opponents didn’t see him. He edged closer until he was near enough to read the subtle struggle on Virgil’s face, as if the man’s own excessive happiness had terrified him. A single tear fell from Virgil’s eye. Then his body tipped forward, straight as a plank as it splashed into the water. Before long, the air left Virgil’s lungs, and he sank.
He stayed under. Thirty seconds passed. Forty.
Thorn had learned earlier that, despite his newfound powers in the Sanctuary, he couldn’t just make a human stab herself. Distraction was easy; deliberate persuasion into self-harm was not. So once a Sanctuary’s human was under a demon’s control, the best one could do would be to send him unknowingly into danger—lead him off a cliff, or, as in this case, a pier. And a drowning death was ideal, Thorn guessed, since it kept the victim’s body intact and useful. Once the security guard died, Thorn’s adversaries undoubtedly planned to commandeer his vacant body and use it to dispatch the people upstairs, which would be the fastest, easiest method of ending their lives. It was eerie. It was brutal. It was purely demonic.
And two could play at that game.
5
C-stands and studio lights in various stages of setup stood watch over the soulless living room and the pristine kitchen next to it. Crystal grabbed a sharp kitchen knife from a cutlery set and hid it in her purse. The worst had happened again. Ten days had passed since the last time, so she’d hoped that Brandon was done. Had something changed since then? Had she made him mad somehow?
As usual, she couldn’t tell Cole. She could never tell Cole. Even as passive as he was, he wouldn’t ignore a rape claim, and Crystal didn’t have the courage to go to court over something like this. She could hear the accusations now.
“What was she wearing?”
“Did she lead him on?”
“Did she secretly want it?”
“She’s a porn actress; what did she think was going to happen?”
“Didn’t she get paid for that anyway?”
Just ignoring the rapes would be easier and less painful. Crystal was sure she could recover by herself. Driving a wedge between Cole and Brandon would remove Cole’s only source of income, and she couldn’t do that to him. Besides, Cole would end their romance immediately if he ever discovered that the baby was Brandon’s. Still, if Brandon ever tries it again…
The knife in her purse gave her comfort. Maybe she’d buy some pepper spray before work tomorrow. I should have done that months ago. Stupid. Stupid.
As Crystal sat gingerly on a barstool and dug through her purse for some painkillers, Heather used a blue plastic ruler to measure the distance from the countertop’s edge to some of Cole’s wine bottles. Crystal liked how organized Cole was—the opposite of her mom. He knew the exact position of every item in the house, and if she moved something, she’d have to put it back or he’d get mad. He’d yelled at Heather for that a few days ago, so she’d been extra careful ever since.
Once Heather arrived at a measurement, she plucked up a bottle, popped the top with a corkscrew, and poured herself a glass of wine. “Do you know if we’re gonna film some more, or are we done for the night?” she asked.
Crystal shrugged. “I think we’re done.”
Then Heather gave her that look that said she knew something was wrong, and poured a second glass of wine. Does she suspect what Brandon’s been doing to me? Crystal lived in fear that one day, Heather or Cole would bring up the rapes out of the blue, and h
er world would shatter. Thankfully, Heather seemed content with small talk now, even if she did suspect something.
“I can’t stand this condo,” Heather said. “All sterile and cold. Gives me bad vibes. No pictures of family or friends.”
“There’s the one in the hall,” Crystal said. She glanced over at the small picture hanging just outside the kitchen: a snapshot of Brandon with his arm around Cole, enjoying drinks on a boat.
“Friends, right,” Heather said with a subtle roll of her eyes. She set the second wine glass in front of Crystal. “You should know, not everyone in the business is like Brandon. He’s the exception, not the rule. You’ve already seen the worst, so it can only get better from here.”
Crystal balled up part of her dress and clenched it in her fist. She appreciated Heather’s encouragement, but wondered how many other girls just like Crystal she’d known in her years in the industry. Heather’s motherly persona came just a little too easily, and her words always seemed a little too pat for Crystal to be the first damaged coworker she’d tried to console. Crystal wondered what Heather really thought of her, this silly naïve girl always stuck in a rut. What would Heather say if she spoke honestly? Grow up?
Maybe I should.
Crystal popped a painkiller into her mouth. “If I have to hear one more time about how—what does he say? ‘The Übermensch transcends traditional morality in favor of Dionysian ideals…’”
Heather recited the last part with her, then laughed. Brandon said that all the time, like a motto, and Crystal had no idea what it meant.
Heather tried to stop chortling. “Yeah, he likes to use big words to express little ideas, doesn’t he? The idea that nothing matters seems to matter a lot to him.”
“If nothing matters to him, why is he so obsessed with guns and drugs and power?” And hurting me as much as he can?
Heather sipped from her glass and shook her head. “Oh, he just wants to do whatever he wants, and needs some reasoning to support that. I read one of his philosophy books once. I don’t think he even understood it.”
Brandon, Brandon, Brandon. On another night, Crystal might have been happy to make fun of him with Heather, but tonight she just wanted to stop thinking about him. “Hey, you’re a mom, right?”
Heather blinked at the sudden change of topic. She smiled curiously. “Uh, yeah. Benjamin. He’s five. Just started kindergarten.”
“What’s it like? Being a mom?”
“Aw, are you getting cold feet? Don’t worry. It’s hard work but you’ll love it. Best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Who’s Benjamin’s dad? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“No, not at all. He was just a guy I used to see. Is this, uh, is this about Cole? You worried if he’ll be there for you?”
Crystal said nothing. She realized she hadn’t touched her wine, so she raised the glass to her lips… but then she thought about the baby, and put the glass back down. Heather’s expression grew sympathetic again. Did she realize she’d given wine to a pregnant girl? When she approached Crystal and tried to comfort her with a hug, Crystal readily accepted the gesture.
“Sweetie,” Heather said, “I know you care about him, but you don’t want guys like these in your future. Take it from someone who’s been there.”
“But Cole is different.” Crystal had “been there” too. She’d had all kinds of crappy boyfriends, and Cole was more caring than them. More sensitive. He’d once even opened up to Crystal that he hated his own timidity. He cursed himself for letting Brandon take over his life, for letting all Brandon’s fun leave him so empty. Cole put on a friendly face, but deep down he was just as afraid of Brandon as Crystal was.
Heather broke off the hug. “Do you at least have a backup plan? In case it doesn’t work out with Cole?”
“I’m saving up for college.”
Heather furrowed her brow at this, probably making the connection Crystal had made earlier. “College? Does Cole know?”
“Yeah.” Crystal smiled lightly at her as if to say, I told you so. If Cole was paying her tuition, his commitment must be long term.
Heather finished her wine, gulped down Crystal’s as well, then went to wash off the glasses. “Just be careful, that’s all. Have a plan.”
“What good are plans? I mean, did you ever plan to be a porn actress as a kid?”
Crystal regretted saying it as soon as the words left her mouth. This was just a job to her, but Heather had made it her career. Heather was Crystal’s one true ally in this place, and the jab hadn’t been meant to hurt her. “Sorry,” Crystal said.
Heather shrugged defensively as she set the cups in the dishwasher. “It’s not a bad profession. I sure as hell enjoy it, or at least I did before meeting our mutual scumbag friend. Men have controlled sex for so long; I say it’s time we make it ours, huh?”
“I know, just… It’s not a great place to raise a little kid.”
“And it’s true that it has no retirement options,” Heather added. “That’s why it’s good to have a plan. Trust me, I’m going on thirty-five. I won’t be in the biz much longer either.”
Crystal would rather be working any number of other jobs, but as a twenty-two-year-old high school dropout who’d been unemployed for six months before meeting Cole, this was the best paying work she could hope to get. Plus, Cole might not even stay with her if she quit. Besides, she supposed, someone has to do it. Crystal didn’t like porn, but in a way, she thought it was a necessary part of society. Online videos of Crystal gave hundreds of men a safe escape at their computers before returning to their wives and girlfriends. She sometimes imagined all the different guys who watched her online, and though it was definitely creepy, it mostly made her sad. Wasn’t real connection better than a lifeless computer screen? Even Cole knew that. Even Brandon, in his own sick way.
“Just don’t try to save him,” Heather said. “Been there, tried that. Never works. Just leaves you miserable.”
“Cole? Save him from what?”
Heather carefully placed the wine bottle back at the end of the blue ruler and glanced toward the picture of Cole and Brandon.
•
“We’ve been fucking around these past few weeks, man,” Brandon said to Cole.
He wished that Cole had the sight to see the early videos of Brandon and Crystal’s sexual exploits. Brandon had gotten her to do some hardcore shit with him, and most of it was on tape. If Cole hadn’t been blind, Brandon might have used that footage now, but since he couldn’t, he’d done the next best thing.
“I’m so sorry, man. Crystal wanted it, and I know I shouldn’t have done it, but I wanted her too. I’m really sorry. It was a dumb move, and it won’t happen again.” Unless you don’t get rid of her.
Cole just stood there, staring into the curtains that concealed his bedroom window. Brandon had always been able to keep Cole under his thumb before, but Cole’s earlier outburst added a nervous edge to this silence. Just when Brandon was getting ready to provoke him further, Cole finally spoke.
“How many times?”
“Every few days since we met,” Brandon said. “Sometimes more often.”
“When was the last time?”
“Earlier tonight. Check the sheets if you want.”
“And it’s always consensual?”
“Yes.”
Cole nodded, turned, and spoke firmly. “Don’t you ever do this to me again.”
Brandon stood, but was unsure whether to leave or to give Cole a conciliatory embrace. Having to lie to his friend like this made him uncomfortable, and his usual charm failed him.
Cole spoke first. “Send her in.”
•
When Crystal entered Cole’s spacious bedroom, he was standing by his nightstand, his back to her, running his fingers over the braille in the book she’d given him. She couldn’t guess what he wanted, but since Brandon had come to get her instead of Cole himself, it had to be bad. Had Heather been right? Was he leaving her now, and her la
ck of a backup plan would send her back to joblessness? To her mom’s dilapidated house?
“Hi,” she said guardedly.
“I want you to get rid of it,” Cole said.
“Get rid of what?”
“Of the baby.”
Whoa. Speechless, Crystal took a few more steps toward him, her shoes clacking against the wooden floor. Cole had never been excited about the baby, but this? No. Please, no, no, no, no, no. The baby was the one promising thing she had in her life right now. Getting rid of “it” was not something she’d be willing to do.
She sidled up behind Cole and wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t want to do that.”
“Then you’re out of a job.” He didn’t even hesitate before saying it. That hurt. Please, no. How will I take care of a baby on my own? She didn’t have enough money to be a single mom—not by a long shot.
Cole slammed the book shut. Then he turned and held it out to her, returning her gift.
6
A painting hung above the sofa in the living room. Reds and yellows streaked from wide bases at the bottom up to points at the top, presenting the distinct appearance of a raging fire against a black background. Cole had painted it. Pretty good for a blind guy.
Brandon sat beneath the flames, gazing up at them. He’d forced Cole to dispose of all his other paintings because they made the house look unprofessional in the backgrounds of Brandon’s videos… but he liked this one. It reminded him that everything was chaos, and that trying to assert order was a futile act. Other, lesser people feared chaos, but Brandon enjoyed it. He’d always felt out of place in Cole’s spotlessly clean, perfectly ordered condo unit.
As a small retribution for Cole’s recent rebellion, Brandon stood to move a coffee table out of its usual symmetry with the rest of the furniture. He pulled it in front of the sofa, then arranged some cards on it for a game of solitaire: a fine way to occupy his time while Cole finally told Crystal off in his bedroom. Seven stacks of cards facing upward, one stack hidden.
