by Lori L. Otto
“You’re handling him very well,” she says. “None of my boyfriends have ever stood up to him. Especially the first day they met him. Granted, none of them were his height and could look him directly in the eyes like you can, so you have a bit of an advantage.”
“And I will exploit every advantage I have with him to win him over. Come here,” I say, putting my arm around her and pulling her into my chest as we go down the elevator.
“What?”
“Just be ready to hide your face when the doors open.”
She rolls her eyes as she looks up at me and smiles. “This is ridiculous. It can’t be that–”
I can’t hear her say the word “bad” over the noise of the chaos that erupts in the lobby at the sight of us in the elevator. She quickly covers her face with her hands and buries it in my chest. I angle my body slightly so she’s away from the door, but I look into the crowd. People are holding the doors open and asking questions.
“Did you film this video?”
“When was this made?”
“Is this the girl?”
“Is her name Coley?”
“How do you know her?”
“What happened to Zaina?”
“Was this filmed here, in your apartment?”
“Was there a break-in?”
“Did you know about the video?”
“Were you forced to compose those tweets?”
“How do you feel about the hashtag?”
“Is he a good lover?”
“Are you two serious?”
I’m sure there are hundreds more, but those are the ones I could decipher from the first couple rows of people shouting at us.
“I’ll answer three of those questions!” I yell over everyone, commanding their attention. Coley wraps her arms around me tightly; she’s still hidden from everyone. “And then you have to let us go back upstairs.”
“We want a picture of the girl!”
“That’s not happening today. Someone asked if we knew about the video. As I tweeted today, no, we had no idea about the video. Someone else asked if I was forced to send the tweets. No, I was not. And, uh… who asked about the hashtag?” I look around for the ballsy person to identify herself. A woman raises her phone in the air. Clearly, she’s filming the whole interaction. “Yeah. Clever, but tasteless. Are you happy you wasted your question on that? Now, please get your arms out of the damn doors and let us go back upstairs.”
“Is Coley staying with you?” someone asks as the last person removes their arm from the doors. “Does she live here?”
“If you assholes don’t leave, I’ll be forced to!” Coley yells just as the doors close.
“That’s nice, laureate,” I say, kissing the top of her head.
“I’m not even kidding. That’s scary as hell.”
“I know, Coley.” I squeeze her hard, holding her close the entire way up to the 27th floor. When we get out and reach my door, I lean down to kiss her before going inside. “It’ll die down. We just need to give it some time.”
“I want the bodyguard.”
“I don’t have a problem with that.”
“Okay,” she says, taking a deep breath and going inside.
It’s eerily quiet in my apartment, and my mother and father are both staring intently at Dad’s iPhone. “What’s up?”
“Do you know him?” I hear Danny ask on the speakerphone.
“Jackson, come here.”
“Did they find something?”
“Trey,” Danny says, “there was no one other than you and Coley and the guest you had over from the sixteenth, which is the date you gave me.”
“I don’t get it,” I say, walking over to Dad.
“I asked them to review the tapes from the time we collected them for the police–which was at noon on the fifteenth–until the sixteenth. Just to close that gap. Trey, someone was there. A guy went in that afternoon.”
“How’d he get in? Why wasn’t the alarm tripped?”
“He wasn’t alone.”
“What do you mean? Was I here?” I look at my mother when no one answers. She shakes her head, her expression distraught. “What?”
“It was when Jenny was here.”
“Jenny? She knows not to let anyone in. It’s in her contract,” I argue.
“Do you know who this is, Jackson?” Dad asks, double-tapping to zoom in on a picture. “Danny sent that over.” The guy in the photo is wearing black pants, a black zippered hoodie with the hood up, and sunglasses.
“That build… It could be Asher. I’ve never known him to wear a sweatshirt like that, though.”
“He takes the sunglasses off in the video, but he doesn’t look back toward the camera. He spends about four minutes talking to Jenny before she lets him in, but she definitely allows him to go in. He doesn’t force his way,” Danny tells me.
“I can’t believe she’d do that. Why would she do that? And not tell me?”
“Trey, I think there’s more to it. He’s in there for fifty-three minutes, and he’s in a big hurry when he leaves.”
A light bulb goes off. “The code Jenny uses–it deactivates the alarm, but it doesn’t disable the cameras,” I announce. “You told me not to give her the same code I use,” I tell my father. “When I was reading the system manual, I saw that you could do different things… and I decided to customize those settings for the first week or two just in case anything went missing. I was a little paranoid. I meant to change it back, but I never even referred to the videos and I forgot about it entirely. They’re set to record over the previous week’s when she uses the code again, but she didn’t come in last week. I should still have the video.”
“How do you access it?” Coley’s father asks.
“I just log in from here,” I say, hooking up my laptop to the large external display so everyone can see.
“Where are your cameras?” Coley asks.
“In that frame,” I say, pointing to a large painting of Livvy’s that attracts far more attention than the glossy black metal that frames it. “In that tree. In that lamp… and that one. That egg timer isn’t real. And then there are a few in fixtures in the bedrooms. When you and I put in the code to secure the place when we’re here, it deactivates the cameras.” I look at both of her parents. “Don’t worry.”
“Jackson has a lot of highly valuable things,” Dad says. “I encouraged him to protect them.”
After logging into the site, I find the lone folder attached to her code. Inside are nine different windows showing what was going on in my apartment at the time. After twenty-five minutes of her being here, cleaning, she walks to the door.
“Is there sound?” Coley asks.
“No.” The camera angled at the door allows us to see the visitor more clearly. At this point, he’s already removed his sunglasses, and while he’s wandering into my place, he pushes the hood off his head.
“Asher,” we say at the same time.
He’s laughing as he’s talking to Jenny and walking toward the balcony, presumably explaining why he’s there. Maybe that he left something the last time he was over. Possibly that he was picking up something I told him he could have. How did he talk his way into the place, anyway?
Jenny watches him for about thirty seconds before he waves her off. She goes back to cleaning the kitchen, occasionally peeking around the island to see what he’s doing. “It’s obvious she’s having second thoughts about letting him in. It’s clear she knows he’s up to something. Why in the world wouldn’t she tell me? We have a good working relationship,” I say, looking at my mom. She’s known Jenny for longer than I have, having met her at Livvy’s and spent time with her while Mom was babysitting the girls.
“I have no idea, Trey. It’s not like her at all. She’s always been very upfront with Livvy. If she drinks a soda at her place, she’ll leave fifty cents to replace it. I remember when she had to move the washer once to get a onesie out from behind it, she scraped the paint on the wall in their lau
ndry room and left a half-page apology about it–when they never would have expected her to move the washer in the first place.”
After ten minutes, Asher looks like he’s pleased with his work. He comes inside, shutting the door behind him.
“He’s pulled his sweatshirt over his hands. Did you see that?” Beth asks.
“I noticed,” Martin says. “He’s trying to cover his tracks.”
“What’s he doing now?” Coley asks.
“Looks like he’s asking her for a drink.”
“She’s not my servant,” I say, disgusted that he would use her in this capacity. As she reaches up in the cabinet for a glass, he rushes toward her and grabs her from behind. “What the hell?”
My heart races. Jenny starts to struggle against him, and my blood begins to boil.
“Oh, God, Jacks,” my mother says, covering her mouth. “Oh, no.”
“This is the suspected rapist?” Coley’s dad asks.
“Yeah,” she answers quietly, looking away when Asher spins Jenny around and pushes her head down against the kitchen island. She’s facing the camera in the kitchen. We don’t need sound to know she doesn’t want this. The look of fear in her eyes is unmistakable. Tears drip onto the countertop.
“What’s going on?” Danny asks over the speakerphone.
With one hand, Asher holds her down. With the other, he unbuckles and unzips, and then pulls down the yoga pants Jenny is wearing. His thrusts are violent, powerful and unforgiving. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I feel like I’m going to be sick. Breathless, I turn off the monitor and stare at the black screen in front of me.
“We’re going to need the police over here again, Danny,” Dad says softly just before an unexpected sob erupts from my chest. I cover my eyes, my face, trying to hide my emotions.
I am responsible for this.
“Trey, honey,” my mom whispers in my ear, her arm around me. “It’s not your fault.”
“She was in my home!” I cry. “That fucker came in my home and did that to her! She was on my watch, Mom. She’s supposed to feel safe here.”
“She let him in,” Coley’s mother says, trying to reason with me.
“Don’t blame her! He manipulated himself in here!” I yell at her. “I’m sure of that. Jenny would never let anyone in. She said she was sick last week. She didn’t come back. My God, Mom! My God, he raped her. He raped her! In my apartment!”
“I’m not blaming her, Trey.”
I shake my head, thinking about this guy that I considered my best friend for over a year. “That was the day after my formal,” I say, feeling more and more disgusted with him. “Coley, that was hours after he went by your hotel room.” From my chair, I look up at her. We lock eyes, and I can see the realization hit her. How close she was to being his next victim. If she had let him in, there’s no way she could have stopped him. I stand up and hug her, shedding guilty tears onto her shoulder and into her hair. That would have been my fault, too. I never meant to put so many people in danger. I didn’t know I was friends with a true predator.
“Trey?”
“Yeah?”
“You have all the evidence you need to get him locked up. It’s right there. It’s over.” I pull back and look at her, but my face still falls and my heart still falters. “He won’t do it again.”
“If I had just pressed the issue with Lucy in January, Coley, he never would have gotten to Pryana or Jenny. You never would have been at risk, either. It could so easily have been you.”
“But it wasn’t. I’m fine.”
“What about Jenny?”
“Trey, I’m going to call Liv and we’re going to go see her, okay?” Mom says. “She trusts us both.”
“Whatever she needs, Mom, just… make sure she’s okay.”
“Of course, honey. Of course we will.”
“Make sure she knows that I’m so, so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.” Coley’s dad is stern when he says this. “You’re not trained to pick up on the signs, Trey. You’re a kid. A good kid, from what I can tell, with a fair amount of sense and a hell of a lot of compassion. Since Coley told us she was working with you, her mother and I have been doing our homework. Your blog has been of particular interest. With that compassion comes a certain amount of optimism. Seeing the good in other people. I know you feel like it’s a personal defect today, like some part of you has failed your intuition, but it’s such an admirable quality. It’s one that I wish a hell of a lot more people would have.
“You looked for something positive in Nyall and gave him an afternoon he’s still talking about. Coley told us earlier you asked to learn sign language even though Joel basically accused you of an unspeakable crime in a very public setting, causing you quite a bit of embarrassment.
“One guy got through. One manipulative guy fooled you, Trey. Do you know how many exercises I’ve been through to try to decipher if people are lying or telling the truth? How many hours I’ve spent learning about the psychology of evil people? Trying to figure out the signs they give off before they decide to do something that could harm others? It’s my job. I’ve spent years learning these things. All you have is life experience–and I hate to tell you this, kid, but you’re young.”
He gives me a couple of firm pats on the back.
“He’s right, Jackson.”
I hear them, but I don’t feel any better. “Thanks.” My throat hurts from holding back the emotions. I walk over to the window that looks out onto the balcony so no one can see me. “Are the cops coming?” I ask after clearing my throat.
“Yeah,” Coley’s mother says.
“Maybe Coley and I can meet with them alone.” Tears continue to drip from my eyes, regardless of how hard I try to stop them. I swipe them away quickly. I truly want to be by myself, but I know Coley can’t leave here, and I’d never force her out in the climate we’re in right now. “If you guys don’t mind.”
“Trey,” my girlfriend pleads. I feel her hands on my waist; her head leaning against my back. “They’re here to help.”
“I know. It’s just all too much for one day.” Turning around, I give her a quick hug and press my lips to her temple, but keep my eyes focused on the door.
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Martin, Beth, why don’t you come put your feet up for awhile at our house? We can meet back up with Trey and Coley this evening.”
“That would be nice,” her mother says. “Hang in there, Trey. He’ll be behind bars soon. He can’t hurt anyone else.”
“He’s already hurt too many people I care about,” I tell her, staring into her eyes and feeling the tension in my jaw. “He’s already done too much.”
“You have every right to be angry. Just make sure you’re directing it at the right person. Asher’s the bad guy here. Not you, Trey,” Martin says.
“Call me when the police leave,” Dad says as they exit my apartment. I nod weakly, sitting down.
Coley shows them out, securing the place once they’re gone. “Maybe a drink?”
“Cops are coming,” I remind her, my back straight in the recliner as I rock it nervously. “Maybe after.”
She considers my choice of seating when she comes into the room. “I know you want to be alone…”
“A little, yeah,” I say, biting my lip to keep it from quivering when I talk. I break down anyway. “Here in my apartment?” I barely manage to choke out. “Jenny’s been like a part of the family to me. Like another older sister. How could he do that to her?”
“Because he’s an indiscriminate and vile sex offender, Trey,” she says, not respecting my wish to be alone and finding a place in my lap. She wraps her arms around me and leans into my chest. I adjust the chair backwards to accommodate her, feeling comforted by her warm body against mine. “And he obviously was feeling some sort of malice toward you to come into your place and install that camera.”
“But why?”
�
��I’m guessing it’s because he thought we were together, Trey. That was the day he thought he’d caught us at the hotel, remember?”
“When he told me he’d asked Pree to formal, he let it slip that he’d hoped it would make you jealous,” I admit to her. “It was the first time he’d let on that he still liked you. I didn’t know, and then I had no idea to what extent.”
I let this set in while I run my hand up and down her arm. “So you think he was pissed we started dating?”
“I do–well, at the time, I think he thought you were cheating on Zaina, so maybe he just thought we were fucking. Hence the camera, to get the proof.”
“The proof to ruin my relationship with her. What a friend,” I lament.
“And ruin you in the process, I’m sure,” she says.
“And take you with me. Why would he hurt the girl he liked?”
“Because I hurt him.”
“And why would he hurt Jenny?”
“Because she’s close to you, Trey, I don’t know. Or maybe she just got caught in the crossfire. Why Pryana? Why Lucy? Why Kamiesha? He’s a serial rapist. I don’t think he needs a reason other than the fact that they’re women who find themselves in a vulnerable position that makes them temporarily available to him for the taking. He wants. He takes.”
“And then I just think,” I begin, hugging her tighter, “how have you managed to stay safe in all of this?”
She lifts her head and looks me in the eyes. “I’m keenly aware of my surroundings. You think growing up with a special agent and a cop, that they wouldn’t have drilled that into my brain before I was even able to ride a bike? Because they did. Once I found out my dorm was on the street over from Frat Row, I made sure to avoid it when it’s late. I don’t go to parties there alone–and I haven’t been at all since I met Asher. When I’m out at night, I take my mace with me. Sometimes Frank walks me home from Ruvelyn’s, even though it’s just around the corner,” she admits. “If I don’t feel safe, I either don’t do something, or I’ll find a way to feel safe first.”
