Dark Rapture_A Disturbing Psychological Thriller

by Logan Fox

  She dropped her eyes from Caden’s unmoving face. This was Gia’s softie? The man that had told her to confide in him? His people skills could use a complete fucking overhaul.

  “Look, Miss Buchanan,” Caden said. “What happened last night is inexcusable.”

  Pearl glanced up at Caden. His eyes had softened, but only to human standards. He sat forward, resting his meshed fingers on the surface of the desk.

  “There are measures in place to avoid exactly this kind of thing happening. Consent is our watchword around here. Now, I think you’ll be pleased to know that the person in question has been removed from the premises. He will never bother you again.”

  Pearl waited.

  After a few seconds, she shrugged. “And?”

  “And what, Miss Buchanan?”

  “I’m waiting for the part where you say you called the cops and I can give them my statement.”

  Caden’s eyes fluttered. The gesture was so slight that if she hadn’t been gaping at him like a fish in the desert then she would have missed it.

  “It’s been taken care of,” Caden said in that same quiet voice.

  “Oh, so the guy’s been arrested then?”

  Caden’s lips parted as if he’d been about to say something, but then he let out a soft laugh instead.

  The hairs on the back of Pearl’s neck stood straight, sending icy fingers down her back.

  “It’s been taken care of, Miss Buchanan. That’s all you need to concern yourself with.”

  Pearl rose to her feet, inhaling furiously. “You think I’m going to let this slide? The guy tried to rape me, Caden. Who the fuck would—”

  “The more you bandy that word around, Miss Buchanan, the less effective it becomes.”

  Pearl’s mouth hung open for a few seconds before she closed it with a snap.

  Caden laced his fingers over his stomach and studied her, seeming nonplussed that he now had to look up to do it.

  “The situation has been resolved. You sustained minor injuries. And, although I detest the fact that you were put in danger, the only person truly responsible for this is you.”

  Pearl gasped, but Caden went on before she could formulate anything in the way of a scathing retort.

  “You were out of bounds. You got into a stranger’s vehicle for reasons unknown. You allowed him to drive away with you.”

  Caden shrugged.

  “If you hadn’t been in that Bentley, Miss Buchanan, then none of this would have happened. If you’d just gone upstairs and had dinner with Mr. Stark, then none of this would have happened.”

  Her ass hit the chair below her as her legs gave out. Pearl stared at Caden, her mouth still open, trying furiously to find a train of thought that still made sense in this most recent wave of madness.

  “I want to go home,” Pearl whispered.

  Caden watched her for so long she thought he hadn’t heard her.

  She cleared her throat. “I want to—” she began, her voice stronger now.

  “Not possible, I’m afraid.”

  “You can’t—”

  “We can.”

  Thick, hot tears stung at Pearl’s lids. She blinked hurriedly, trying to clear them before they could fall.

  “I can’t do this. I thought I could, but I can’t. I want to go home.”

  Caden drew an audible breath.

  “Has anyone else tried to hurt you or have you do anything against your will?”

  After a few seconds, Pearl shook her head. Her lips began to tremble.

  “Have you at any time, excepting last night, felt in danger?”

  Another shake, this one smaller.

  “Can you agree that this was a singular event, unlikely to reoccur?”

  She didn’t move, but her eyes were fixed to Caden’s and she couldn’t look away.

  “So what you are attempting to do right now is void your contract.”

  Pearl clutched her hands until the whites of her knuckles shone through her skin. The phone was a cold, solid weight against her thigh. Caden’s mouth lifted in a small, lopsided smirk. It could have been pity. It could also have been smugness.

  “It was the money, wasn’t it?”

  “What?” Pearl whispered, frowning.

  “That’s why you accepted Owen’s offer. The money? That shiny check.”

  Pearl attempted a shrug, opening her mouth as she tried to think of a response.

  “Your finances are a mess, Miss Buchanan,” Caden said, turning away from her and fixing his attention on his computer. He clicked his mouse a few times as silence stretched between them like so much string cheese.

  “You owe large debts to several lending companies, most disreputable. Your twelve clothing accounts are all several months in arrears. You’ve been blacklisted by nine companies, and you have four judgments on your name.”

  He glanced aside at her, a mirthless smile tugging at his mouth.

  “I’m sure we can both agree that you’re in a pile of shit so high you couldn’t dig your way out with a shovel.”

  A tear finally broke free from her line of defense and straggled down her cheek. Caden ignored it.

  “Then we have your criminal record. A few charges of petty theft, mostly by food retailers. How very Oliver Twist of you, Miss Buchanan.”

  Another tear joined the first. Her hands were trembling in her lap, despite their furious grip on each other. Her lips were quivering steadily too.

  “And then we have the pièce de résistance…” Caden’s already soft purr dropped to a theatrical whisper as he swung to face her with wide eyes.

  “Manslaughter.”

  Pearl stumbled out of her chair, her heart knocking so hard in her chest that her skin vibrated with every pumping beat.

  “You—” she cut off with a strangled sob. “Those records are sealed. You can’t access them.”

  “Technically, yes,” Caden agreed quietly. “But those rules only apply to impoverished people.” He spread his hands to take in the blackwood desk and the leather chair and the abstract paintings on either side of them. “Not us.”

  She gaped at him, tears flashing down her cheeks. Her legs wobbled and threatened to collapse under her.

  “One charge of manslaughter. You were fourteen, it seems. A one Mr. Donald. Your statement mentions that he was your caregiver at the time. You were in a foster home, am I correct?”

  Caden’s voice buzzed in her ears. Pearl took another step back, but her feet tangled under her and she fell onto her hip, yelping in shock as another set of tears were jarred from her eyes. The Fox Pit’s manager rose. He strode closer, towered over her, and then bent down at her side.

  “Such dramatics, Miss Buchanan. You killed a man but were then acquitted. Self-defense. Seems Mr. Donald didn’t quite understand the term ‘caregiver’, did he?”

  Then his hands were on her, drawing her up. She tried fighting him, but her strength leeched out of her as memory after festering memory spilled into her mind through the torn-open wall she’d shoved them behind all those years ago.

  Sam Donald.

  Foster-care.

  Leering eyes beneath an evil, hooked nose. A twisted smile and a pair of cold, clammy hands.

  The foster kid who’d found her; with Sam in a heap at her feet and a bloodied, dripping knife in her hands. The kid that had told her he’d seen everything. That it had been self-defense. The kid that had told her he would stand witness for her.

  But he hadn’t. He hadn’t seen anything.

  The kid hadn’t even been there when she’d crept into Sam’s room that morning. The morning his wife had been out of town. The kid had been downstairs when Pearl had taken that tooth of a blade and had driven it as deep as she could into Sam’s sleeping chest. The kid had been nowhere near her when Sam had woken with a gurgling yell and had reared off his bed like a sea serpent, chasing Pearl through the hallway and down the stairs before collapsing at her feet in the kitchen and driving the knife through his own chest like a skewer.
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  His blood had pooled around her feet. It had found its way between her toes, warm and sticky, and had clung to her when she’d fallen back, still shouting and screaming for Sam to just fucking die.

  But the kid had gone and put a plate of left-over roast down in Sam’s room. A fork, no knife. The knife, of course, Pearl had used to defend herself. To defend herself when Sam had lunged at her after she’d brought him his food.

  What had ever happened to that kid?

  Caden laid her on the settee pushed against one of the walls in his office. He bent down in front of her and dragged a thumb down her cheek, smearing her tears.

  “You were very lucky, Miss Buchanan.” Caden studied her for a moment before straightening a section of her hair with a long-fingered hand. “Most people who commit murder serve a jail sentence for their crime.”

  She drew a ragged breath, trying to sit up despite her failing muscles.

  “But you got away scot-free. And, since you were a minor, your records were sealed. Fascinating.”

  Pearl finally pushed herself up, shrinking away from Caden as he placed a palm on the couch beside her.

  “I’m guessing it would be rather inconvenient if those records became public, wouldn’t it?”

  They stared at each other, gray eyes meeting blue. After a moment, Pearl found the switch that operated her neck and gave the man a nod.

  “I won’t press charges,” Pearl said in a grating voice she hardly recognized.

  Caden’s face changed from somber to thoughtful. He arched an eyebrow at her and adjusted his spectacles as he rose to his feet.

  “You’re sure, Miss Buchanan?”

  Another nod, this one firmer than the last.

  “I… I think I got confused.”

  “Confused?” Caden’s voice became light, almost a tease of a whisper.

  “About… about what happened last night.” Pearl swallowed, blinked to clear a volley of tears, and forced herself to her feet. “The man, Henry…”

  “Yes?”

  “He… just wanted to show me the property. I think—” another deep breath “—I must have fallen — tripped — when I climbed out of the car. Maybe even hit my head.”

  “Which would explain why you thought something nefarious took place, am I correct?”

  Pearl stared at Caden, more than a foot shorter than the slender man. Then she nodded, hating every inch of herself as she did.

  Caden nodded back. “Well, I’m glad we could sort this out, Miss Buchanan.”

  “Me too,” Pearl replied. “Can I go?”

  “Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

  Pearl turned on wooden legs and headed for the door. Her hand was on the handle when Caden called out to her.

  “One last thing, Miss Buchanan.”

  She froze, chest tight and legs weak.

  “Would you be a dear and leave Henry’s phone on the table?”

  Pearl sat on the sofa in the fox den, the day passing in a blur as if someone had compiled a time-lapse video centered on her. The movements of the foxes were nothing but yellow streaks en route to scenes with their wolves or dragons or hares. A darker blur: Seth, wearing a black Metallica t-shirt, as he collected and returned his foxes.

  She ate something. What, she couldn’t remember. Coffee arrived seemingly by magic at her side, and she drank it without tasting it.

  Once, she considered what it would feel like to go to the bathroom, pour a tub, and slide under the water forever.

  But then the thought evaporated as if it had never been.

  People tried to speak to her, but she couldn’t summon the energy to understand them or reply. So, eventually, they stopped trying. The stream of coffee stopped. And, when thirst overtook her and her bladder was too full to ignore, Pearl got off the couch and made her unsteady way into the bathroom.

  On the way out, Gia intercepted her.

  “You look like shit,” the girl said.

  Pearl blinked drowsily at her.

  Her brain felt like it was melting, despite however many cups of coffee she’d consumed. There was no way to tell time down here in the eternally-lit den, but it had to be early evening already. The sheer amount of brainwashing television she’d seen from the time she’d sat down to the time she’d been forced to get up and pee was a testament to that fact.

  “Are you okay?” Gia reached out a hand, but Pearl twisted her shoulder to avoid the girl’s touch. “What’s wrong with you?”

  Pearl dropped her gaze and maneuvered around Gia, heading for her room. Her bed. Darkness underneath the duvet. That, at least, still crooned to her.

  Gia followed. “It sucks what happened with the driver. That guy was a real creep. Seth said… he said he didn’t get, you know, what he wanted though. Right? He didn’t? Pearl?”

  Pearl found her bed and slid inside. A weight settled on the edge of the bed, trapping the duvet against her back as she twisted into a ball under it.

  A hand stroked her arm through the duvet.

  “Hey, done’s done, right? Fuck knows: none of us can go back in time. ‘Cos we’d all have done it already if we could’ve.”

  Pearl tugged the duvet off her head. She faced Gia, feeling wetness cooling her cheeks.

  “I killed a man,” she whispered.

  Gia’s face screwed up. “What? Last night? When? Who?”

  “No. A long time ago.”

  “Oh. Shit.” Gia shifted on the bed and then shrugged. “Done’s done, right?”

  She stared at the girl.

  “What?” Gia shrugged again. “You want a fucking medal or something?”

  Pearl burst out laughing. Seconds later, Gia joined her. They howled, Pearl grabbing onto Gia’s arms and tugging her close.

  It took less than a minute for Pearl’s laughter to dissolve into hacking sobs. Her arms lost their brief spate of strength, and then it was Gia’s turn to hug her. The girl held her close as Pearl shook with huge, ragged sobs that tore through her lungs and throat with the force of a tempestuous gale.

  There were no retaining walls left in her psyche: Caden had torn everything asunder.

  15

  The Perfect Pet

  Pearl stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her face was blotchy from crying, her eyes puffy and bloodshot, and the bruise on her cheek was a livid purple. Her hair was limp and disorderly, and dark shadows made her blue eyes look glassy and lackluster.

  She really did look like shit.

  Beside her, Gia began humming some unknown tune as she showered. Thankfully, the girl had stopped trying to engage her in conversation. Unfortunately, she’d decided to trail Pearl like a detached shadow, except when Seth called her away for a scene.

  The bathroom door opened and Seth slipped inside as if she’d summoned him by mere thought. Pearl stiffened, forcing her eyes back to the mirror. Gia squealed and ran naked across the bathroom with arms flung wide. Pearl’s eyes were drawn to the approaching collision between fox and handler, but Seth simply grabbed Gia’s elbows and held her at arm’s length so the soap-lathered girl couldn’t reach him.

  “Get dressed,” Seth said to Pearl, his eyes on her reflection.

  “In what?” Pearl asked. “That puke-yellow dress or that puke-yellow bikini?”

  “Comfy clothes,” Seth replied before shoving Gia back and shutting the door behind him.

  She had never thought to hear the word ‘comfy’ come out of Seth’s mouth. Gia pouted at the door and threw Pearl a scathing glower as she returned to the shower to wash off the soap clinging to her body.

  The girl didn’t carry on humming.

  Pearl let herself out of the bathroom and dressed in the Fox Pit’s mandatory yellow sweater and pants. Seth, surprisingly, wasn’t in the den when she came out of the bedroom. She hugged herself and went upstairs, finding him beside the cherry tree, staring at the front door as if it had done him some personal injustice.

  It probably had: chances were he’d gotten into some major shit for beating th
e crap out of Henry.

  “Here I am,” Pearl said.

  Seth turned to her and nodded. Then he held out his hand to her. She frowned at the hand, then up at him. His shoulders dropped, his eyes becoming tired in an instant, his lips compressing.

  What the hell, right?

  Pearl stepped forward and took hold of his hand. His palm was fleshy, cool, and dry. She’d expected a ferocious grip, but instead, he used just the pressure of his thumb on her knuckles to keep her hand inside his.

  He led her up the stairs.

  With each step, her heartbeat became faster, harder.

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see.” Seth glanced back at her and gave her a faint smile.

  She shivered.

  They went up a flight of stairs and walked toward Caden’s apartment. Pearl began slowing down, but Seth tightened the grip on her hand and tugged her along the hall. Her breath was trapped in her throat, her legs churning under her like a wooden waterwheel.

  They passed Caden’s rooms.

  Pearl peered back at the door and faced Seth with a frown. He stopped at the next doorway and swiped his key card against the panel beside the door. After a barely audible snick, he pushed the door open and drew her inside.

  The room was darkly furnished: overstuffed sofas upholstered in dark brown leather, big mocha tiles, and a tan paint job on the walls. Everything gleamed in the light of two stand lamps set on either end of a large fireplace.

  Another room, but who’s?

  She glanced at Seth. The man had released her. He ran a hand through his hair and then down his beard, sighing like a gust of wind forcing its way through an ill-fitting window pane. He turned to her, gave another one of those tiny smiles, and spread his arms.

  Pearl took a step back, her leg bumping into the edge of a sofa.

  “Get over here,” Seth rumbled, his somber expression not altering.

  Did she have a choice?

  She stepped forward, and Seth enveloped her in a hug. He squeezed her for a long moment against his chest, until she could smell nothing but him: that fresh, piney scent of a forest after rain.

  “Let’s get you sorted out,” Seth murmured into her ear.