by K NILSSON
“I’m sorry, Ms. Drazen. I appreciate you calling me in to let me explain why I had to terminate the assignment,” said Saint.
“Well, I’m waiting. You were paid for your services. In fact, we paid extortionist rates,” Margie complained.
“Not that I need to justify my fees, Ms. Drazen, but I have an assistant with technical expertise. His services were needed for this job.” He was getting angry.
“What was Max assigned to do?” Will asked.
“He planted undetectable spy software in her cell phone, we located her whereabouts after she disappeared using a sophisticated satellite-guided tracking system that was installed in her car, among other things,” Saint said.
Margie crossed her arms. “Tell me about the hours charged last weekend—twenty-four hours straight?”
“It was delicate surveillance. I met Carrie, but I had to keep her in the dark and not let her know she was a job.”
“Seeing that you’ve been paid well for your services, I fail to understand why you can’t continue your surveillance,” said Margie.
Margie was a busybody, a busybody who was also a bulldog. I wished she kept her nose out of my fucking business.
“I have other cases. They aren’t more important than your sister’s, but I made a promise to complete them, and they have deadlines.”
Margie snorted.
“Your paid manwhore entrapping business?”
“Someone’s got to do it, Ms. Drazen. Those men need proof for their lawyers to advocate on their behalf. You know about the services I provide. Isn’t that why Will Santon hired me? So I can service your sister instead of her hunting down a stranger?”
My face was hot, and my blood ran cold. I gasped.
Margie cocked her head and spotted me. Before I could run, she stepped out of the conference room, grabbed my arm, and pulled me inside, shutting the door behind me.
“Carrie—”
“What. The. Fuck. Margie.”
I left. He followed.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mr. Nobody
In the lobby of the Century City Office Towers, I heard him say, “You have a filthy fucking mouth, you know that?”
Hearing him accuse her of having a filthy mouth made me proud. I’d taught Carrie how to use that mouth. He was arrogant. I particularly enjoyed the sound of the slap she awarded the Saint. Carrie had just enough fight to make their battle interesting. I hoped someone caught this on video; I wanted to see Declan’s face as her behavior was broadcast all over the internet.
I couldn’t wait to have her under my control again, Now was a good time to grab her, but I needed to be patient. If only this headache would go away.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Carrie
Once I got outside Margie’s building, I turned off my cell phone. Margie would be calling and texting like a mad woman. If there was any GPS software on it, I didn’t think they could trace it if the phone was off.
My heart felt as if someone had blown a hole in it, ripped it out, and stomped on it. I was just a job… his job… his temporary job.
Nothing he’d said to me was true—except that he was a private investigator. He had been more than that to this damaged, sex-addicted Drazen whore. But he was actually nothing more than a highly-paid babysitter who provided escort-sex. How humiliating.
I drove home. My usual coping mechanism was finding anonymous sex, and after my session with Dr. Jane, my plan was to explore sex activities that didn’t follow the ritual. The ritual from my nightmares included a lot of unspeakable activities, but the tamest one I could perform was oral sex.
Kiss. I was so glad I hadn’t kissed Saint the manwhore. It would have cheapened the whole point behind a first kiss. I was happy I hadn’t fucked him either. I felt sick about the whole experience, the high of meeting someone new who had given me hope that I could be normal. Then I’d found out that for him, it was a paid gig. Normal wasn’t for me. I wanted to seek a dirty tryst in an anonymous bar, but I knew the dark feelings of worthlessness were clouding my judgment.
I went home.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Carrie
“Dr. Jane. Thank you for fitting me in today,” I said.
I’d been pacing in front of her office door before I realized that I should have called her first and asked if she had time to see me. I’d slipped outside to make the call. Luckily, one of her patients was so late that Dr. Jane had cancelled that appointment.
“Hi, Carrie. It’s nice to see you.” Dr. Jane furrowed her eyebrows at me. “What can I do for you?”
I sat down and handed her my journal, knowing that whatever was written inside would be paramount in our discussions. The sad revelation that Saint had been hired by my sister and interacted with me under false pretenses felt like betrayals.
After she read the new entries I said, “I want to move past these feelings of loss: loss of trust in my sister, and disappointment in myself for falling in lust with a man who wasn’t for me.”
She blinked and gave me a soft smile. “I’m impressed. You articulated your feelings well. I believe you’re right in your assessment.”
“I need some input on how to move past this. One of the things that came to mind was to start my internship earlier than scheduled. The distraction would help.”
The corner of her mouth turned down.
“I’m sorry, but’s too early. I don’t think you’re ready to move forward with that plan right now. Working with victims requires focus on them, not on purging your own feelings.”
I sighed, but she was right. I needed to heal myself, not look for distractions for my troubles.
“That was selfish of me,” I said ashamedly.
“Carrie, your heart’s in the right place… just not your timing.”
“I need a plan. I’m so tired of fighting to control the script, the ritual that was predetermined for me. I want to know what happened.”
“Let’s discuss what preceded these recent recollections of yours, the dreams?”
I’d thought about it before, and I had spotted a pattern. “Whenever I do something outside the ritual, I’m punished with a dream. My dissociative episodes occur shortly after something, like with the candy wrapper episode. I’m sure there’s more where that came from, I’m afraid I might have opened a Pandora’s box.”
“Do you know what the ritual is? Can you write it down?” Dr. Jane asked.
“See? That’s the problem. I can’t remember the ritual.”
“What do you remember? All you wrote in your journal is that you had a dream on a specific night, and that it was so scary it made you throw up. But you don’t remember what was so scary about it?”
“That’s right.” I rubbed my chin as I took a deep breath. “I want to escalate the frequency and diversify my sexual experiences to provoke the dreams.”
Dr. Jane looked taken aback. “That’s a very intuitive approach, and a brave one.”
“I won’t lie, I’m afraid.”
“What do you have in mind? What kind of activities? Try not to shock me,” she said with a wry smile.
“I doubt I could say anything that would shock you. What if I role-played some sexual scenarios, in a safe, controlled environment?”
“What would you want to try in role-play?” she asked.
“I don’t know. What would you try?”
I thought her mouth twitched. But Dr. Jane looked at her tablet and reviewed notes from our past sessions.
“Some of the things you’ve brought up and have been upset about have involved religion.”
I felt a lightbulb go on. “So I could role-play a Catholic schoolgirl!”
I sounded a little too enthusiastic about the prospect.
Dr. Jane grinned. “That sounds promising, if not enjoyable.”
She squirmed, making me wonder if she dabbled in role-playing for fun. One of the reasons I saw Dr. Jane was her open acceptance of my kinks and promiscuity, plus I appreciated her out
-of-the-box thinking when she was helping me work through solutions.
“Role-playing is a safe arena in which to try out other lives or to investigate or relive behavior that leads to discovery or self-healing. I have a few referrals for you. One of them, a licensed sex therapist, has a profile on an adult website. If, after messaging back and forth, you like him, tell him you were referred. Don’t mention names.”
My mood perked up. That sounded promising.
“You’re smiling, Carrie. A very different look from when you first walked in here.” She grinned knowingly.
I practically skipped out the door, hopped into my Mini Coop, and high-tailed it home, looking forward to this new adventure. I planned to find BOB (my battery-operated boyfriend) and make use of him tonight.
When I got home and researched the doctor she’d referred me to, I was impressed. Dr. Jane knew her stuff. The search led me down a Google rabbit hole, but thank God, the name of the website, theconfessional.com, left no question about what it was. I created a profile with the name Altargirl and sent my potential doctor a message.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Saint
Carrie-fucking-Drazen had slapped me in the lobby of the Century Towers Office Building. I didn’t care that it had been in front of a crowd of lunch-goers, but it was humiliating and justified. She was quick and decisive, no remorse. It was the curse words she’d hurled at me that got me angry. No one that angelic should use those words. I’d wanted to spank her, right then and there. I'm sure there would have been applause.
Will had insisted I attend the unexpected meeting because Margie was more than baffled about my dropping the case. What could I say? “I don’t want the case because there’s no cheating wife to bang and humiliate”? “I don’t want the case because I like your sister too much, and Carrie makes me vulnerable”? No and no again.
Margie Drazen was feisty and obnoxious. She must win a lot of cases. But I understood her protectiveness of her little sister. However, if she insists on me staying on the case, she’s putting the fox in the henhouse.
I had been shocked to see Carrie there. I didn’t think she would ever forgive me for accusing Margie of hiring me to seduce Carrie instead of letting her pick up a one-night stand. It was a hurtful thing to say to Margie and even more so for Carrie to hear it. If I could unsay the words, I would. If I could get an opportunity to tell her how I feel, I’ll do it.
Carrie must have heard that Max had installed tracking software on her cell and turned it off.
I put in a call to Max and told him to set alerts for any activity on Carrie Drazen’s phone, but he said he'd had alerts on her all along.
“Where did she go after she left the office?” I asked him.
I heard him typing. “She went to her therapist’s office and left after an hour.”
“Okay. Keep me updated.”
I had no time to waste. If I had to take Carrie fucking Drazen’s case again, I needed to clear the deck.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Carrie
After creating the profile, I took a photo of myself in costume. I’d had a few items in my closet that, altogether, made a believable Catholic schoolgirl uniform. I had a pleated navy skirt, white cotton button-down blouse, and high-heeled Mary Jane shoes. I put my ponytail high up on my head and topped it with a navy beret. Glasses added a nerdy touch to the look. I would fuck me.
If I was going to do this role-play thing, I needed to believe I was a schoolgirl. I just hoped the therapist on the website would contact me. I’d left my cell phone on chime and vibrate so I wouldn't miss his message. Any other phone calls would have to go to voicemail. I was anxious to see if role-playing would help sort out some answers.
My stomach was growling, and I realized I hadn’t had a bite of food all day, so I got in my Mini Coop and headed toward In-N-Out Burger. The drive-through line went around the block. While I waited, I checked the website to see if anyone had viewed my profile. There were some interesting profiles on that site, but I didn’t have time to fall into another rabbit hole. I checked out a guy’s profile, his comments, how many posts he’d made, and so on. Pretty soon, the line moved along, and I drove home with a chocolate shake and an Animal Burger from their not-so-secret menu.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Saint
Max called me at half past eight. I was at the computer, doing my due diligence to get the outstanding cases wrapped up before things turned sideways.
He was agitated. Max didn’t get agitated.
“Saint! Two things!”
“Go on.”
“The Drazen girl… she’s opened a profile on an adult fetish site. She’s got a fucking great profile.”
He sounded a little too turned on for my taste.
“What site?”
“Theconfessionaldotcom. Her name is Altargirl, all one word, but it's a private site.”
“I don't have an account,” I said.
“Use my login. It's easy.”
Username: Maximum.
Password: notasaint.”
Funny guy.
I couldn’t type fast enough.
“Why do you have an account on this site?”
He coughed.
“Recon.”
“Right,” I said.
My fingers were landing on all the wrong keys. What was this girl doing? She’d lost her marbles.
There she was, a really cute morsel of a girl who looked no older than sixteen, even though she was twenty. The high ponytail emphasized the delicate shape of her face. The big black reading glasses highlighted her big blue eyes. The skirt was too short; I’d bet you could see the curve of her buttocks if she stood sideways. Minx! She was going to get a severe spanking when I got my hands on her.
“It’s a role-play site?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“For online play?”
“For both online and real life. They have a nightclub in West Hollywood for the members.”
I could hear the smirk in his voice.
“For real?”
“Yup.”
“Can you read her messages?” I asked.
“Yes, but it’ll take me a while. I have to take down the site for a few minutes when there are more people online. It’ll look like the servers were on overload.”
“When do you think that will be?”
“Give me an hour,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Carrie
The hands on the clock over the fireplace took too long to move. I closed my eyes just to rest them a bit. When I looked again, two hours had passed.
I checked my phone and saw no messages from the therapist guy. Plus, the site was down.
Maybe my message had been too forward? I’d sent, “You came highly recommended. I’ll be at The Confessional tonight and need to atone. Altargirl.”
I’d bet if I sent that to any other guy, my mailbox would be at capacity.
A little too nervous to just sit around and wait, I went to my room and checked over my costume and face.
“I’m going to The Confessional tonight.”
Let’s think positive. But I couldn’t. The whole idea of Catholic role-play was a mind-fuck for me, and dread filled my stomach.
When I looked again, I saw that he’d read my message and seen my profile.
“I’m going to confession tonight.”
I felt like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz when she said, “There’s no place like home.”
Maybe if I said it a third time, that would be the charm.
“I’m going to confession tonight.”
What can his silence mean? He’s an experienced therapist. He can read minds, right?
Saint Living on a prayer
The cell was vibrating on my desk; it was Max.
“She’s going to meet him at the club,” he said.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“Nothing. The message was unread until I read it. Now the notification shows tha
t it was read, but the guy didn't read it. Carrie will see that though, and she’ll probably go there to meet him.”
“What a clusterfuck! Read the message to me.”
Max read, “I’ll be at The Confessional tonight and need to atone. Altargirl.”
“Fuck me. That could mean any time from now until it closes.”
“It doesn’t close until two a.m.,” Max said. “She’s still at home.”
I just realized Max knew more about Carrie’s comings and goings than I did.
“Remind me how to use this GPS.”
He gave me a one-minute refresher, but I wanted access to the messages and didn’t have time to get involved navigating a website.
“Give me a heads-up when you see any messaging activity between their accounts.
“Send me a link to his profile.”
“Done. I looked at this guy's message stream. He seems harmless. He’s not stalking anyone, and his profile photo looks like a fucking priest. I shivered when I saw it. Brought back memories of Catholic grade school,” Max said.
I already had his profile up and was reading through it. “His profile doesn’t really say anything. It’s like a shell identity. No pictures other than his profile photo. He doesn’t belong to any group other than one called The Psychology of Sexual Role-play.”
Boy, that was a hazardous can of worms. Who would want to do that?
“Max, can you get the real identity of this member? I don’t understand why she’s chasing down this particular guy if his profile is this nondescript.”
I had a plan of action that I was going to run by Will. He could run it up the flagpole, but I wasn’t asking permission. My mind was made up. I was going to The Confessional tonight too. If she wanted atonement, I’d be happy to give it to her.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
