by Watson, Meg
A strangled sound swelled in her throat, she pushed her head back, straining. Her eyes opened wide and looked all around, finally landing on Rafe who nodded once and then backed away, out of range.
I have to make him stop. He has to stop.
Her body seemed to be coming back to life piece by piece. First her shoulders rocked against the table, and then her hips twisted in place, her light brown pubic triangle gleaming under the surgical lights. There was something almost pretty about it. The lights were so bright she had no flaws. No wrinkles, no blemishes. She looked like she was made out of some kind of glowing, angelic marble.
Rachel managed to raise her head enough to see Rafe as he approached before it fell back to the table with a heavy thunk. Every part of me was screaming to save her, to do something, but I was frozen in place.
“You knew this was coming, Rachel.”
He slid his fingers through her hair, staring down at her with a mocking smile. “You should have left when you had the chance, but you just had to stay and watch, didn't you? You just had to play your little games.”
She shook her head frantically, as far as the bindings would let her.
“You thought you were so clever, calling the police to my home, hm? I'll bet you were more than pleased with yourself. What did you think was going to happen, hm? Did you think they would search my home? My home?”
Rachel strained against the strap that covered her forehead. Her shoulders shook. Her muffled cries twisted around the gag and Rafe cocked his head thoughtfully.
“Actually I really would like an answer to that. Now… try not to scream.”
Plunging his fingers into the void behind her neck, Rafe loosened the gag deftly. It fell to the side, leaving her open-mouthed in a pantomimed howl. For several seconds she worked her jaw back and forth, trying to command it into speech.
She spoke with a venom and desperation I'd never heard from her. “You... took my friend!”
It seemed like the effort of the pitiful half-scream took every bit of energy she had, and she went completely slack, staring up at him. Her pink tongue poked out over her lower lip and I fought the desperate urge to find water for her.
“Come now, Rachel. You don't have any friends. You know that.”
Her chest heaved the moment he said it, and she began quietly sobbing.
“Why... why would you say that? I loved her, you sadistic fuck. I took care of her…. What did you do with her?”
Rafe looked to me then, holding out an arm, beckoning me. Slowly, I unrooted myself from my position and moved to stand beside him, looking down at Rachel. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her pained expression, the terror written all over her face. Tears streamed down her cheeks freely, bright as comet paths in the lights.
When she laid eyes on me, it all stopped. Not a single tear fell, and her face hardened to stone. She stared at me for a long moment. Her nostrils flared, and she let out a short, barking laugh.
“You're still alive. Holy fuck, Jolie. You can't fucking do anything right.”
I stood in shock, staring down at her as she began pulling against the bindings again. She ground her teeth together and yanked against every leather strap, getting nowhere. The table trembled. My mind struggled to understand, to believe what I was hearing.
“Let me go, you sick fuck, let me fucking go!” Rachel howled in frustration, shutting her eyes tightly as she struggled against the bonds.
Rafe stroked my back, staring down at her with a strangely passive contempt.
“I know what you were thinking,” he said to me softly as we watched Rachel twisting futilely in her straps. The table pivoted as she threw her weight back and forth. “You wanted me to let her go.”
I hesitated, then nodded and leaned back into his touch. He seemed like the only thing keeping me upright and I was grateful for the strong hand at my waist.
“I do want you to let her go.”
Rafe pivoted to the front of me and I looked up into his coal-black eyes, hard as obsidian. Confusion twisted his brow.
“Didn’t you hear her?”
I nodded.
“And did you understand, Julie?”
I nodded again.
“She… it sounds like she sent me here,” I choked, the words turning to shards of heartbreak in my chest. “She wanted me here.”
Rafe blinked hard then set his jaw, the muscle knotting so fast it was a twitch.
“Julie, she wanted me to think you were her.”
I shook my head, but the thoughts wouldn’t stop. How could this be happening like this? And yet, there it was.
“I know. I mean… Yes, I guess I know.”
“She is… wretched. Beyond wretched. She’s a cancer!”
His voice rose as he spoke, becoming more clear. I heard Rachel go still behind me and knew she was listening to every word.
“But she’s not the one who hurt your wife,” I said very quietly.
Rafe released me so suddenly it was like he pushed me away. He took several steps, then paced back, tearing his hands through his now sweat-clicked hair.
“Julie, you don’t understand. Rachel is cut from the same cloth. She is part of…” he groaned, shaking his head miserably. After a few deep breaths, he began again, calmer. “My... late wife, Gretchen. She had a problem. A very serious problem. A problem caused by a woman whose name I'm sure you've heard. Gemma.”
I nodded. “Rachel said that was who taught her how to do... what she does, yeah.”
“Gemma had connections. She had drugs. She fed my wife's habit, turned her... into a husk of the woman I'd fallen in love with. I tried everything to help her keep clean. I first restrained her in her room. I thought time and isolation would give her strength. But Gemma took some perverse pleasure in plunging her deeper into addiction. I couldn't figure out why Gretchen seemed to be getting worse and worse, but... I discovered before long that Gemma had been coming through the window, administering the drugs herself. She was relentless, and she pushed my wife down a spiral that ended with her death.”
The fact locked into place, as though it was the tumbler on a safe that I hadn’t been able to open until now.
“So… you weren’t trying to keep Gretchen in? In her room?”
He shook his head violently, then raised his chin to stare helplessly at the ceiling.
“In the end… was there a difference? I thought I was keeping Gemma out, but the result was…”
His voice trailed off, and I stepped toward him with my hands out. His pain was so large, it filled the room like a sound. I wanted to heal him.
Rafe paused for a moment, taking a shaking breath before looking away from the ceiling, meeting my eyes intensely.
“Gemma was the first. She was a vile woman, undeserving of the gift of life. But how many festering wounds like Gemma walk free, ruining lives? Who will stand against them? Rachel is only one among many, though... she is special, being Gemma's little helper.” He looked back to Rachel. “Isn't that right?”
Rachel stared through him with pure, burning hatred. “Fuck you! I didn’t even know Gretchen! I was just… You don’t even understand what it’s like for women like us. Gemma kept me from worse, so much worse!”
“I never said that she didn’t,” he replied calmly. “I can only imagine what you could have been if she hadn’t harnessed your… talents.”
“She took me in. Like I took you in, Jolie, remember? Remember?”
I nodded automatically. She had. I had always been grateful. But one sidelong look from Rafe made me stop up short. She had played me. He wanted me to remember that most of all.
Rachel’s eyes rolled around, trying to catch sight of me. I was just out of reach to her, and resolved to stay that way. When our eyes met I couldn’t help but be moved, even after all this. Irrationally, I wanted there to be some other explanation.
After a few more seconds, she snorted in disgust and started banging her heels against the table.
“Please try to
relax, Rachel,” Rafe said smoothly. “You’re only hurting yourself.”
“Oh fuck you!” she snarled through her gritted teeth. “You're not some saviour, you're sick. You get off on killing, don't you? I guess you didn't kill Jolie because she was too fucking pitiful, right? Is that it? You couldn’t get off on someone so goddamn pitiful?”
Rafe fell silent, staring down at her.
“Rachel,” I whispered. Her eyes cut toward the direction of my voice and then she looked stubbornly at the ceiling. “You really did this?” I continued, my voice faltering. “You really… I mean, dressing me in your clothes, saying that I was you… You did all that?”
She barked a disgusted laugh, shaking her head as much as she could against the strap. Somehow, even tied to the table she seemed regal, defiant.
“You know what, Jolie? You really are pathetic.”
I calmly reached into Rafe's pocket and wrapped my fingers around the folded knife, bringing it out and extending the blade. My hands shook, my face burned, tears stung the corners of my eyes.
“And did you see me, Rachel? Did you watch?”
Her eyes whipped toward me. “What are you talking about?”
“On the street. I was waiting for you. When Bronson… found me. Did you see me?”
My tone was calm and measured, and it took every bit of strength I had to stay still enough to hear her answer. There was no way she couldn't have seen me, as blatant as Bronson was. If the plan was to get me taken, she would have watched. She always watched.
Rachel burst out laughing then, her head whipping back, eyes firmly on the ceiling. “Oh, God! That was the funniest fucking thing I think I've ever seen. You're so pathetic. It took like three seconds, you didn't even put up a fight. It was perfect.” She looked all around, grinning widely. “I didn't just watch, Jolie. I loved it. It was beautiful. My delicate little flower, wilting and dying right before my eyes.”
I glanced toward Rafe and found his gaze already on me. His eyes were filled with nothing but sadness for me. Not pity.
“I'm sorry, Julie,” he said softly.
“There's nothing to be sorry about, Rafe. You saved me. You... saved me.”
He spread his hands, palm out. “So you see—”
“— no,” I interrupted.
His eyebrows shot up and then immediately furrowed.
“Julie, why?” he said, his voice trailing off. Then he took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Julie, I think you should leave now.”
“Rafe, are you sure that she was there? Are you sure that she really did anything to Gretchen?”
“It doesn't matter,” he said gruffly. “She's part of the legacy that needs to be ended.”
I stepped closer to him, standing up on the balls of my feet so I could be just a little bit closer to his face. I whispered, “I want you to let her go."
To my surprise, he cocked his head slightly to one side and pressed his lips together. He seemed to be considering it.
“Oh, this is priceless," came her voice behind me. I closed my eyes and shook my head in frustration. “What are you, like, his pet now? Are you kidding me?"
I whirled around, confused for a moment that the blade was still in my hand when the lights reflected off of it and blinded me for a split second.
“What, you're going to beg for my life now? You?” she sneered.
“Shut up, Rachel,” I whispered. The blade trembled in my hand.
“Oh please,” she drawled, “this whole thing is just too ridiculous. Jolie, if you had half a brain —”
I slammed the knife on the metal table, making the other blades jump in their places and silencing Rachel, if just for a moment. My hands trembled as I leaned toward her, hovering over her torso and meeting her at eye level.
“That's not even my name,” I hissed.
I stood straight and turned my back to her so that I could face Rafe. His hands were folded in a basket shape in front of his waist, and he looked me up and down curiously.
“I'm so sorry, Julie,” he said again softly. The sincerity in his voice made me quake. “I am impressed by your sense of loyalty and perhaps... charity, but I fear it's misplaced.”
I nodded curtly. Helplessness welled up in me like a flood and I bit my lips together to keep them from trembling. I wanted to be away, out of the chapel. Anywhere. I didn’t want to know any more than I already did.
“Why don’t you wait for me in your room,” Rafe said gently, reading my mind yet again. His hands stroked my arms sympathetically but his expression was quickly hardening back to its businesslike demeanor.
“Yeah, go to your fucking room, Jolie!” Rachel shrieked behind me. She could sense the shift in the air. The terror was rising in her voice again.
Rafe pulled me closer, pressing a brief kiss to my forehead. Then he pulled back, meeting my eyes and nodding. Once again, he was calm and determined as though called to duty.
Rachel continued her stream of insults, her voice rising shrilly. “This is just brilliant. This is perfect! After everything I did for you!”
“Don’t listen to her. She knows her time is short,” Rafe whispered. “I’ll be along for you soon. Perhaps to hear your question? Hm? Do you have one ready?”
I nodded. A small smile twisted one corner of his mouth.
“That’s good. We can talk. You’re a good pet,” he murmured. His hands pushed me away gently, turning me back toward the door he wanted me to walk out.
Rachel’s hair had gone sweaty and dark and her eyes were wide, white-rimmed as I stepped to the side.
“Somehow you get your fat ass in with this guy? At least Gretchen was pretty! At least Gretchen had a brain in her head!”
“You didn’t know her…” came a voice from the door.
“Goodbye, Rachel,” I whispered.
“You said you didn’t know her!” Bronson yelped suddenly, striding into the room with his arms out. Rafe sidestepped me, meeting him halfway and cutting off his path to Rachel.
“Don’t listen to her,” Rafe warned. Bronson grabbed a fistful of his own wiry, red hair in frustration.
“Oh is that the idiot from the bar?” Rachel called out sweetly. “Bronson? You look just like her, you know… but uglier…”
“Don’t listen to her!” Rafe barked as Bronson began to pace back and forth desperately. I flattened myself against the wall, unable to find a path to leave as I had been told.
“She said she didn’t know her!” Bronson yelled, his hands out as though explaining the obvious.
“Of course I fucking knew her! Do you think Gemma could seriously have hauled her ass through that tiny window?”
Both men turned, mouths agape. Rachel couldn’t see them but must have felt the air change. The smile that spread across her face was brilliant, triumphant.
“Oh… you poor fucks. Always think you’re the smartest guy in the room, don’t you, Rafe? Yeah well, at the end there she was begging me to end it… Said she couldn’t fucking stand you for another day…”
“What is she saying? What does that mean?” Bronson chattered. Rafe’s arm belted him across the shoulder, holding him back.
“Locking her up like an animal! Like a fucking animal! She begged me to do it! Begged me!”
“You shut your mouth you lying fucking whore!”
Bronson’s voice boomed through the room, shaking the metal tables. Rachel was cackling now, her mouth open so wide I could see her tongue and the spray of spittle as she spat out the words.
“You think you’re so smart! So smart the cops couldn’t get to you? So smart that they couldn’t be on their way right back? Like I didn’t see your ugly ass coming, Bronson? Like I didn’t relish the stupid fucking look on your face!”
“Don’t listen to her!” Rafe commanded, but it was too late. Bronson’s mouth half-opened in a sneer and he dodged under Rafe’s arm, twisting his wiry body like a diver. In moments he was at the table, his fingers curling around the blade.
“You l
ying fucking whore!” he screamed as brought the knife over his head.
“NOOO!”
The blade flashed blindingly as Bronson brought it down in a swift, punching arc. Rachel’s body seemed to almost curl around it as it plunged through skin and bone with a sound that was almost absurdly understated. She sounded like a melon being cut. She sounded like almost nothing.
But then there was silence. Bronson stood over her, panting, his eyes wide and shocked as the blood began to ooze around the hilt of the blade, puddling there and then pouring over in a swift crimson river toward her throat.
Rafe wasn’t breathing. His lips parted and he said again, “No.”
Bronson nodded.
“What have you done?”
Wincing, Bronson’s features twisted in a snarl of rage.
“What have I done?? I finished it, Rafe! I fucking finished it!”
Rafe’s hands clenched and unclenched over and over.
“You had no right!” he snarled. Lunging forward, he shoved Bronson back and stood over Rachel’s dimming, silent flesh. His fingers clawed the table’s edge.
“This isn’t right. This isn’t what was supposed to happen,” he muttered.
Bronson slammed his hand flat on the metal table, making Rachel’s form slosh grotesquely sideways.
“This is the end!” he hissed. His pulse hammered through a twisted vein at his temple. “It’s done, Rafe! Now get rid of this trash, here!” He flung his arm toward where I cowered against the wall, still shocked and quaking. “And let’s get out of here! Now!”
Rafe shook his head slowly. “No.”
“What? You heard the bitch! Even money says the cops… the feds are on their way right now—”
“—no,” Rafe said again. I knew that tone in his voice. The answer was plain.
Bronson slapped his hands against his thighs. “Fine! You win. Keep the trash, but let’s get the fuck—”
“We’re going, Bronson. We are. But not with you.”
Rafe stood up finally, tugging his shirt into order and straightening regally. He took a deep few breaths as he stared at Rachel, his eyes lingering over her outlines as though memorizing this moment.
