Forced

by Daniella Wright

“You’re hired,” I told Jennifer. She smiled at Mary. “When can you start?”

  “Well, I need to pick up my things,” she said. “But otherwise, immediately.”

  “Very good,” I replied shortly. “I will have the driver take you back and help you move.” I left then, walking down the hall to my suite. This whole situation was threatening to fly straight out of my hands. But Mary liked Jennifer. I would do anything for Mary to be happy again.

  Chapter Three

  Over the next several days, Mary and I settled into a routine. We would see Michael for lunch every day, without fail. It was his way of checking in with his niece. It was sweet, yet confusing. If he had so much money, and Soraya was doing so much work, what was he doing, exactly? I wondered whether Michael and Soraya were seeing each other romantically. I mean, this place was so isolated, and they had been here for a little over two years…alone…together. It would make for the perfect story…even if I felt the tiniest stab of jealousy. My employer was quite good-looking. Soraya was drop-dead gorgeous, with long, flowing black hair, olive-toned skin, and picture-perfect features—she could have easily been a model at one point.

  Mary and I sat in the kitchen for breakfast. We watched The Today Show, because Mary’s mother would take her to see it filmed live at Rockefeller Plaza when she was alive. The anchors’ banter was lively, and we would jot down any recipes that they featured so that we could try making them during the week.

  “So, what would you like to eat, today, Miss Ma’am?” I placed my hands on my hips. She laughed at my nickname for her. When Mary let the quiet side slip away, she had quite a bit of sass, I had found.

  “Pancakes,” she replied.

  “Again?”

  “Again.”

  “Magic word?”

  “Expecto Patronum.”

  “Not what I meant, Miss Granger. Okay. Let’s do this.” The problem with Mary had been solved quite quickly—she was grief-stricken at the loss of her parents, and I didn’t press her about it. That was a wound that would take a long time to heal. The things that I could fix were that she was lonely and bored. Soraya had had other duties running the house and Michael’s business. Michael seemed to disappear for days. So Mary had had little contact with other people, and she was a bright and friendly child. She just needed company.

  We took out the ingredients for pancakes, and I had her measure them out before mixing them. I merely read the directions and operated the stove. The concert of the day on the Today Show was DNCE, and Mary and I began to dance along as we waited for the pancakes to be ready to be flipped.

  There was a noise by the door to the kitchen, and we turned to find Soraya in the doorway. She wore workout clothes, and appeared to have just come in from a run.

  “Can I just check the local news, please?” she asked in her even, flat affect tone of voice. I looked at Mary, who grabbed the remote, handing it to Soraya. The news came on, showing a stretch of road that was in between Chatsworth and Ashford. There was a fence by one of the farms, and it was partially torn down, corpses of large Hereford cows, lying in the grass.

  “I ran by this,” Soraya said. “They wouldn’t tell me anything.” The female reporter was beginning her report. The three of us listened as I began to flip the first batch of pancakes.

  “During the night, it has been reported that yet another livestock mauling has occurred,” the reporter said. “The maulings have been occurring monthly, almost exactly thirty days since the last one occurred. It appears to be the work of a large canine, potentially a large wolf, or potentially a bear.”

  “I heard something,” Mary whispered. “Last night…and then…” I looked at her. She looked terrified. I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I hear it in my dreams…a growling, like a large dog,” she said. I could feel her tiny body rigid with fears realized. “Then, in the news, somebody’s animals are dead.” She looked me in the face, and I could see that she believed it to be true.

  “It’s only here,” she said. “Only here.” She began to tear up, and I wrapped my arms around her tiny body, picking her up.

  “How long has this been going on?” I asked Soraya.

  “A few years,” she replied. “They haven’t been able to catch it yet.” She turned, leaving me with my crying charge and pancakes that were beginning to blacken.

  I spent the rest of the morning trying to cheer Mary up, but it was looking like it was going to be one of the difficult days. These days were bound to happen to a grieving child. I broke my heart. She sat at her desk, her eyes wide and sad as I tried to engage her in something—anything. Finally, I would give up on lessons and activities, and just take her in my lap and read to her. She was obsessed with Harry Potter.

  “Why do you like this so much?” I asked her.

  “He’s like me,” she said. “Only Voldemort didn’t kill my mom and dad.”

  “But your uncle is nothing like the Dursleys.”

  “No… but he’s…” she was struggling to say what she needed to.

  “Distant?” I supplied.

  “Yeah,” she replied.

  “A little bit like Dumbledore, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice reflecting her warming to the idea.

  “He loves you, you know,” I said.

  “He does. I just wish he’d spend more time with me.” She paused, thinking. “He used to. He used to carry me on his shoulders, and take me apple-picking in the orchard…but then he got sad. He doesn’t even give me hugs anymore.”

  “Maybe we can invite him to do something special with us sometime.”

  “Like what?”

  “How about a picnic?”

  “When?”

  “Today.”

  “Yes!” We got up from the large, plush armchair that was nestled into the corner of Mary’s school room. She took my hand as we exited, walking down the hallway and the large staircase leading down to the first floor. Heading into the kitchen, Mary and I began to plan the picnic lunch.

  “What kind of sandwiches should we make?” I asked her.

  “Peanut butter and Nutella,” Mary chirped excitedly. She jumped a little as she spoke. I took out the white bread, and Mary ran to the pantry to pull out the spreads.

  “Are we having anything else?”

  “Will there be apples in the orchard?” Mary asked.

  “There should be,” I replied, opening the jar of peanut butter that she handed me. “It is the right season.” There was something enchanting about living in a house with its own orchard. Mary’s life appeared to be some kind of fairytale—the orphan sent to live with a mysterious uncle in an opulent, isolated home. I spread peanut butter onto the bread with a knife, and then used a spoon to scoop Nutella on to the rest.

  “What else should we include with our picnic?” I asked.

  “Gummy bears,” Mary replied.

  “How about something healthier?” I asked.

  “Granola and yogurt,” Mary sighed dramatically.

  “I thought you liked granola and yogurt,” I said.

  “I do,” she replied. “But gummy bears are better.” Her uncle walked in, his hands in his pockets. He was dressed formally, as per usual in an oxford and a pair of nice slacks. Mary was glued to my side. She tugged at my arm.

  “Tell him,” she prompted in a small whisper. She was always reticent and mouse-like around her uncle.

  “We planned to go on a picnic in the orchard for lunch today,” I explained.

  “I…I can’t,” he looked years older than he actually was (According to Forbes, he was thirty). He looked exhausted, and even maybe a little ill. “There was…” he began, then paused for a moment.

  “There was another attack on livestock last night,” he said, his voice soft. “You shouldn’t wander.” I felt Mary stiffen beside me.

  “Surely we would be safe during the day…”

  “More than likely…but just in case.”

/>   “Why don’t you come with us?”

  “I’m just…I’m not…” he sighed, and walked out of the kitchen. I was confused. Was he sick? If he was, why didn’t he say so? I looked down at Mary, beside me. She was near tears.

  “I knew the monster was nearby. It comes here.” She said.

  “No, baby. The monster isn’t here. It just goes after livestock.” I picked her small body up in my arms. “How about we have our picnic on the front lawn? It’s a beautiful, sunny day outside.” She nodded, but her face was solemn.

  Chapter Four

  I was in my office down on the first floor. Soraya had just left, on her way back to the guest house to work in her own office. The door opened, a light knocking, assuming that it was Soraya, I didn’t look up.

  “Yes?”

  “Um, I was wondering if I might speak with you.” I looked up to see Jennifer standing hesitantly at the door to my office.

  “Certainly. Um. Is Mary alone?”

  “She’s napping. She’s having a hard day.” My heart sunk. I was exhausted, having been up the entire night before, creating the havoc that had obviously terrified my niece in addition to the local community. My self-hatred reared its ugly head.

  “Come in,” I said, gesturing toward the chair across from my desk. This was the office where I received visitors. My real office, covered in files and research on werewolves and other paranormal records and sightings, was tucked away behind high-tech locked doors. I looked at Jennifer, her brow furrowed in a way that made her look unbearably attractive. “How have your first few days been here?”

  “It’s a wonderful place. And Mary is an extremely bright and kind young girl.” I could hear the “but” coming.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “She’s grieving. And she’s so isolated here. I even feel isolated, and I’ve only been here for a couple of days.” She had a point, and I nodded my agreement.

  “What are you asking?”

  “Could I just take her into town every couple of days or so? She would benefit from being with other children her age…it would help her to heal.”

  “What activities were you thinking of?”

  “Well, I did some research, and while Ashford’s website is a bit sparse, I found a playground and a church on Google Maps…”

  “Mary’s parents were active in their church,” I admitted. “I’m not. But maybe that would be good for her…grounding, familiar.”

  “That’s what I thought.” Jennifer was smiling, although her eyes looked sad and concerned. “Is there any way that I could use the town car?”

  “Would you prefer to drive yourself so that you wouldn’t have to call the service?”

  “That would be wonderful,” she replied gratefully. I stood up, smoothing my oxford shirt.

  “Come with me,” I said, leading the way to the garage, which was out in the back of the house, behind my office. “I should have shown this to you before. It just didn’t occur to me that you would need anything.” I opened the door, turning on the fluorescent overhead lights to reveal my prized collection of luxury vehicles.

  “Impressive,” she said, her eyebrows raised.

  “You can take any one you like,” I said.

  “I don’t think that I have the balls to drive a Porsche into town,” she said. I laughed, and she looked at me, surprised.

  “At least sit in it,” I said. “It’s quite comfortable.”

  “Very well,” she said, opening the door and sliding into the driver’s seat. The top on the cherry red convertible was down. I leaned on the passenger’s side door.

  “Now, imagine speeding over the country roads, the top down, the wind in your hair, the sun on your skin—”

  “You make it sound poetic,” she said.

  “The right car is pure poetry,” I replied. I gestured toward my Chevrolet Corvette. “See that one?”

  “Yes. The Corvette,” she said. “Pretty standard luxury car, don’t you think?”

  “But the power of it…the classic American manufacturing…it’s everything.” I stood beside it, and she followed me over, shutting the door to the Porsche with a slam.

  “You talk like my uncle. He’s a mechanic.”

  “What are you doing with the Firebird?” she asked me, motioning to the body of the ’67 Pontiac Firebird that I was restoring in my spare time. I was impressed that she knew her cars.

  “It’s an original ’67 Firebird,” I said. “My dad had one when he was a kid, and he spent my entire childhood raving about it.”

  “So you got rich and bought him one?”

  “Well, he died of cancer when I was fifteen, so it’s more like I feel close to him when I work on it.”

  “You’re doing the work yourself?”

  “Yeah. You seem surprised.”

  “Don’t rich people hire other people to do things for them?”

  “I’m self-made. All I do is work.”

  “I see.” She ran a finger over the car. I imagined driving the Firebird through the Nevada desert, Jennifer sitting beside me, laughing with the wind and the sun in her face. She looked over at me, her face unguarded for a second. I found myself placing a hand on her face, and then, kissing her. She was kissing me back. I ran my hands over her curvy hips, and along her spine. She began to pant lightly in response, grabbing at the collar of my shirt.

  This was wrong. I was a monster. I pulled away suddenly, and Jennifer looked at me strangely, as though I’d slapped her.

  “Take any car that you want. The keys are hanging on the back wall.” I began to back away, heading toward the door, and gesturing. “Over there. There are emergency company credit cards in the kitchen.”

  As I walked into the house, I could feel it—the sun was sinking lower in the sky. It was late afternoon, the time when I usually locked myself into my suite. I walked quickly up the stairs, heading straight for my chambers. I locked the large, mahogany double-doors behind me. I then walked across the room, with its large, four poster bed with its messy tangle of sheets and comforter. I cleaned this room myself, never letting anyone enter it.

  I opened the massive walk-in closet that contained the large, rebar cage. The door occasionally broke, as I had constructed it myself. I had no one that I could bring in to do it for me—no one that I trusted. The night before, it had broken and I had gotten out, feasting on a herd of cattle at a nearby farm, the carnage both delicious and horrifying at the same time. Feeling a sense of dep exhaustion, I stepped inside of the cage, activating the lock and sitting down. I sat, thinking of Jennifer, and the smell of her hair for hours as the sun sank beneath the horizon and I shifted into a large, black-furred beast that was equal parts man and wolf.

  Chapter Five

  I was unbalanced after what had happened with Michael. I had never done anything like that with an employer. Not once. It felt exhilarating, until he backed away from me as though I were dangerous. The fact that he fled from the situation in fear made me confused—it was as though he were afraid of his attraction to me. I walked back into the house to go and check on Mary.

  When I entered her room, she was awake and playing in the corner with her Barbie dolls. She looked up at me expectantly, any trace of sadness erased by sleep. I smiled at her.

  “How about we take a quick jaunt into town?” I asked her.

  “Yes, please,” Mary chirped. I led her back down into the kitchen.

  “Has your uncle ever told you where he leaves the emergency credit cards?” I asked her. She nodded, opening one of the drawers. There were several cards inside. I chose a Mastercard, and slid it into my wallet. We headed out to the garage, and were on our way, cruising over the isolated roads through the woods in a red Mercedes that Mary liked, the top down, and the wind running its fingers through our hair.

  Ashford was a quiet, sleepy town with lovely architecture. We passed a church, a school, and various mom and pop stores. I kind of ached for a 7-11, with its cherry-flavored Slurpees. I pulled up in front of the ge
neral store.

  “How about we get some fun things for a movie night?” I suggested.

  “Like popcorn?”

  “Sure.” We got out of the car and headed in to the store, blinking in the fluorescent lighting. It smelled sweet—like fresh, ripened fruit and spices. Mary gripped my hand tightly, dragging me over toward the snack foods.

  “I like kettle corn the best,” she said.

  “Okay,” I replied. “Do you want some type of candy to go with that?”

  “I can have candy, too?”

  “Only one. I don’t want your uncle to think I’m spoiling you.” She let go of my hand, and began debating whether she wanted gummies or Snow Caps.

  “Can I help you with anything?” I turned to find myself face-to-face with a good-looking man. He wore a stylishly worn black t-shirt and jeans. He had a nice build—he definitely worked out. His face was equally as swoon-worthy as his abs; his eyes were a warm brown color, and he had straight, white teeth. He was holding a clip board, and he had a name tag pinned to his chest, bearing the title of General Manager.

  “We’re just picking up snacks for a movie night,” I replied.

  “Ah,” he said, and then directed his next comment to Mary, who had sidled up beside me, and was holding my hand in a death-grip. “What movie will you ladies be watching this evening?” I looked down at Mary, and she shrugged. Her eyes were wide, and she said nothing.

  “She’s shy,” I explained. “We haven’t decided yet.”

  “We have a good selection of DVDs if you want to check them out,” he offered.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Follow me,” he led the way to a few racks of DVDs. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new in town?”

  “I am,” I replied. “Mary has been here for a little longer, but we are basically new to the area.”

  “Ah. I see,” he raised his eyebrows. “Well, it’s nice to make your acquaintance. My name is Damien. Damien Price.” He held out a hand.

  “Jennifer Hart,” I replied, shaking his hand. “And this is Mary.”