by Britney King
I don’t answer. I hate questions like this. They go nowhere and still manage to lodge themselves inside.
“Mr. Parker, please answer the question.”
My silence is like poison. I can see it in his expression; it’s like the more he looks at me the less he can see. “Truth is not absolute.”
He nods, and his assistant begins hooking me up, placing electrodes in places they shouldn’t go.
“We’d like to help eradicate your condition. We’d like to help you forget.”
“Your science is a bit outdated,” I say.
Dr. Mueller almost smiles. “Don’t worry about that,” he tells me. “This is only the beginning.”
There are other methods of torture. Ice baths, sleep deprivation, attack therapy. I’m becoming familiar with them all. Probably the ice baths are the least worst of them all. “Attack therapy” is no fun either and slightly worse. I’m put in a room with three men who hurl insults, get in my face, scream obscenities, spit on, hit, and kick me. This goes on for hours. My only saving grace is that I’m moderately certain they won’t kill me. That nugget is all I have to hold on to, so I do. They still need me to agree to the contract, and without me alive, no one stands to benefit.
It isn’t until they threaten to bring Emily in that I cave.
“We’re going to work on a bit of mastery today, Mr. Parker. Certain things we need to get straight before we release you. I’m sure you understand.”
I stare at the switchboard in front of me, counting and recounting the buttons. I count thirty buttons.
“I presume you find mastery somewhere between 15 and 40 volts.”
“You still have your sense of humor, I see. This is a very good sign.”
He fingers the switch. “Read aloud the code of honor, please.”
“One: Seek mastery in all areas.”
“Would you say you’ve done that?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
“If I had, I’d be at home with my family.” He renders a shock.
“Read the next line, please.”
“Two: Never ignore a friend in need, in danger, or in trouble.”
“What about this ethos, Mr. Parker? How do feel about it?”
“Oh, this one’s simple. I don’t have any friends.”
He shocks me until my eyes roll back, my mouth goes dry, and my legs go numb. “You’re a member of New Hope now; you can’t think like that. Read the next line, please.” His voice is monotone and irritating.
“Three: Submit to a cause greater than oneself. This one,” I say, “I’m acing.”
“Continue on,” he nods.
“Four: Remain obedient to furthering the mission.”
“What do you think of, when you think of furthering the mission?”
“I think you should go fuck yourself.”
I remember nothing after that.
This place is no different than what happens in the lab with my mice. It’s a human testing facility. I’ve never been so tested in all my life. They have me in an ice bath when they show me a series of photos. “Do you know this woman?”
I shake my head. But then, it’s shaking anyway. Everything is.
“How about this one?”
I shake my head once again, but I can see they know I’m lying. It’s Vanessa. “Shall we bring her in? Along with your wife?”
I don’t say anything because I don’t understand. I’ve given them everything I have. I’ve signed the things they’ve asked me to sign. Days on end without sleep or food will do that to a person, no matter how resolved one might be. I don’t know what more they could want. It’s not as though I could hate myself any more. “We have evidence that you put bruises on her face. We have evidence you raped her.”
I know this is impossible, but when your body is submerged in ice, nothing seems that far-fetched. “Your evidence is wrong,” I manage through chattering teeth. My voice comes out broken and mangled, like the rest of me.
“But it’s your word against hers, though, isn’t it?” Dr. Mueller says. “Any idea how that usually turns out? Do you know what can happen if this gets out?”
I don’t know. But I have a pretty good idea. So when he tells me things are about to get a whole lot worse for me, I believe him. I don’t need specifics. Just a week ago, it would have been another story. I wouldn’t have thought it could get much worse than this. But I’ve since learned it can.
I first thought that with the attack in the parking garage. I thought it when I walked in on my wife with another man. And then again when she left me. I thought it when Nathan told me the board was forcing me out of the company I built. I thought it when my parents hired a physician to place me in here, then when they drugged me, and I woke up to what looked like a nightmare but wasn’t. I thought it when I was forced to agree to deals I know I could never fulfill. I’ve bargained with the devil.
Now, I can see I was wrong. It can always get worse. And everything that can happen usually does.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Vanessa
Thirteen bags of ice is how many I estimate it will take to keep my husband’s corpse from rotting, at least until I can hit the road. I’ve sent Matthew and Gina on a whole host of errands, which should keep them busy for most of the day, away from the house, and also unsuspecting.
What I need is a head start—enough money to get far enough away without the church either trailing me or catching me on the run. To accomplish this, I’m going to need money, and to get money I have to find a way into Sean’s computer. It would have been helpful had I thought this through before smothering him. But it’s true what they say, hindsight is twenty-twenty.
He controlled everything, and like a freight train barreling down the tracks, horn blaring, it was inevitable that it would come to this. I can see this now. I just wish I’d prepared for it.
Preparation is apparently not a strong suit of mine, because when Melanie spots me in the grocery store parking lot with my cart full of ice, I know there are only three outcomes for me: death, suicide, or prison. Sometimes you have to pick your poison. “The freezer went out,” I say.
She looks at me like she couldn’t care less, and that’s when I feel almost safe, which I should have known is always a mistake. “Have you heard from him?” she asks quietly.
I don’t respond at first. She could be referring to Adam; she could be referring to anyone. Finally, it’s her furrowed expression that gives her away. “The mark?”
She rolls her eyes. “Who else?”
Sorry, I almost say. I thought you might have meant your boyfriend, the guy who raped me last night. “No,” I tell her. I’d like to say I’ve spent the last twelve hours agonizing over Elliot Parker and what they are doing to him at the rejuvenation center and how much of this might have been my fault. But the truth is, I didn’t. I have enough problems of my own. Too many for Elliot Parker to be one of them. “I haven’t heard from him.”
“Huh,” she says. “That’s too bad.”
Lying to Melanie was easy. Easier than it had ever been in the past, anyway. Elliot Parker had texted me early this morning. I need to see you, the text said. He asked me to meet him downtown at a hotel.
At first, I ignored him. If I play my cards right, Elliot Parker could easily be a way out of my predicament. I could just suggest another weekend away and let it turn into forever. First things first, though. I had to get Sean on ice, or rather ice on Sean. Then, I remembered to delete some of the security footage. I know Sean isn’t going to see it, obviously, but I’ve gotten so good at erasing things that it just comes natural. No one needs to see me carrying bags of ice into my home. Not Gina and not Matthew. Especially not Adam. Now that Sean is gone, no one needs to see me at all. In fact, I plan to disappear altogether. I dyed my hair, packed our bags in the car, and posted on Instalook that Matthew and I were excited to fly out and meet up with Sean for the weekend. Adam will check with Sean although for obvious reasons he won’t be able to reach him
and I plan to be long gone before eyebrows are raised. Surely, if I were going to make a run for it they wouldn’t expect I’d post about it on social media. No one is that stupid.
Once I’ve handled the basics, I text Elliot Parker and agree to meet with him. He sounds so desperate that by the time the third text request comes through, I’ve already made up my mind. He pays in cash, and cash is at the top of the list of things I need. Money doesn’t make you happy, but it does give you options.
I ask him to text me his room number. When he opens the door, he wastes no time getting down to business, which is good because I’m in a hurry. I have to pick up Matthew and get on the road. I can tell there is no room for Elliot Parker in my life when he takes a photo of me just inside the door. I’m busy replying to a text from Gina when I realize he’s posting it to Instalook. It pisses me off, it’s downright risky, but it’s too late. What’s done is done. No doubt he’ll have raised red flags when Adam or Melanie see this. I ask him to delete the photo.
He shrugs. “Delete what?”
He thinks I’m stupid. Maybe he’s right. I shouldn’t have come here. But I need the cash. And I want to warn him to stay away from the church. It’s the least I can do.
Elliot looks up from his phone. “You dyed your hair?”
“You know posting pictures of other women isn’t the answer to getting your wife’s attention.”
He frowns. “What does it matter to you? I’m a paying customer aren’t I?”
“Last I recall, you weren’t paying me for photos,” I say and what happens next, I don’t see coming.
He cocks his head and studies me carefully. “What do you know about Adam Morford?”
I can’t tell him the truth. But I answer with a reasonable question. “Not much…why?”
“New Hope church?”
“What about it?”
“Stop, Vanessa.” He narrows his eyes. “But that’s a lie too, isn’t it? Vanessa isn’t your real name.”
“I thought we covered this.”
He walks over and grips my forearms. Instinctively, I flinch. He kisses me hard. “Do you want to have sex with me, or are you just doing it because I’m paying you?”
If you have to lie, you might as well stick as close to the truth as you can. “It’s my job.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“A little of both, I guess.”
I see something in him shift. It’s like he’s starving, and this is the last meal he thinks he’s ever going to eat. He pins me against the wall, lifts my sweater dress, and fumbles with my tights before pushing into me.
Obviously, we have a whole host of things to work out, but there’s time for that. It’s not going to change anything either way—we are what we are. Liars on a collision course, headed for nowhere good. And anyway, passion is seldom rational and usually blind. It’s over almost before it started. Afterward, when he sits on the edge of the bed, when he gets that sleepy look in his eyes, I don’t stop him. I need to go. “I haven’t slept in days,” he says with a yawn, and it shows.
“I have to go,” I tell him.
He lays back and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t know why you lied. But I guess it hardly matters.”
“What did they do to you?”
“What didn’t they do?”
“I’m sorry,” I tell him, and I mean it.
“It’s not your fault,” he says, but it’s a lie, and maybe we’re so deep in them we can’t find our way out.
I go into the bathroom to wash up, and when I come back he’s snoring.
My phone buzzes.
It’s a text from Adam. If you don’t come out, I’m coming in.
I could ask how he found me, but I already know. Instalook.
I guess what they say is true: dopamine and serotonin, if mixed with other things, make you sloppy. My mistake. I’ve been afforded a lot of privileges in my position, but stupidity isn’t one of them.
Somewhere along the way, in coming here for one last gig, I slipped up, and now the option to run—the option to keep running—is clearly no longer on the table.
Life can change on a dime. He told me that the first time we met.
I didn’t believe it back then. At least not in the way he meant it. I wasn’t the only one. No one believed it. Why would they? It was easier to walk around with our false sense of security and our blanketed smiles, our veiled truths and half-hearted lies.
But now he’s here. Now I’m passing from one room to another, and now he’s standing in front of me. Now his eyes are lingering in places I wish they wouldn’t, and now I am probably about to die.
“Well, well. Look at you.”
When he takes my chin in his hand and forces me to look him in the eye, what I see is a warning. What have you to say for yourself?
I don’t have an answer, and even if I did, excuses are forbidden.
It’s best for me, for everyone involved, if I keep my mouth shut. Maybe I can’t save myself. But this isn’t about me.
People say words don’t matter. Sometimes words are all you have. I should know; I am bound by them.
When I turn away from him, he expects that I’m going to talk. He waits patiently as I take three steps forward.
I count each one as I slide the gun from my robe. I stole it from Sean’s collection, just in case. I’d never planned to use it. Life can change on a dime.
I turn and point it at him.
My hands tremble. No one warns you this will happen. But why would they? This isn’t what they train you for.
I steady my aim.
He isn’t smiling when he steps toward me, but he isn’t frightened either. Just another problem to deal with. Just another lover’s quarrel. That’s what he’s thinking as he places his hand over the muzzle. That’s how much he trusts me. That’s how weak he thinks I am.
Finally, he flashes that signature smile. It’s his tell. He thinks he’s in control.
I pull the trigger.
At first, nothing happens.
Then something does.
What happens is Adam takes the gun and hits me over the head with it. Blood trickles down my face. “Silly girl,” he says. “Can’t even work a gun properly.”
Tears mix with blood until I can’t see unless I blink rapidly. He places it to my temple. “Adam, please.”
He lets me beg, properly beg, before he removes it and steps away. “I can’t very well shoot you here, now can I?”
“I—”
“Rookie mistake forgetting the safety.”
It’s not that I forgot; I didn’t know there was such a thing. It’s not something they ever show in the movies. It’s not like you really ever see good guys, the heroes, pausing to mess with such matters. So how was I supposed to know? Now doesn’t seem like the time to mention this.
“It’s okay,” he sighs. “Eventually, everyone gets tired of the game. The lifestyle gets old quick, and they get lazy, they make mistakes, they slip up. That’s why we prepared for this.”
“I haven’t gotten lazy.”
“Sit,” he motions casually. His voice is soft, comforting almost. “You understand why I’m here?”
I should have stepped on the gas. I should have pumped the brake.
He knows I do.
I say nothing, and he rolls up his sleeves. “This is very disappointing.”
You know what they say about desperate times calling for desperate measures? Well, there’s something to that. I undo the hotel robe I haphazardly slipped on, pull it tighter and fasten the tie. I’d barely managed my bra and panties when the second text came. He was coming in.
“I—”
He gestures with his eyes this time, cutting me off. “I offered you a seat.”
I smile politely. Nothing that comes out of his mouth is an offer. That I do not forget.
“I take it he liked the dress,” he says. It’s an admission that I was being watched, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. I thought last night would
have bought me some time. I thought the fact that I gave in to him would have earned a bit of trust. Sometimes what you think will be enough, isn’t. My vision blurs. I think I might pass out. All I see is red. Red. It’s his color. The mark, not the monster before me.
He rolls his tongue over his front teeth. It’s his tell. He’s out for blood. “Well, don’t you have anything to say for yourself?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“I guess you weren’t good enough. Not with the dress, not with the lingerie, not even with the fancy suite.” His icy glare burns. I have to force myself not to look away.
“I’m sorry.” My eyes follow his hands. It’s safer this way. “I realize this isn’t the way you wanted things to unfold, but I promise. I’m close. I can close him.” I pause to look him dead in the eye. “I can lock this down, Adam…but you have to trust me.”
“That’s the thing,” he scoffs. “I don’t trust you. Not after what happened last time.”
“Melanie told you.” I square my shoulders, a trick to make myself feel more confident than I am. You can change the way you feel just by the position of your body. He taught me that. Or at least a version of him did.
He shakes his head. “What did you expect?”
I loosen the robe, unclasp the bra, shrug out of it, and drop it on the table between us. It’s for show, like most things in this game. His eyes follow, as I knew they would. He may feel disdain where I’m concerned, but he is a man, after all. Plus, he never knows what else I might be hiding, or what else I might whip out unexpectedly. “I’ve landed the last three. I’ve done what you asked…and for what? For you to show up here and throw one mistake in my face?”
He stands abruptly and breaches the invisible border the coffee table has set. As he reaches across, I brace myself.
I feel the reverberation of his hand smacking my face well before the pain comes. Like most things with him, it’s not immediate.
“That was more than what you call a mistake. That was thirty-seven million dollars,” he says, referring to Marcia Louis. I could have just sent that video, and everything would be different right now. And yet, nothing would. That’s the irony.
