by Mary Stone
“Maybe that’s just who she is.” I turned my palms up on the desk. “Is it possible that she’s the problem, and not you?”
“No. She’s friendly with everyone else.” He shook his head. “Everyone else. But when I show up, she gets quiet. It’s like she can’t stand the sight of me anymore.”
“Are you sure you’re not projecting?”
His face clouded with confusion before he gave a hard shake of his head. “No. No. She’s different than she was before. When I talk to her, she always has an excuse for why she has to leave.”
“Maybe they’re not excuses. Have you asked her directly?”
“I wouldn’t know how to without sounding like a total douche.”
I held in a laugh. The man couldn’t utter a syllable without sounding like a douche. “Guessing people’s intentions is another type of arrogance altogether. Think back and try to answer what you know, not what you assume.”
“I’ll try.”
“I know it’s hard for you to separate the truth from the fantasy you create in your head, but I need you to at least try.”
“I said, I’ll try.” He turned away, embarrassed by his own snippy reply. “Sorry. I am trying.”
“Has Delilah explicitly told you that she doesn’t want to talk?”
“No, but I can feel it.”
“Could she really have valid reasons for walking away from a conversation with you?”
He shrugged but didn’t answer.
I pressed on. “How long did it take you to notice this change in her?”
His shoulders slumped farther, and his face turned a deep red of shame. “I didn’t realize until you mentioned it. But now that you pointed out my behavior, I’m sure I’ve messed up again.” He grabbed the skin of his forearm between his fingers, digging in his fingernails and twisting violently, gasping in pain.
“Don’t do that.” I kept my voice calm, like a hypnotist’s.
“I need to feel something.”
“Not like that.”
He clenched his chest with both hands. “My chest is so tight, it feels like I’m going to explode. If I don’t release the pressure, I’ll do something even worse than this.” He held up his arm, scratched and dotting blood.
Perfect. He was ready.
I picked up the tissue box and offered him one in a way that he wouldn’t be tempted to touch the box and contaminate it. “That’s not how this works. You need to control the urge. Hold back until you can’t take it anymore, then time yourself. After thirty minutes, if you still feel like you want to hurt yourself, call me. I’ll talk you down.”
“Really?” He blew out a breath.
I jotted a number down for a burner phone I’d bought with cash and never turned on. I hadn’t even bothered setting up a voicemail option because it only served one purpose. “Call me anytime, day or night. If I don’t answer, leave a message.”
My pulse quickened as he snatched the number out of my hand and carefully folded it into his wallet.
He reached for his arm again, only stopping when I arched a brow at him. “I will,” he said, giving me a look of determination.
Pathetic.
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
“Good.” I nodded, like he was a good little patient. “I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”
He stood, looking a little like he’d been slapped back a decade. “Thank you.”
“No, thank you for being open enough to see your faults. When you embrace the pain, you can heal.”
When he’d gone out into the lobby, I glanced at the video feed and grimaced when the man stopped and chatted with Gabe over the counter. He leaned forward with animated movements, laughing at something Gabe had said.
Heat rose in my throat, but I swallowed it down. He could enjoy a few moments of the short time he had left on this earth. Maybe allowing him his pleasures would make the moment all the more painful when he made the frantic call for help, and no one responded. If he lasted through the night, I would be impressed.
Retrieving my laptop from the locked drawer in my desk, I glanced at the security monitor again. Gabe was stiff, but like any good assistant, his discomfort didn’t show on his face. Behind the waist-high counter, Gabe’s toe tapped impatiently, but from his hips to his welcoming expression, he was polished perfection.
I typed in one password, and another. A third set of keystrokes opened me up to a world of pleasure. Like any good auction site, the merchandise was listed with an immediate purchase price, or I could take my chances on a live bid later.
I’d done both in the past, and I preferred instant gratification to the thrill of watching people’s bids freeze when my screen name appeared—though that was satisfying. They knew better than to pit themselves against the master.
I widened my search outside of Charleston, giddy over the prospect of a new victim in an unfamiliar place. Then came the important parameters. Olive skin, dark hair and eyes, full lips, and a slender frame. And male.
Just thinking of a prisoner of the male gender made me tremble. Yes, men had died for my pleasure, or as a direct result of my displeasure. But never had I ended the life of a man with my own hands. I had long preferred the extermination of feminine beauty.
Elusive. Perfect. Fleeting.
Like a blooming rose plucked from the garden in its prime, I chose only the finest flower for my attentions. Fate sealed, their last moments were lived as the most beautiful version of themselves. Much like the perfect rose, it was an honor to be chosen while the others were left to rot on the stem.
I froze when a man’s face appeared on the screen. “Gabe,” I whispered, touching the image.
The man wasn’t my Gabe, but they could’ve been brothers. They had the same dark features, same wild hair cut short to keep it neat. But it was the spirit that leaped from the screen that caught my attention and held it. The man had the quiet look of the haunted, yet beneath the surface, there was vibrance. A spark of life so much like my Gabe.
This man with eyes the color of decadent chocolate glared into the camera defiantly. Fearless. Unflinching. Bruised arms told the story of his battle for freedom.
Clicking on the information tab, I was surprised that the immediate purchase price was much lower than I would’ve paid. I checked his location and didn’t bother to try to tamp down the glee that practically spilled from me as I clicked “Buy.”
When he was mine, I messaged an old friend through the site. I’ve made a purchase near you and need to take delivery by tomorrow. I’ll need a week. Do you have room for me?
The response was quick. Always happy to have you.
I will need a camera.
Live feed?
No, I typed. This movie was just for me to keep. I glanced at the security screen. Gabe was still behind the lobby desk, the nuisance client finally gone. Maybe one day, Gabe would view it too.
Will you need an assistant?
Not this time.
The security code is tomorrow’s date backward.
Thank you. I closed the dialogue box and completed my purchase, typing out my delivery preferences and the code in the special instructions field, and leaving a generous tip.
A quiet knock on the door sent my pulse into overdrive. I willed my hands to steady and closed the laptop, opening the web browser on my desktop just as Gabe’s head poked in.
“Busy?”
“Come in.”
He grinned and sauntered in, hips rolling with every stride, his tailored slacks hugging his body. Stopping at my desk, he bit his lower lip.
“What’s wrong, Gabe?”
“Nothing. I’m just nervous. I’ve never flown first-class before.”
“You’re going to have a wonderful time.” I pretended to weigh my next words carefully, scrolling the mouse so his attention would be drawn to the computer screen. “Since you’ll be gone, I thought I might take a little vacation too.”
His eyes widened, and his lips broke into a
smile though a line appeared in his forehead, just above his nose. “To where?”
“There’s a conference in Minneapolis. It’s not as exotic as where you’re headed, but it’s a break from this place.”
“What about your appointments?” Gabe was such a good assistant, always jumping ahead to serve me.
“Push everything from tomorrow on, out by a week. When you get back from vacation, you can finagle it and get us back on track.”
“I can do that, sure.”
“I know you can.” I was flying so high from my shopping spree that I barely stopped myself from winking at him.
He beamed, his sweet face lighting up from within. “I can’t believe how much my life has changed.”
“This is just the beginning of great things for you.”
“I hope you’re right.”
I gave in and winked. “I always am.”
His step was lighter as he swaggered away. When he was out of my office, I closed my eyes, allowing myself a moment of fancy, dreaming of the moment he would sit beside me, breathless with anticipation as he begged me to play the video again. Would he realize the depth of it? I trembled as I thought of all the ways he would show his gratitude. And maybe one day, we could choose the next one together.
Back on the laptop, those haunted eyes bore into my soul. The red lettering declaring he was sold—to me—took my breath away. I couldn’t get there to play with him fast enough. Brushing my fingertips over his picture and sighing, I tore myself away from my shiny new toy.
I locked the laptop into the drawer and used my desktop to book a first-class ticket to Detroit. I frowned, a twinge of something foreign tugging at my subconscious. I lied to Gabe. The thought came out of nowhere, but I dismissed it. Gabe wasn’t owed complete honesty, not even once he proved himself worthy.
I answered the office phone when it buzzed. On the security footage, Gabe’s face was turned to the camera, one hand on his hip, clearly flustered. “There’s a walk-in.” His voice was flat, without the pep it normally held. “I told her you were on your way out.”
“Send her in.”
Like the good boy he was, he quickly hid his surprise. “Yes, sir.”
“And Gabe?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Go ahead and head out. It’s almost quitting time, and I can lock up. I’ll see you when you get back.”
“Thank you.” His excitement was palpable through the video screen.
“One last thing, Gabe.”
“Anything.” Was his voice breathy?
A thrill shot through me, but my thoughts shifted to the young man outside of Detroit being prepared to meet me. My body quaked, and I closed my eyes as pleasure coursed through me. The temptation to save my new purchase to share with Gabe was strong, but this would be my first man. I always enjoyed firsts alone. There would be other playthings for Gabe and me.
“Hello?” Gabe’s voice ripped me out of my musings.
“Have you sent her yet?”
“No, I was waiting to finish speaking with you. You said you had one last thing to tell me.”
I smiled. He really was such a delight. “You’re right. I almost forgot with all this vacation excitement. I wanted to tell you to enjoy yourself. You only live once. Make it count.”
Gabe’s smile was beautiful. “I promise I will.”
He hung up, and I allowed my thoughts to wander once more before I dragged myself back to reality. If my victim waiting in Detroit was half as sweet as my dear Gabe, he was worth every penny.
I couldn’t wait to meet him.
23
It was late afternoon when Ellie finally had a chance to leave her desk, the mountainous caseload larger than usual. By the time she got a break, she had to rush through the building so she didn’t miss Dr. Powell. But the closer she drew to his quiet office, the slower her footsteps became. As excited as she was to share her progress with Powell, she was in no hurry to relive the horror that had plagued her dreams the night before.
The narrow hallway was the same as always. Drab and boring, painted the creamy mix of tan and yellow that every government building seemed to favor. Ellie’s footsteps were muted by the equally mundane carpet, which was new but didn’t look it. Her skin crawled as the image of the man in the passenger seat flashed through her mind, but she pushed the feeling away.
You’re being ridiculous. She scowled and took slower steps. Where else could she be as safe as she was, right there in the hallways of Charleston PD?
Glancing over her shoulder at the empty hall behind her, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
She was alone, and she was safe.
She whispered the mantra with each step. “Alone and safe. Alone and safe.”
Moments later, she arrived in front of Powell’s door. Knocking on the painted wood just below his nameplate, she waited for him to answer.
“Come in.”
Ellie popped her head in first, forcing a smile she was sure he would see right through. “You aren’t busy, are you?”
“Never.” Dr. Powell, sitting at his desk, laughed at his own joke and motioned to the sofa. “Sit down, let’s chat. You look like you need to get something off your chest.”
“That obvious, huh?”
“This is what I do for a living.” He winked, and she smiled as she closed the door behind her, sitting in the same spot she always did.
“I know I came recently, but a lot has happened since we last spoke. I wanted to tell you. Maybe it will mean something to you, or at the very least, you can guide me through this.”
“Have you been sleeping well?”
Her fingertips went to the dark circles under her eyes. “You noticed?”
“You’re usually quite a bit more energetic. Is something troubling you?” He paused and sat up a little straighter, trying but failing to hide his excitement. “Have you been remembering?”
As calm as Powell was all the time, it was sort of a shock to see him light up. But it was only happiness for her, to be closer to solving this whole mystery. “I have. A lot more.”
“And that’s why you’re struggling to sleep?”
“Something like that.”
“Tell me about it, and let’s see if we can sort out what’s what.”
Ellie smiled at his predictability. “You’re always so calm. My memories are a jumble of scattered images and moments that lead nowhere, but there you are, completely sure that it’s all going to fall into place at some point.” She snorted. “Must be nice.”
“Having decades of experience with this sort of thing does have its perks at times.” He grinned, gathering his notepad and pen from the corner of his desk. “Shall we begin?”
“I don’t want to be hypnotized just yet. There’s a lot I remember that I can talk about and maybe…” She shrugged. “Maybe it will spawn some more memories without having to go under.”
Powell arched an eyebrow. “I don’t believe I’ve heard hypnosis referred to like that before. Are you having negative feelings about the experience?”
“I wouldn’t say that. Hypnosis was beneficial, and I appreciate your willingness to try new things to help me.” She pursed her lips. “I know this is not what you typically deal with.”
“Being a police department shrink isn’t the glamorous appointment it might appear to be.” His eyes sparkled. Powell was taking a lighthearted jab at himself, trying to break down her defenses so she could give herself permission to be vulnerable. She liked him more and more.
“I don’t know how to explain it.”
“Take your time.”
She puffed out her cheeks, letting out a long sigh while she went over the best way to say what she was thinking. When she finally found the right words, she nodded and continued. “Hypnosis isn’t the issue, but this time, I don’t want to do it.”
“Fair enough.”
“It’s just that the man who kidnapped me drugged me to keep me from escaping. Hypnosis leaves me with that same heavy
, disjointed feeling.” She bit her lip and inhaled slowly. “No offense, but I just want to be in complete control right now.”
He waved his hand. “None taken. For the record, hypnosis is voluntary, and you’re always in control, even if you don’t realize it. It’s impossible to force someone into that mental state, so even if I wanted to push the matter, it would be pointless to try. But I understand the correlation, and I think a session without hypnosis is perfectly reasonable.”
“I appreciate your understanding.” Her shoulders relaxed as relief filled her. “I guess I’ll start from the car. Last night, I dreamed about being in the car, starting from just after he grabbed me. It was very vivid, and I experienced so much more than I have before now. I don’t want to call it a breakthrough, but it was significant nonetheless.”
“Progress is progress.”
Ellie couldn’t help the warm glow of pride in her chest. “I knew you’d say that.”
Dr. Powell studied her intently. “Did you see his face?”
“No. Just his mouth and the lower cheeks.” She frowned, mentally forcing herself back into the rear of that car. “There was nothing really remarkable about his face in particular. But in this dream, I could see the driver’s silhouette and hear both men speaking.”
Dr. Powell’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he jotted something down, his interest clearly piqued. “Anything that could be used to identify either man?”
“Not that I could tell, but things were very hazy.”
“Because of the dream?”
She shook her head, surprised he hadn’t warned her that it might have only been a dream. She knew it wasn’t. “No, because of the drugs.”
“Are you certain it was drugs and not sleep paralysis? It’s common to dream you’re paralyzed when your body has stiffened like that.”
She shook her head. “I felt the needle pinch, and I was aware that I was drugged. I could move my eyes, and there was something else…” She chewed on her lower lip before it came back to her. “My fingers.”
Powell’s pen scratched across the notepad. Finished writing, he pursed his lips and tilted his head. “Not that I doubt you, but the list of paralyzing drugs that leave you partially aware and able to think is pretty short. It would explain the memory loss, but if you could move your fingers, then the dream is probably a false memory.”
