The Terrorist (Lens Book 3)

by J B Cantwell

  “There you go,” she said. “Now the shoes.”

  She emerged from the closet with a pair of sky-high heels. I raised my eyebrows, unbelieving. Did she really think I could walk in shoes like these?

  I leaned over to try to place my foot into the shoe, but the bodice of the dress was so tight I could barely breathe, much less lean.

  “Oh, no,” she said. “It’s not to you to do the shoes, at least not in this dress.”

  She held out one hand and grabbed onto my foot, sliding it expertly into the shoe. Once she buckled it into place, I stood upon it while she did the other.

  “There,” she said, standing back.

  She held out one hand for me, and though I would’ve liked to be able to walk along on my own, I found I needed the support. She guided me up the steps in the main dressing room. Then, as I stood on the pedestal, she let go.

  “Take a look.”

  I wanted to do as she said, but my eyes kept falling on that shattered mirror, my reflection as warped and broken as I felt on the inside.

  But then I turned around and saw another reflection, this one whole and clear. The new me.

  Was I still the same on the inside?

  Maybe I should take this transformation for what it was and change it all. Maybe I could grow into this identity, leave Riley behind.

  “Now, let’s try a smile.”

  I frowned and looked down at her, staring at me, arms crossed.

  “Um …”

  “Do it,” she commanded.

  I tried to remember the last time I smiled. Certainly, nothing had been funny for as long as I could remember. But smiling at something didn’t mean it had to be funny.

  Ice cream? No.

  Alex?

  Surprisingly, no. I had been happy to find him again, to hold him again, but we spent more time kissing than we did smiling. And besides, I don’t think that was the type of smile Janeen was looking for.

  I tried. My lips opened, and I showed my teeth.

  “Ugh, disgusting,” she said. “Alright, then. If you’re not going to smile, let’s use some of your more negative energy.” She tilted her head slightly, thinking. “Try to imagine that you’re above it all. Even me. Look down your nose, so to speak. Regard the world as if it’s lucky that you are in its presence.”

  Now that I could sink my teeth into.

  I didn’t smile, but I didn’t frown, either. I remembered my anger back in the hospital. My arrogant behavior.

  This, ironically, actually did make me smile.

  But I hid it away. I was in charge. I was gorgeous. I was unforgettable. I was … I was …

  “Audrey,” I said.

  My eyes burned right through Janeen, and she did something I didn’t expect.

  She smiled.

  Once it was determined that I was unable to walk in the stilted shoes she’d put me in, it became obvious that I would have to work on it without being tripped up by a gown. She stripped me down to just the lingerie and the shoes. In this way I was actually able to practice my attitude better. I walked as casually as I could over to the floor to ceiling windows, showing the world my new and spectacular body. And the truth was, I didn’t care one bit who saw me. Janeen had surprised me, shamed me, almost. But now, staring out over the Manhattan skyline, I felt certain that anyone with their telescope pointed in my direction would be delighted, if not surprised.

  They were going to love me.

  Until I tried to walk, that is.

  I hobbled back over to the kitchen where Janeen was standing with her elbows on the counter, watching.

  “Ow,” I complained. “How do these women get used to this? How did you?”

  “You need to be light, to start with. The heavier you are, the greater the pressure on your feet. So your diet must be spare.”

  It was close to noon, and I suddenly realized how hungry I was. That piece of chicken and a couple spoonfuls of ice cream from the night before were long gone now.

  “What’s the point in being rich and beautiful if I can’t eat? And, by the way, isn’t it about time for lunch?”

  “Lunch is on its way,” she said. “Though you might want to put some clothes on before the delivery boy gets here.”

  I laughed, surprising myself.

  “Why?”

  She crossed her arms again, a sure sign of disapproval.

  “There’s a difference between pressing your breasts up against a window and stripping down for the hired help. Go put some clothes on. We may as well move on.”

  I started to walk back toward the bedroom.

  “But keep the shoes. Always, the shoes.”

  I sighed.

  While I was searching through the drawers for something to wear, I heard the bell ring, then Janeen’s voice telling the delivery man to come up to the apartment.

  I searched for something casual. Jeans, maybe. A t-shirt. But there was nothing like that at all. Despite Janeen’s insistence that I wasn’t to use firearms during our training, I picked a long, flowy skirt with pockets deep enough to hide a small pistol.

  I left the pistol in the drawer, though.

  After finding a sleeveless blouse and throwing it over my head, I skipped out the door, eager to watch Janeen’s interaction with the delivery of the food.

  The elevator opened. Janeen had left the front door ajar, but the man knew better than to cross the threshold. I looked around, but she was nowhere to be found.

  “Hello?” he said, not too loudly, I noticed.

  Where had she gone?

  Then, it occurred to me that this was a test. For me.

  I took a deep breath and tried my best to glide over to the man.

  “Hello,” I said.

  He did a double take when he saw me.

  “Um,” he said, unsure. “Your lunch, Miss.” He held out the bag.

  “Oh. Thank you.” I took it from him.

  He stood there, waiting, though I couldn’t imagine what for. I held the food, feeling like an idiot, like I was missing something.

  Then, I suddenly realized he was waiting for me to tip him. Growing up in Brooklyn, there had never been any reason, much less resources, to leave a tip for anyone.

  But now, here we stood, face to face.

  I could feel my cheeks burning, and despite my best efforts, I was having a hard time trying to stay upright in the shoes.

  “Okay,” I said. “Um. Thanks, I guess.” I tried a smile, but I was so nervous I thought it must’ve come out as more of a grimace. “Goodbye.”

  I gently shut the door in his face. Through the door, I heard the ding of the elevator again signaling his departure.

  I turned and hobbled into the kitchen. The bag, I noticed, was full of liquid. Something within it was leaking. I held my hand under it, praying it didn’t drip onto the floor, or worse, my skirt.

  I placed the bag on the counter and went to wash my hands, which had become sticky.

  “Don’t feel sorry, girl,” Janeen said as she emerged from her hiding spot behind the refrigerator. “You don’t always need to tip. Only when someone does something truly exemplary. All that man did was hand you a leaking bag of Chinese food. One might think that, headed up to the penthouse of a building such as this, he might’ve thought twice about his presentation. Unfortunately, he did not. Too many these days tip for virtually no reason at all. That man was paid to do his job. He did it. There’s no reason for you to give him anything extra. Now, if he’d come inside, perhaps set the lunch up on the counter for you, you may consider giving him a tip. However, then he would be guilty of entering the apartment uninvited. It’s very tricky. Best to err on the side of no tip at all.”

  I didn’t like this, but I didn’t say anything. It seemed to me, if I was going to be so rich now, that the least I could do was to pass a little of it along to those who really needed it.

  “I can see your mind,” she said, bringing me out of my thoughts. “You think I’m cruel. That may be so, but you are here to learn. D
on’t forget that.”

  She walked over to the bag and untied the plastic, huffing.

  “Ugh. It’s practically inedible. Get a bowl and plate.”

  I turned to the cabinets, but there were so many of them in the enormous kitchen, I didn’t know where to start.

  She sighed.

  “Today, please.”

  I started at one end and worked my way down. Sparkling crystal wine glasses. Tumblers. Then, finally, plates. I took down two, then found bowls in the next cupboard. I placed everything gently onto the counter beside her.

  “I said, a bowl and a plate. Singular. I have appearances to keep up.”

  Her hands automatically landed on her stomach, smoothing down her blouse.

  How incredibly vain she was. And whom was it she was trying to impress, exactly?

  I took one bowl and one plate and put them back into the cabinets. Janeen opened a drawer of utensils and handed me a fork and spoon. She pulled out a small, round container and poured some of it into the bowl. Soup. Then, from the other, she extracted several vegetables and placed them on the plate.

  At first, I was skeptical. I’d never really had vegetables before. I’d grown up on nutrition squares and mash, when it was available. I didn’t know what to think.

  But when she passed me the two dishes, I couldn’t help but notice the enticing smell.

  She nodded toward the long dining table, enough space for ten guests. I took the dishes and carefully navigated around the kitchen and into the room. When I finally got to the head of the table and put the food down, I let out a sigh of relief.

  “One would think you’d just completed a difficult and impressive piece of work,” she scolded. “Now sit.”

  I sat. Then, without waiting for permission, I picked up a fork and attacked the vegetables. They were rather plain, but I was starving. Then, I went to the bowl of soup, which was much more flavorful.

  Janeen stood over me, arms folded.

  “I can see we will need to work on your manners. Let’s just say this; do not eat while in the presence of a man. Or anyone. You are an absolute slob.”

  I might’ve let this comment concern me, but I was too hungry to care, so I smiled up at her, imagining, hoping, that I had food stuck between my teeth.

  Playing with fire.

  It was just a game I was going to have to get used to. Weeks more with her. I hoped I would make it to the end without her tossing me off the balcony.

  Chapter Six

  She kept me until eight o’clock that night, and by the time she was on her way out the door, I was positively hobbling around.

  I waited for the door to click shut and the elevator to ring for her before I let out my breath.

  I collapsed onto the couch and found that my feet still hurt just from being in the shoes, even though I was reclined. I leaned over, unstrapping them, then tossed each one across the room as hard as I could. They each hit the glass door with a satisfying bang. I dug my feet into the couch, which was soft and plush, yet the pain remained.

  The food had gone quickly, and despite the fact that Janeen hadn’t taken a single bite for herself, I had devoured every last piece of broccoli.

  The vegetables, however, weren’t enough to satiate me. I stood up and made for the freezer, hoping that there might be another tub of ice cream hidden within.

  Nothing.

  Then, on a whim, I went back into the dressing room and found the tub from the night before. The ice cream within it was melted, but the container was still mostly full. I picked it up and took a long draw from it, relishing the sticky sweetness of it. I imagined what Janeen’s reaction might’ve been if she could see me right then. At this thought, I tilted my head back even further and let the cream slide down my cheeks and onto my blouse.

  When the tub was empty, I briefly considered tossing it to the floor and grinding my bare foot into it in hopes of leaving a stain. But then I imagined what my punishment might be in the morning, perhaps scrubbing the floor in another pair of those heels.

  I carried the container back to the kitchen and threw it in the trash.

  I opened the fridge; the only thing that awaited me was the leftover chicken. But the sweet aftertaste from the ice cream was still in my mouth, I closed the door. Maybe later.

  I walked over to the window in my bare feet and looked outside, vaguely wondering where I was. I had been inside this apartment for the last twenty-four hours, and yet I was sure I would find myself lost if I were to go outside.

  Then, unexpectedly, my doorbell rang. I looked up, then around the apartment. I wasn’t sure who I was looking for. Janeen? Someone else to tell me how to act?

  Without anyone to give me answers, I went to the door and opened it.

  No one was there. My heart started pounding. Was this some sort of joke? The elevator wasn’t there waiting for me. Instead, I could see that it was rushing back down to the first floor.

  I closed the door, and when I did, I saw a small envelope had been slipped beneath the crack. I picked it up and opened the flap.

  185 Fifth Avenue. Eleven o’clock.

  I stared at the card, then looked around the apartment again.

  Empty.

  Was she watching me from someplace hidden? Would I get in trouble?

  The thought was ridiculous, and yet it came to mind. I absently locked the door and slid the chain into its catch, then wandered back inside, staring at the card.

  Who was it from? In all the world, maybe five people knew I was here. For a moment, I thought that perhaps it was Jacob from the hospital. Possible, but not probable. The delivery boy and security guard downstairs were also unlikely. That left Janeen and Chambers.

  It was possible it was a test, a trap Janeen was laying for me. But if that were true, what would my punishment be? Death by stiletto?

  I checked my lens and saw that it was nearly ten. Not much time.

  I wasn’t sure how to get out of the building, and this presented a bit of a problem. I was able to see my address in my lens, so at least I would be able to get back. But how could I get out?

  I thought about searching in my lens, but then I realized that the address might be recorded in my file if I were to call for a car. There was a small speaker and handset beside the door, long outdated, but still a hopeful sign.

  I picked up the receiver, and immediately a young man’s voice spoke.

  “Good evening, Miss Page. How can I be of assistance?”

  Handy.

  “I need a ride,” I said, then corrected. “I need a car.”

  “Of course. What is your destination?”

  “Umm. Do I have to tell you?”

  He chuckled on the other end. “Of course not, Miss. What time would you like to depart?”

  I looked around, then down at my clothes, which were now covered in day-old ice cream.

  “Ten-thirty?”

  “No problem, Miss. I’ll have a car waiting.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re quite welcome. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  I searched my mind. Half an hour to get ready. Was there anything else I needed?

  “Do you happen to know how I can get some ice cream?”

  An hour later, I was properly dressed and in the back of a black town car, a half pint of butter pecan in my stomach. I understood now what Janeen had meant by tipping only when appropriate. I was sure the young man from downstairs would have spooned it into my waiting mouth if I’d asked him to. Though, perhaps that wasn’t so unusual, considering my appearance.

  I hadn’t quite known the protocol for tipping, but since I had the ability to message him, I figured out how to transfer him money. I tipped him fifty credits. He seemed surprised and delighted. Seemed good to me. Up until the past few days, I would’ve considered fifty credits to be quite a lot.

  I wasn’t yet used to my body, but I had become surprisingly adjusted to my new voice. It sounded different than my regular voice, slightly higher in
pitch, but close enough that, coming out of my mouth, I thought I sounded somewhat normal.

  I stared out the window, tinted for security, and watched as the city slipped by. I remembered what it had been like to walk in Manhattan, how I’d felt claustrophobic and scared. But this was different. I was nervous, yes, but the idea that my identity was truly masked gave me a sense of freedom I hadn’t had before.

  Nobody knew who I was, save for five, maybe six people in the world, not accounting for plastic surgeons. Was I being monitored now that I had been made anew? Probably. Wasn’t everyone?

  I wondered what sort of risk I was taking now, about to walk into a situation based on nothing more than a scribbled address on a notecard.

  It could be anyone. But there was only one person I expected it to be. The man in charge.

  The car pulled up beside a luxurious looking apartment building, and the driver hopped out and opened my door. This time, when he put out his hand to help me out, I took it. It just seemed proper to do so. Good practice, at least. Janeen would be so pleased.

  Do I tip the driver?

  No. Nothing exemplary here. Then again, paying him for his discretion might be worth its weight in gold.

  “Will you come back for me?” I asked.

  “Yes, Miss. Of course. I will be waiting for you out front when you are finished.”

  “But I don’t know how long I’m going to be.”

  He smiled, earnest.

  “No problem. Please, take your time.”

  I nodded.

  “Okay. Thanks. I mean, thank you.”

  Proper, proper, proper.

  The air was warm but not stifling, and a slight breeze ruffled loose strands of my hair. The driver walked up to the front door of the building and held it open for me.

  “Thank you,” I said again, practicing.

  I walked inside, trying to pretend that I had the slightest idea what I was doing there. Two guards stood beside a metal detector, required to enter the bank of elevators. I took note. I was lucky I hadn’t brought that pistol with me.