The Deviant

by Adam Sommers

  “An a case a beer.”

  “Ah,” said Warren Zalinsky.

  “I’ll pay for the uh…you know…whatever. Ya got sumpin’ I can wear an I’ll get outta here.”

  “Bullshit,” Warren grunted. “You’re still drunk and it’s late.” He threw a set of sweats at Eric and some underwear. All of it was far too big for him, but it was better than nothing. He sat on the couch, tilted his head back, and immediately realized that was a terrible idea. The room began to spin and dip. He put his face in his hands. That was a little better. The room flattened out.

  Warren came over with a big glass of something. “Here. You need to drink, a lot.”

  Eric took the proffered glass.

  “Gatorade. Best thing for you.”

  Eric gulped it down, and he did feel a little less light-headed.

  Zalinsky was dog-tired. It had been a long day even before Carrie’s panicked call. Now, all he wanted was a few hours’ sleep and time to concentrate on his own problems. But what little he knew of Eric Berger was that if he was going to get anything out of him, his best chance was while he was still drunk.

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “ ’Bout what?”

  “You know, the whole prunes, beer, shitting on Jayne Grayman’s desk thing.”

  “How jew even know I was gonna do it?”

  “How do you think? You called Carrie. She called me.”

  Eric shrugged. So what? It didn’t matter anyway. Then it occurred to Eric. “Why the hell ja stop me, anyway?”

  “Don’t blame me. Carrie called to say you were shitting on Jayne’s desk and quitting. It sounded crazy and she seemed hysterical. I didn’t know what she was talking about so I did it for her. If it was me and I knew what you were doing, I’d have held the door open rather than stop you.”

  “You did it for Carrie?”

  “Yeah. Plus, I don’t think you really want to spend much time in jail. It kinda sucks.”

  Digesting all that took a second or two, but when he did, Eric burped loudly and said, “Uh, thanks, I guess, I think. I’ll tell you one thing, though, Warren, I’m still gonna get that fucking bitsh. I don’t know how, but I’m gonna.”

  “Get her for what? What happened?”

  No! No! No! No! No! Eric desperately tried to swerve around the question like a speeding motorist around a deer. But his brain was so soaked in beer that he had absolutely no chance and made a last-second decision to simply plow right into it. “She put something in my drink and ….” Eric gagged.

  “She attacked you,” Zalinsky helpfully finished for him.

  “Yeah, ‘attacked.’ Good word,” Eric allowed. “Or, ya could put it thiz way: Shoved her twat in my face when I was passed out. And I think put sumpin’ up my ass, too, but I can’t be sure.”

  Warren Zalinsky shivered.

  “For all I know, she fucked me too, but I have no way of knowing. Maybe I spewed and she cleaned it up. But, honestly, you think she’s the type to clean up? Shwine don’t clean up. I’M GONNA FUCKING GET YOU, YOU FUCKING BISCH ASZ PSYCHO!” he yelled into the living room.

  “Sh sh sh sh sh,” Warren soothed. “We’ll get her. We can get her. But you must quiet down. You should sleep.”

  “Sleep? I don’t need sleep. I’m gonna go shit on her desk and write fuck you, bitch, I quit, in it.”

  “Great idea, really. Hilarious. Awesome. But the security guys would never let you get close. I’m surprised they didn’t come out at us.”

  “They don’t give crap. They sleepin’ a whole night. Chair’s ’hind da wall. I need clothes. My car.”

  “We’ll take care of it in the morning. Try to relax till then. It’s really late.”

  Bleary-eyed, Eric looked toward Warren but could not focus on his face, his blue eyes and Clark Kent chin. “Warren.”

  “What?”

  “I got two two two two things, two things, two things, I got to say t’you.”

  “What?”

  “First, fuck you for stopping me. I was gonna do it and be gone.”

  “I did you a favor. You’d be in jail by now.”

  “That brings me to my second two thing to say, that I have to say, that I’m gonna say to you. You’re the best fucking friend I ever had in my life.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Eric considered that for a second. “You’re right. As usual. But you’re my best friend for right now. When I kill that bitch, are you still gonna be my friend?”

  “You’re not killing anyone. If you kill her, she wins. You go to jail forever. Is that what you want to think about the whole time you’re rotting in a cell. I’m here because of her?”

  Eric was about to argue, but stopped short. “Who are you, Janon fucking Mathterton?”

  “Who is Janon Masterton?”

  “Never mind. Made your point, ya prick. I’ll just cripple her. Burn her house down. Kill her dog.”

  “She doesn’t have a dog. If you listen to me for two seconds, try to sober up, I might have a way to help you . . . and maybe me, too.”

  “Whoa. Hold that thought.” Eric used the restroom again. This time he took so long that Warren fell asleep where he sat. Eric nudged him awake.

  “You were saying,” Eric began. “You could help.”

  “Yes,” Warren mumbled groggily. “Sit down.” It seemed to Warren that Eric had made somewhat of a recovery. More clear-eyed, steadier on his feet. The clock on the wall said it was two-thirty-seven a.m.

  “The first thing you have to know is she’s going to try to make nice. She’s likely to buy you a gift. It’ll be really nice, something from her world. Fancy, like a watch, a Rolex, or she’ll want to send you on a vacation to like Key West or I don’t know. But like that. Then, she’ll let you run whatever story you want. She’ll be your best friend. In a week or two she’ll call you back to her house.”

  “Wait, how do you know all this?”

  “I know,” Warren Zalinsky looked down. “I just know. Okay?”

  “Oh.”

  Warren winced.

  “Got it,” Eric said. He didn’t need to pry.

  “Go along with it,” Zalinsky continue. “If she asks you back to her house, see if you can get with her in the bedroom. Get her to talk about what she did.”

  “I’m not drinking or eating anything while I’m there and I’m sure as hell not fucking her.”

  “You won’t have to. She’ll come after you a different way. Sweet. Offer you all kinds of things. But if you don’t go along, then her fangs come out. She’ll threaten to fire you. To ruin you.”

  “Ruin what?” Eric squawked. “What’s there to ruin? I’m a guppy. A zero. Plus I’m already planning to quit.”

  “I don’t know. She has a lot of friends. She can screw with your life.”

  Eric hadn’t wanted to invade Warren’s privacy, but curiosity got the better of him and he couldn’t resist. “She did all this to you?”

  “Not important,” Warren waved away the memory as if shooing a mosquito.

  “Come on, what happened? You know about me.”

  “It doesn’t matter. But yeah. It’s like that. Not all of it, but a lot.”

  “Okay. It’s cool, sorry.”

  He ignored Eric’s apology and ventured on. “The important thing is to get her to talk about what she did to you. Make light of it. If you say you liked it, that’s guaranteed to get her all worked up. She’ll want to do it again. She’ll want you to obey her. Sexually. She’ll want to do things…you probably would not like.”

  Eric stared in silent disbelief.

  “Get her to say as much as you can, then get the hell out. It’s all going to be on tape.”

  “She has cameras in her bedroom?”

  “No, but she will…I have a key.”

  “Oh, y
ou’re like James Bond?”

  “No. But, well, I have a little experience. I’ve been trying to get some, uh, information.”

  “I see. For the kid. I get it. And you have cameras in her house?”

  “Not yet. But it’s an idea I’ve been studying for some time. I’ve done some research.”

  Eric had to admit he liked the way Warren Zalinsky thought. “Let’s say you get them in. How do I start them?”

  “You don’t have to. They’ll be motion-activated. If something goes past the beam, the camera turns on. If there’s no motion for ten minutes, it shuts off, saves the battery.”

  “You have to hook it up?”

  “No, like I said, battery-powered, just have to point it where you want.”

  Eric nodded. He’d never been bait before. It was exciting.

  “I’ll put a couple in the living room and a couple in the bedroom.”

  “She won’t notice?”

  “No, I have a good idea where to hide them.”

  Chapter 43

  Late the next morning, Warren drove Eric back to his apartment in Greenbelt and, after safely depositing him there, headed for The Standard. He called in the early afternoon to check if he was okay, but more importantly to see if he remembered their plan and was still onboard. Much to Warren’s relief, Eric was just as enthusiastic about it sober as he had been drunk. The only hiccup was, as he explained to Warren, there was no guarantee he’d ever return to the newsroom.

  He did not reveal all his painful thoughts to Warren, but in the clear light of day the full weight of what Jayne had done to him came crashing down on Eric Berger. From other rape stories he’d covered and read, he knew the victim often felt disgust and self-loathing. In some cases the women suffered psychologically because they believed something they did or said, or didn’t do or say, had led to the attack. To some extent many blamed themselves.

  This wasn’t quite the case with Eric. He didn’t hold himself responsible, but he was thoroughly humiliated. The thought of Jayne’s face, her body, her stinking vagina made him sick to his stomach. He had trouble imagining that he’d ever be able to look at her in person without trying to smash a chair over her head. Rather than risk that, Eric stayed away from The Standard’s office. He did not know how long that would go on for. It might be a day, a week, or forever. He was taking it a moment at a time.

  Warren was sympathetic, and told Eric he should not worry about anything but taking care of himself. The custody fight was something he’d been embroiled in for months and there was no immediate need to take action. Besides, Warren said, Eric avoiding the newsroom could work to their advantage because if Jayne did not see him it would start to make her nervous. She might worry he was up to something, had reported her to the police or was going to leave.

  However, Warren Zalinsky did caution: “You can stay away as long as you like, but if we’re going to try this thing, you’ll have to bring yourself to confront her in person. It won’t be easy, but to get her, you’ll have to face her.”

  “I got it, Warren. I’ll be fine. Just need a day or two.”

  “Great,” Warren sighed. “You need anything?”

  “Nah, I’m all right. Mitch gets me food and such from the store.”

  “Cool. I’ll check in later.”

  The phone rang not long after. Eric let it ring until the machine picked up. It was John Williams, perturbed, telling Eric he’d better have a doctor’s note when he came back, and he better have been pretty damn sick.

  Williams’ angry voice stirred his desire to go back to working on his stories, but not nearly enough to overcome the psychological barriers Jayne had thrown in his path. Every time Eric went to take a shower and started to take off his clothes he stopped. He could not stand the sight of himself naked because all he could see was Jayne on top of him, the big round curve of her slick belly, the smell of her, the rough nubs of her pubic hair. It was too much. He’d pull his clothes back on and huddle in his room, reading, listening to music and sleeping hour after hour.

  Over the course of the next three days Eric slowly descended into an unshaven, foul-smelling, dandruff-coated mess. Mitch served as a kind of a liaison between Eric and the outside world, particularly Carrie and Warren. Eric didn’t want to talk to them, and Mitch urged them not to push. Instead, they got together at Carrie’s to discuss Eric’s situation in private and agreed that they could not let it go on indefinitely. Mitch Lozatti had already gotten the number for Eric’s family in New Jersey and, if Eric kept on like this for many more days, he’d have to make a call and get him some help.

  On day four of his absence, Thursday, the doorbell rang at one-thirty p.m. Weird, thought Eric. He looked like a bum and had a vague realization that his breath was rancid. All he was wearing were boxer shorts and a T-shirt from three days ago full of various food and sweat stains. He pulled the door open not giving a damn who saw him, but hoping it might be a Jehovah’s Witness in a starched white suit. That would be funny.

  Hi, can I tell you about Jesus?

  Hell, yeah, FUCKER, if you’ve got a case of beer.

  But there was no religious zealot. It was a man not much older than himself in a sports coat with no tie, gray slacks, and a clipboard in his hand. “Survey taker! Are you shitting me?” spat Eric out loud.

  “Hey,” the man looked Eric up and down, wrinkling his nose involuntarily. “Are you Eric Berger?”

  “Who’s asking?”

  “Thomas Dreves, Parkside Nissan.”

  “Okay?”

  “Are you Mr. Berger?”

  “Let’s pretend I am.” Eric scratched at his head and flakes flew.

  “There’s a delivery for Eric Berger.”

  “A what?”

  “A delivery. Maxima 3.5 S.”

  “Hah,” Eric snorted. “You got the wrong Eric Berger, buddy. I didn’t buy any Nissan Maxima.”

  Eric closed the door.

  There was a knock.

  He opened it. “I think it is you.” He handed Eric a slip of paper. On it was his name, age, date of birth and Social Security number.

  “Okay.”

  “You, right?”

  “Yeah.” Reluctantly.

  “Then these are yours too.” He gave Eric the vehicle registration, in his name, an insurance card from Liberty Mutual, in his name. “Can you sign here?”

  “Uh.” Mechanically, Eric took the proffered pen and clipboard and signed his name where indicated.

  “Thank you, sir.” He handed Eric Berger the key and walked away to where a coworker was waiting in a separate car.

  Eric tiptoed out to the parking lot where the bright white car was sitting. It was stunningly beautiful. Sexy. Fast-looking. He opened the door and sat down, half expecting it would explode. It didn’t. Then he saw a big note on the dash. “I understand if you use this to drive away, but I hope you don’t.” It was not signed, but then again, it didn’t need to be.

  Chapter 44

  Ten minutes later he was back in his apartment on the phone with Warren Zalinsky. “You sitting down?”

  “Mmm, yeah.”

  “You’re not holding anything sharp or explosive?”

  “Nope.”

  “Not near any ledges or windows?”

  “I’m good, what’s up?”

  “She bought me a goddamn car.”

  Warren whistled. “No shit. You must have something special, kid. I never got a car.”

  Eric detected the jealousy in Warren’s voice, but he did not feel special. He felt disgusted and slightly light-headed. “How soon can you get the cameras set up?”

  “I have visitation on Wednesday. She has to be there to start, but then she bails.”

  “Leaves you in the house?”

  “With my daughter. Yes. She doesn’t have any reason not to trust me.”

&
nbsp; “All right. What do you need me to do?”

  “Just act normal. Go back to work. Happy as hell, loving the car, bragging about it to everyone. Give Mitch a ride in it. Me too.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Be careful, though. She’s got like super Spidey sense to detect bullshit.”

  “I’ll avoid her as best I can.”

  “Definitely. Don’t let her get a read on you.”

  Then Eric reheard in his mind the words Warren had just said. “Did you say visitation with your daughter?”

  “Yeah.” Warren realized his mistake a few seconds too late. No one was supposed to know.

  “She’s the girl’s mom? And you’re…” Eric left the question hanging.

  “Yes.”

  “Wow!”

  “No one knows she’s the mom. Carrie knows I have a girl, but she doesn’t know it’s Jayne’s. Please don’t tell her.”

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly. It’s none of my business anyway,” Eric back-pedaled.

  Reading his mind, Warren Zalinsky explained, “It wasn’t a one-time thing, Eric, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I wasn’t thinking anything,” Eric lied.

  “She hired me. I was excited. She was actually like nice, at first.”

  “Now it’s different?”

  “Well, yes, it’s different. It’s complicated. But even if I meant something to her, even if maybe I still do, it doesn’t matter. She’ll never give in. Even her own daughter doesn’t mean that much to her.”

  “You’re sure? The mother of your child?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. I have to cut her down.”

  “Okay. I just want to make sure. If you didn’t, I’d understand.”

  “No, it’s good. See you at work.”

  “Yeah. See you.”

  Just knowing that he’d gotten at least a little under Jayne’s skin made Eric feel somewhat victorious. The fact that Warren had been right about how she would react gave him hope that the rest of his plan could work as well. Those glimmers of light were enough to pry him from his self-inflicted isolation and go back to The Standard. The trouble was, he had no way of knowing if or when she would ever speak to him, never mind invite him over to her house.