The Deviant

by Adam Sommers

  “I do love you, Warren,” she said in a far-off voice. “You were right all along. Show me how much you love me.” Almost against his will, Warren pulled her hair harder and he found that he wanted her right then as badly as she wanted him. Jayne winced in pain and her body shuddered. “Mmmm…We can have a life. We can. This is how.” She pawed at his arm tenderly. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

  “Are you being serious, Jayne?” Warren asked awed and incredulous.

  “I think. Maybe. I can love you. It’s like I’m floating.”

  Zalinsky had to fight his own emotions. “You say you can love me, but still you were about to shoot me?”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. Please fuck me right now,” she said as if in a trance and began moving into position.

  Zalinsky was frozen. The thing he’d dreamed of was right in front of him. There was a way forward for them. He’d found it by accident and now, now that he knew how it could happen, he was flushed with hope and desire.

  “Warren…Warren!” Eric cried out. “The papers. The tape.”

  Zalinsky ignored Eric. “Jayne, I never knew.”

  “Neither did I. Tell him to go.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Eric barked. “Wake the hell up, Zalinsky. The tape. The papers. Let’s go.”

  Clearly, his big black-haired friend was torn.

  “She’s a lying psycho, Warren. Get the paper signed. Get Brielle. Remember Brielle? Your daughter? That’s why we’re here.”

  “Yes,” he said, but leaned forward as if he was going to kiss Jayne Grayman on her neck.

  “Warren, Warren, Warren,” she purred and stiffened as he approached. “You’re so stupid. Hah, you’re just my little cunt, aren’t you?”

  “What?” asked Zalinsky in disbelief. “What did you say?”

  “Woof, woof. Why don’t you walk me like a dog?”

  “Are you insane?”

  “You’ll do anything I say because you love me. You’re my little cun….OWWWW! Stop! I like it but that’s too much.”

  Warren, sickened at himself for his moment of foolish weakness, had pushed his thumb into a pressure point in Jayne’s shoulder. “You, disgusting crazy bitch!”

  That’s better, thought Eric.

  “Sign the paper, Jayne. Right here.”

  She took the pen and he backed off just a little bit. “Did you really think I’d love you?”

  Warren would not put up with that mocking tone and pushed harder than he had before. He knew how to cause pain without causing damage.

  “Ahhhh!” she cried out.“You beautiful bast…”

  Then he did it harder. “Aaa aaaa! STOP IT!”

  “Sign it and I’ll stop.”

  With her mouth contorted and a tear inching down her cheek, she scrawled her signature in the two places indicated.

  Warren removed his thumb from her neck. “Thanks. Eric also has something for you.”

  Eric fished out one sheet of paper on which he had written Jayne a little speech. In it she confessed to “sexually inappropriate actions including violent assaults” but she was also “seeking help from medical professionals” for her “disturbing, often cruel compulsions.”

  She looked up from the paper, horrified. “I’m not saying any of this,” and she tore it to shreds. Eric simply produced one of several other copies he had with him. Very relaxed, he said, “It is up to you. This is your farewell speech from the newsroom, or our tape is the lead item on CNN tomorrow night. I don’t care which. Really.”

  He flung the paper at her and turned to go. Warren was right behind him, but he knew her too well to turn his back. Instead, he backed out of the room, down the hallway and toward the stairs. Then he heard her her thundering feet on the floor as she came barreling out the bedroom door, probably hoping to shove him down the stairs or do some other harm. When she saw that Warren was prepared, she slowed to a walk. Without the element of surprise, she had no hope of hurting him. He was simply too big and strong.

  He backed down the stairs as Jayne stalked him but did not close the gap.

  “Get the car started, Eric,” Warren said. “I’ll be right out.”

  “Sure?”

  “Sure. Just saying my goodbyes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Run, Eric, run. Run back to your safe little world.”

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you? I’m working for The Post starting next month, unless John can talk me out of it. I told him we’d have lunch.”

  “It’s a lie. I’d know.”

  “You can check first thing in the morning, as you start cleaning out your office.”

  She turned almost plaintively toward Warren Zalinsky.

  He shrugged calmly, like always. “You can’t stay, Jayne. Don’t make us humiliate you. We have no incentive to pull any punches. Make the speech, say farewell, leave.”

  “Get out,” she hissed so quietly they could barely hear. “Get out,” she repeated slightly louder. Still going backward, Warren Zalinsky edged out the door. Eric got in his car. Zalinsky followed and they peeled out of the posh driveway into the rich neighborhood and smoothly drove back toward the city.

  Chapter 46

  Carrie stood with Eric and watched Jayne say the words he had written. It was being videotaped, so even though she had agreed to Eric and Warren’s demands, the world was about to know at least part of the truth of who and what she was. Even without all the gritty details, it was still a very juicy story.

  She descended from her balcony for the last time, shook hands with a few people, took a brief look into the heart of the newsroom and made eye contact very briefly with Eric. Wow, thought Eric, didn’t expect that. But he smiled a big smile and waved cheerfully. A cloud of darkness and hate flitted across her brow, but so fast probably no one else noticed. Carrie jabbed Eric in the ribs. And he grabbed her hand.

  Jayne’s driver appeared at her side, took her small bag, and then Jayne Grayman was gone from their lives. It was Thursday.

  Mitch slid up on the other side of Eric Berger and ask oh-so-innocently, “Any idea what really happened?”

  “I dunno. I heard she got in trouble.”

  “No shit?” said Mitch sarcastically.

  “Yeah, rumor is she got caught fucking a goat.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “Always suspected she was horny little thing.”

  “Muh aha hahhha muh hhuh,” laughed Mitch. “Can’t wait to tell that one to Terry.”

  Chapter 47

  Carrie Scanlon fooled around with a few ideas: Invite Eric out for dinner (No, too boring and predictable). Invite him to the park for a picnic (No, too 1890s). Barge into his apartment unannounced, wearing nothing but a fur coat. (Fun, but Mitch could be there and too risky.). Finally, she settled on the traditional direct approach. She asked him to come over for dinner, saying only that she had a surprise.

  There was no conflict with Warren, who was no fool. It was obvious to him where Carrie’s interests lie and, since he was now pretty well consumed with building a relationship with little Brielle, he had made the transition from Carrie’s lover to friend with no drama for either party. Just as importantly, Warren had let Eric know that the path was clear, should he want to go that way. But, as he had told Carrie, it was tough to get a solid read on what feelings Eric might or might not have for her. Sure, he liked flirting with her in the office, but if there was more to it than that neither Warren nor Carrie was able to tell.

  So inviting Eric over for dinner was a bit of a gamble for Carrie. On the surface it was just a kind of celebratory affair, reveling in the demise of Jayne and the elevation of John Williams to editor-in-chief. The trouble was, once Eric was actually in her apartment, with her, all alone, she did not know how long she would be able to hold out before she simply jumped on him and tore his clothes off. Carrie fi
gured it would be somewhere between six-point-two and six-point-eight seconds after he opened the door.

  As she watched his Honda pull up, she made herself breathe, calm down, get the dinner she had made ready. She’d gone to considerable trouble to make something special: stuffed flounder and twice-baked potatoes with cheddar and bacon. Simple salad on the side.

  The doorbell rang and Carrie, to her credit, let it ring a second time before she got up, smoothed her pretty, but not overtly sexual, blue flower-print dress and opened the door. Eric was dressed in new pants and a striped button-down shirt. He had a bunch of daisies in his hand.

  “Thanks,” said Carrie, still outwardly relaxed. She took the flowers and went to the kitchen to get a vase. Poured the water in, carefully snipped off the ends of the stems, took the packet of powdered food and added it, then put the flowers inside and set the vase on the dining room table.

  “They’re beautiful,” she gushed, her voice only a shade higher than normal.

  “The lady said they’ll open up even more in a few days and they’ll last a couple of weeks at least.”

  There was a short silence, then Carrie piped nervously, “I’m sorry, I’m a terrible host. You want something to drink?” She had her back turned to Eric, hoping he could not tell she had started shaking as she primped the flowers. When she didn’t hear a response, she turned around to see where he was and found he had silently walked up right behind her. They launched their bodies into each other at the same instant. Carrie pressed her lips to Eric’s and he felt her thin arms nearly crush his body to hers. How can she be this strong? Eric marveled, again, before pushing her up against the kitchen counter.

  Chapter 48

  Almost three months later, in a nondescript office building just outside Baltimore, the home of Premiere Communications, the staff was in a good mood, especially Jayne Grayman. She had morphed seamlessly from The Washington Standard to her role as operations officer for Premiere, which her good friend Pam Morgan happened to have a controlling interest in. There was nothing particularly special about the business. Just a medium-sized shop that was slowly building a reputation as a “fixer.” When disaster struck, they could quickly put together a public profile that made the disaster seem a little less disastrous or, at the very least, made the people responsible seem somewhat less responsible.

  Everyone was thrilled because they had just signed a contract with Allied Materials, one of the country’s largest processors of raw materials—and one of its worst polluters. No one cared really when the fish downstream died in bunches a couple of times a year, but a fire at their plant had turned the air black in Glen Gardner and sent seventeen preschoolers, their teachers, two administrators, and a work crew to the hospital with burns to their lungs and exposed skin.

  The company needed to get in front of it as best and as quickly as it could. Jayne had preemptively prepared statements for the CEO and was working on a “corrective measures report” to hand to reporters when they asked what was being done. Because Jayne Grayman had frantically pushed everyone in her office for two days straight they had been able to get a proposal to Allied before anyone else and thus scored a huge contract.

  So people were celebrating. Jayne had ordered in a big spread of food and booze that the staff greedily gobbled down. The party lasted the entire afternoon and even past closing time when a few stragglers held on until they too drifted off toward home.

  There was a knock at the door to her office. “Come in.”

  It was a blond with pale skin and the body of a ballet dancer whom she had asked to come see her when the others left. He was one of the writers, if Jayne remembered right. He’d mentioned something about working on a script for a play and he was one of the team that whipped up the first release for Allied Materials. It was good, she had to admit. The right balance between “we didn’t do anything wrong” and “we’re working to help those who were injured.”

  “Get a drink.”

  He looked nervous, but helped himself to the small bar at the side of the office.

  “Pam tells me you’ve got dreams of having a play on Broadway. That right?”

  “Mmm, yes. I’m writing all the time. I just love writing. Some day it’ll pay off even though getting produced takes an act of divine intervention.”

  “I see. You’ll have to show me your scripts some time.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m not just saying it. I have friends who work in theater, who have money and, if the project is right, could help you.”

  “No kidding?”

  ‘No, no kidding,” she offered in a slightly mocking tone.

  “That’d be awesome.”

  Jayne smiled at him. “The question is: How badly do you want to make it?”

  “Badly, really badly,” said the lithe blond.

  “Well,” said Jayne softly. “Let’s find out just how badly.” She moved around to draw the blinds on the office windows even though everyone had taken off. The writer squirmed and looked for the door.

  “Relax,” Jayne said. “Why don’t you try your drink?”

  The blond remained standing and looked again toward the door, but he did take a sip and then he took another. “You could really help with my play?”

  “Absolutely.” But Jayne could see he was still on the fence, so she added, “I’m sure it’s great. I loved the way you handled the release.”

  The man nodded his thanks and took a sip of his drink, an encouraging move for Jayne Grayman. “What did you say your name was?”

  “I didn’t say, but it’s Eric.”

  “No shit?” Jayne sputtered. “Your name is really Eric?”

  “Yes, Eric Kasmire, why?” the young man asked, somewhat confused and defensive.

  “No reason,” Jayne purred to smooth feathers. “Finish your drink.”

  Acknowledgements

  My thanks to Sheila Dougherty

  for her kind, careful, and insightful editing,

  And to Harvey Cooper,

  who is the best in the business.