Turning Point Club Box Set

by JA Huss

  “You know, I meant it when I said I was sorry.”

  “When did you say you were sorry?”

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  “No, I’m really asking.”

  “Couple weeks ago, asshole. When you were in my office.”

  “Oh, that?” Ix laughs. “That’s your idea of an apology?”

  “Why are you here?”

  “You called me here, remember?”

  “But why did you come?”

  “You know why,” he says.

  “Because—”

  “What the fuck do you want from me now, Jordan? Huh? What more do I need to give you that I haven’t already?”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “You know—”

  “I don’t know shit. I don’t know you, I don’t know her, and I don’t care, either.”

  “Liar,” I say. “Liar.”

  “Is this girl a gift or something?”

  “What?” His question is so inappropriate, so unexpected, I am at a loss for words.

  “This job, Jordan. Is this some kind of gift?”

  “No,” I say. “No, it’s just a fucking job.”

  “And you couldn’t find another guy to sit in this stupid room and watch her? It just had to be me, right? Is that what you’re telling yourself?”

  “It’s just a job,” I say again.

  “Is that why I’m here on the anniversary?”

  “What?”

  “The night you—”

  “Stop it,” I say. “That’s not why. I didn’t choose this timing. I’m just a guy who fulfills a need. That’s all.”

  “Yeah. Sounds familiar.”

  “Ix.” I sigh.

  “Coincidence, then. That seven years ago tomorrow is the day you fucked up and ruined my life.”

  “I didn’t—” I pinch the space between my eyes, a headache throbbing into existence. “Why are you here?” I ask again.

  He takes a breath. Like he’s about to talk. But the moments drag on in silence.

  “Ix?” I say.

  “For you, asshole. Why the fuck do you think I’m here?”

  And then he hangs up on me.

  Chapter Thirteen - Evangeline

  I awake confused, sweaty, heart racing, panic ready to overtake me… until I remember how I got here.

  Not here the house, but here the bed.

  I turn over, looking for cameras. Find them all. Count them up. One, two, three, four, five, six. And for some odd reason it calms me. Just knowing he’s there. Just a little. Just enough to fight back the full-fledged attack that would surely be coming if I hadn’t been led up to this bedroom last night by his note.

  God, Evangeline, you’re gonna feel really stupid if that he is a she.

  It’s not. I can feel him. His gaze on me, his mind a mess of thoughts just like mine.

  It’s his job. He’s not infatuated with you. You’re just desperate for attention. You’re just craving an emotional attachment, so you’re inventing a relationship that isn’t real.

  It’s something Lucinda might say to me. Though she never has. I’ve had no contact with people other than her in the past year. Not in any significant way.

  I roll my eyes at my own ridiculous assumptions. I’m not infatuated with him either. I just find it comforting that I’m alone, but not. It’s like a halfway point. Somewhere safe but challenging at the same time.

  I have a sudden urge to talk to him. Say something mundane like, Good morning. Or, How did you sleep?

  Does he sleep?

  He must.

  That has my heart fluttering. What if I wake up in the middle of the night with an urge to leave so powerful I just walk out of the house? And he misses it because he’s asleep?

  Which is downright stupid. I had that urge last night and the problem that prevented me from leaving hasn’t changed. I broke my phone in a fit of panic. There’s no landline in here. No way to contact anyone. I have no idea where I’m at in the city. I’m unsure of where the nearest public phone might be, and I have no clear plan to get myself home.

  All those things weren’t enough to walk out last night and they won’t be enough tonight, either. Even if I do wake up in a panic.

  I’ll just go to the downstairs powder room if that kind of reaction happens. Just hide away in there until he figures it out and delivers a note with directions on what to do next.

  That’s when I see the note on the bedside table.

  Not the one from last night. Because that was in my palm when I fell asleep and now it’s somewhere in this massive bed.

  A new note.

  Which means he was in here.

  An unfamiliar flood of heat between my legs sends a quiver through my body.

  He was in here. My stranger. With me. Watching.

  My heart rate kicks up a notch, but not because of panic.

  I hold my breath as I scramble over to the edge of the bed and snatch the note in my hand.

  Evangeline.

  It’s the same crisp, symmetrical print from last night. I trace a finger over my black-inked name. And that little lower-case e squiggle thing is there too. His mark.

  Inside it says, You’re rested, but now you’re hungry. Go downstairs to the kitchen. Make yourself a filling breakfast. Then take a shower and get dressed. I’ll tell you what I want after that.

  I look over at the nearest camera and say, “Do I know you?”

  There’s no answer. And I didn’t expect one, but talking to the camera feels like… a conversation. And I don’t have many of those. The last one was with Lucinda yesterday on the phone. But I haven’t talked to anyone except Lucinda in a very long time. Not even Dan from Mott’s.

  He called me once and left a message. It was about six or seven months ago now. Explaining that he had a lead on the very last recording of Evangeline Rolaine.

  Which was ridiculous because I am her, and I have that stupid recording, and I know damn well no one else has one except me. But I called him back anyway just to see what he had to say.

  The “lead” fell through. Surprise, surprise.

  So that was the last time I talked to someone other than Lucinda in any meaningful way.

  Until yesterday when I said hello to my stranger. And now I’ve asked him a question too.

  I get up, use the bathroom, put my socks back on because this house is freezing, and then make my way downstairs to the kitchen. I’m secretly hoping for another note when I get there, but find none, and a sad longing washes over me.

  Which is crazy. I don’t even know this person. This watcher, this stranger. And there’s no possible way to be attracted to someone from two stupid handwritten notes.

  And yet… irrational as it is, that’s how I feel. Attracted.

  You’re rested, but now you’re hungry.

  I am, I realize. I didn’t eat yesterday. Not at all. I was too wound up to eat breakfast and the afternoon was a hazy nightmare filled with panic attacks and anger.

  But I’m starving now. So I open the fridge, not sure what to expect, but find it stocked, just the way Lucinda said.

  It’s weird, all of a sudden. To feel… taken care of in this small way. The groceries. The notes. All of it hits me as a collection of very touching gestures.

  There’s not a lot of variety of food. Lucinda wants me to run out sooner rather than later, so I know she did this on purpose. There’s fruit, a slab of bacon, half a dozen eggs, some lunchmeat that looks to be turkey or chicken, a tomato, a head of lettuce, and butter.

  In the pantry I find nothing but a single loaf of white bread.

  Yeah, this is not gonna last more than a few days. I suppose she didn’t want to spend too much money on groceries when I could bail out on day one.

  And almost did, I remind myself.

  But I’m still here. Thanks to the stranger.

  I make bacon, eggs, and toast with butter and scarf it down so fast, I regret not making more.

  But I’m eager to see what’s next from my stranger
. So I go upstairs and take a shower. I don’t see a camera in the shower, but he’s clever, right? There could be one. So I pretend there is one. I wash myself seductively, soaping up my breasts and rubbing bubbles between my legs until I have to close my eyes.

  And then I feel stupid because I’m like ninety-nine percent sure there’s no camera in here, even though I wouldn’t mind if there was.

  When I get out, I realize my suitcases are still downstairs.

  There’s a brief moment when I consider walking down to get them…naked.

  What would he do?

  Would he like that?

  The heat between my legs and the quiver in my stomach are back.

  I’m kinda horny. I might like to masturbate and take care of that.

  Instead, I wrap the towel tightly around my body and snap back to my senses. I’ve just been so alone for so long, these small flickers of attention are enough to make me irrational.

  He’s probably old, I tell myself. And not my type.

  Do I even have a type?

  I laugh out loud at that as I make my way over to the double doors, but stop short when I pull them open.

  Because my suitcases are already there. At the top of the stairs. Right outside my bedroom door. And there’s a note attached to them.

  Evangeline, it says on the outside.

  Take off that towel. Find the black panties and bra, the white sweater and the gray pants, and put them on. Then put on your coat and shoes and take a walk outside in the yard.

  Don’t forget… I’m watching you.

  X

  Is that x as in x? Or an x as in hugs and kisses? Like xxoo?

  I look up and find every single camera. Look straight into each one.

  Your move, Evangeline, that silence seems to say.

  So this is a game, is it?

  I should be mad. Pissed off even. That Lucinda told me to come here as a place of safety. Somewhere I could be watched anonymously. Get used to the idea of eyeballs on me twenty-four seven. Get past it, over it, move on with my life and never have to think about my watcher again.

  This is not about sex, Evangeline.

  Sure, Lucinda. Sure it’s not.

  But I’m not pissed off at all. I’m not the least bit unhappy about the fact that this is, after all, about sex. It has to be. In fact… I’m thoroughly intrigued. A little turned on. Maybe ready to play his game. Maybe even ready to strategize my own game.

  Chapter Fourteen - Ixion

  She stares up at me. The camera me. Challenging.

  She’s been through so many emotions since she got here it shouldn’t surprise me how far she swings. But it does. Because challenging glares imply power and if there’s one thing Evangeline Rolaine isn’t, it’s powerful.

  “Are you watching me?” she asks the cameras.

  “Yeah,” I say through a smile. “I’m watching.”

  “Because I’m about to put on a show.” She looks away, her cheeks red with… what? Shame? Embarrassment?

  I don’t think I care at the moment.

  Her chest rises and falls dramatically. Like she just took a deep breath of courage. And then she turns her back to the camera I’m watching through, peeks over her shoulder, and lets the towel fall down her body.

  Her shape is hourglass curvy. Her legs are long and her wet hair trickles water down her spine and right over her plump, tight ass.

  She’s still peeking over her shoulder when she sighs, closing her eyes. Her arms are moving and I search each camera angle trying to see what she’s doing. Her position in the room is ironically perfect. Because I don’t have a view of her front.

  I think she’s playing with her tits. She might even have fingers between her legs.

  The urge to speak to her through the microphone is almost overwhelming. I want to tell her to turn so I can see. I want to tell her to do other things too.

  Dirty things.

  Stick your fingers in your pussy, then stick them in your mouth. Suck them like you would my cock.

  These thoughts make me hard and my hand wanders down to my growing dick.

  She begins to pant heavily. Her eyes still closed, her arms still moving. Conveying the impression that she’s masturbating.

  This… is not what I expected out of the terrified prodigy recluse.

  I lean back in my chair, unbutton my jeans, pull my cock out, and join a game that can’t lead to anything but self-destruction.

  I like those games though. It’s been a long time since I’ve played a proper one.

  She stills for a moment, opening her eyes to stare over her shoulder at the camera.

  “Keep going,” I whisper, wishing she could hear me. Wanting her to hear me. “I’m just getting started.”

  But she doesn’t. It’s like she heard me, because she shakes her head, stills her hands, and then steps forward towards her suitcases.

  I can see her body now, but suddenly it’s not enough. I need more. Her nakedness can’t make up for the show that just ended. My balls are as hard as my cock. They need relief.

  But Evangeline, again, like she knows this, is abruptly task-oriented as she pulls her suitcases into the room, closes the door, and drags them over to the closet.

  I spend the next thirty minutes frustrated as hell, watching her take garments out, hang them up, all in the nude.

  I mean, what the fuck? She hates people looking at her, but she’s OK with hanging up clothes naked?

  She’s taunting me, I decide. Playing a little game with me.

  “Bitch,” I whisper. “You’re playing with the wrong guy today.”

  For a woman who’s locked herself inside for twelve years, afraid of the most innocent of glances, she has taken to this new role of manipulative exhibitionist uncannily quick.

  I hear her giggle a few times. Like she’s thinking about me sitting in this room, watching her, all frustrated at her lack of cooperation.

  What the fuck? Is she like… crazy? I mean, obviously she’s crazy. She thinks eye contact is something to panic about. But is she… sick? Perverted?

  I tuck my dick away and breathe through the frustration. Watch her finish hanging up her clothes, then find the outfit I chose for her.

  She lays it out on the bed and looks up at the camera. “You won, I guess.”

  Did I? I scoff out a laugh in my little basement room.

  “Because I’m still here, right?”

  Yeah.

  “And I just hung up my clothes like I’m staying. So congratulations, stranger. You win. I’m gonna see this through, I guess.”

  My unexpected smile is so wide, if anyone saw me, they’d call me the lunatic. All these years she’s hidden herself away. And all it took to make her face her fear was a little kink?

  Maybe she’s not psycho? Maybe she’s just sexually repressed? Maybe all she needs is a good fuck?

  For a second I consider going upstairs and fucking her right now. Showing myself. Jordan can shove his rules up his ass. Fuck his rules. Fuck her doctor’s orders too.

  But that last one makes me stop.

  She’s under the care of a doctor right now. I would be a monumental douche if I took advantage of her… condition.

  She gets dressed, her game seemingly over now, because she does it quickly and efficiently. She dries her hair, puts on a little bit of makeup, and then makes her way downstairs to find her coat in the powder room, right where she left it.

  She returns into view bundled up, gloved hands holding her phone, which she thrusts at the nearest camera in the hallway, and says, “Could you get me another one of these?”

  I lean in to get a better look and see the telltale spiderwebs of a cracked screen.

  “I promise not to call Lucinda if you do,” she says, almost too sweetly.

  “Who’s Lucinda?” I ask out loud. “Her doctor?”

  “I just like to have it, ya know?” she continues, sighing loudly. “There’s no landline in here.” It’s like she knows I’m wavering on this request,
because she keeps going. “I’ll stay. I promise. I’ll do what you say.”

  God, that makes me hard again.

  “I promise.”

  She stares up at the camera a little longer, then she sets the phone down on a table in the hallway, puts her sunglasses on, and walks away.

  I follow her, changing camera views, as she makes her way to the ballroom where there’s a set of double doors leading out into the back garden.

  I realize there’s no cameras out there. I didn’t put any in. Just… never occurred to me. And Jordan never specifically asked for them. So now she has two places she can hide from me.

  Is she hiding from me?

  Did she, a woman who came into the house powerless yesterday, just take control?

  No. That’s not how this goes down, Miss Rolaine.

  I’m the one in control here.

  Chapter Fifteen - Evangeline

  I’m tingling with the pent-up sexual frustration possessing me so thoroughly, it hums through my body like electricity.

  The property walls in the front of the house continue into the back, the thick, evergreen holly hedges high enough to make it feel cozy and confined. It’s a place all my own, I realize. Outside. Nothing like the terrace at my apartment. That’s not really private. At least it doesn’t feel private. This… this feels a million worlds away from that.

  I begin picturing this yard in the summer when the trees are filled with leaves and the garden beds are blooming with flowers.

  Someone loves this place.

  Who?

  Is it Lucinda’s house? It’s got a lot of bedrooms. And they’re all set up for a family. Two girls and a boy, I realize, picturing the children’s rooms on the second floor. And they must have a lot of friends or relatives to feel the need for so many guest rooms.

  What would that be like?

  The lives of other people fascinate me. Have always fascinated me, ever since I was a small child. I had my life. It was the only one I knew. But I saw the way others lived and it made me so curious. How they interacted and shared things. Stupid things like inside jokes. A shared history. Little—or big—experiences that bound them together into a unit.