Jane Doe

by Victoria Helen Stone

  Me and my Sweetie! That’s the caption she texted with the picture. Her Sweetie. The man who’d chipped slowly away at her unstable self-esteem the same way he was trying to do mine. Little comments about her looks, her intelligence, her choices, her hobbies. Pointed questions about her sex life. Then tiny approvals to soothe her hurt.

  She’d gladly changed for him. She wore longer skirts and stopped going out with her single girlfriends. She brewed her own iced coffee so she wouldn’t spend so much at Starbucks. She stopped working Saturday nights at the bar and grill even though she made the most tips then.

  Too many drunk guys, she explained to me. It’s not really safe. This from a girl who’d held her own working at a seedy nightclub at eighteen.

  And, of course, she’d started going to church. She found God and discovered that she’d been living a wicked life of sin until then. Somehow the sinning with Steven didn’t count. I’m sure he came up with a sound explanation for that, especially when he pushed her to her knees and told her to make him happy. She probably never even questioned it.

  I stare into Steven’s smirking face. The self-satisfied twist of his lips. The gleam of possession in his eyes.

  He left her a voice mail while we were at the cabin. I listened to it after Meg dropped her phone and ran into the bathroom to sob.

  Stop calling me. Stop texting me. We’re not going to be together. I will never marry a stupid whore like you. I would never let you raise my kids. And don’t call my dad again or I’ll show him just how many slut pictures you texted me. Do you think he’ll feel bad for you after he sees you spreading your legs like the piece of trash you are? You’re an embarrassment. The world would be better off without you in it.

  I open the camera feed on my laptop and watch Steven smooth gel into his hair. He’s whistling. Once his hair looks perfect, he makes his bed and then dusts his hands as if he’s finished a big project. He’s so satisfied with his tidy little life.

  I can’t wait to watch it all crumble into a smoking pile of shit.

  My cat appears and rubs her cheek against me in approval. She understands exactly. The kill is fun, but toying with your prey is really the best part.

  CHAPTER 28

  “Is this dress okay?” It’s light gray and fitted. The skirt is knee-length, but the bodice shows off a little cleavage. I’m wearing a white cardigan over the dress and a delicate necklace: a gold filigree cross I bought this morning.

  “It’s fine, but leave the sweater on.”

  “Aw. I think it’s pretty.” I shrug the sweater off and wiggle my bare shoulders. Steven looks away from the stoplight to ogle my breasts.

  “It is pretty, but this isn’t some sleazy bar. Are you wearing a bra?”

  “Yes!” I yelp. “It’s just strapless. Jeez.”

  “Keep the sweater on.”

  “Fine.” I pout. “I just . . . I thought you’d like it, that’s all. It’s a party.”

  He pats my knee and then rests his hand on my thigh. “I do like it, baby. You can model it for me later, all right? Without the sweater. Show me how pretty you feel.”

  I giggle and shove his hand away when he tries to slide it higher. “You’re so bad.”

  “I am, but best behavior tonight, okay? There will be a lot of important people there.”

  “Got it.”

  “No drinking.”

  “Oh. Okay. If you think so.”

  “This isn’t your normal crowd.”

  I nod as if I haven’t been to multiple parties at the American embassy in Malaysia with dignitaries from all over the world. Yes, it’s been all keggers and ragers for me. I hope I’ll be able to keep my panties from falling off in the middle of a conversation about the local chamber of commerce.

  Steven’s been on his best behavior this week, charming and mostly kind, so things are proceeding nicely. I plan on sleeping with him tonight.

  I turn to watch the world slide by through my window.

  It’s dusk, and the streetlights begin to flicker on. All the snow that fell this week has melted, but the weight of it pulled down most of the turning leaves, and the city looks bleak.

  We get on the freeway and head out of town toward houses with bigger yards. By the time we reach Pastor Hepsworth’s house, a little farther away than the church, the yards have turned into mini-estates, each big plot at least an acre of land. “Did you grow up here?” I ask.

  “No, my dad bought this place when he remarried. I was twenty, so I lived here on and off during college, but I grew up just a few blocks from the church.”

  The houses closest to the church are big split-levels built in the early ’80s, and I wonder if that’s why he bought a similar-style house for himself.

  “Your mom is in Rochester?” I ask.

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you still see her a lot?”

  “Not really. She made her choices.”

  “She’s still your mom, though.”

  “She was a shitty mother.”

  “Oh no! I didn’t realize. Was she . . . was she a drunk or something?”

  “No, but she destroyed my dad and broke up her family. She doesn’t get to come back around playing mommy now.”

  “Jesus teaches forgiveness, though.”

  “And God said to stone adulterers to death. I think not spending holidays with her seems like a good middle ground.”

  Yikes.

  Steven takes my hand for a moment. “And when I have kids, I won’t want them spending time around a woman who doesn’t know anything about faithfulness or marriage. Would you?”

  “I don’t know. My mom has been divorced a couple of times, and she’s a good person. She’ll make a really good grandma.”

  “You’re telling me that when your mom was dating and living the single life she exposed you to the best values?”

  “I . . .” I’ve thought the same thing about Meg’s mom, but it’s not that simple. My parents let me live through hell, and they’ve never spent a night apart as far as I can tell.

  “Exactly,” Steven says. “You were probably molested, weren’t you?”

  He says it smugly. Oh, he’s softened his voice to make it sound like sympathy, but I hear the self-righteous lilt at the end. He can tell I was trained from a young age to feel like crap about myself.

  I duck my head and don’t answer.

  “Who was it?” he asks.

  “Come on, Steven. I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s shameful.”

  “You can tell me. If we’re going to have a future, we have to be honest with each other. And God has already forgiven you. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “It wasn’t your fault your mom was living that way. Was it some boyfriend of hers?”

  “No.”

  “Stepdad?”

  I swallow hard and nod. “But it wasn’t . . . it wasn’t that bad, I guess. He just touched me. He didn’t . . . you know . . .”

  “How old were you?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Jesus.”

  None of that’s true. It wasn’t a stepdad and it was far more than touching and I wasn’t anywhere close to twelve. I was seven, and it was the gross man who’d rented a room in our double-wide that year. When my mom explained that he’d watch me when she and my dad were out, I was relieved. So relieved. I’d hated it when they up and disappeared for days at a time. But my relief at having another adult in the house didn’t last more than a month.

  So, by the time I was twelve, I’d already learned I could use my sexuality against men. I could use it against them or they’d use it against me.

  Them or me, and it wasn’t ever going to be me again.

  “That’s when I started going to church,” I lie. “I knew something was wrong. I just wanted someone to protect me, and God was . . . Well, I started going to church with a friend from school, and it felt like God was the only good man in my life. I prayed so hard. And my stepdad e
ventually left.”

  Steven squeezes my hand. He turns into a long driveway and parks behind a line of shiny new cars. He lifts my hand and turns to me before he gives a kiss to my knuckles. “I’m good at protecting people, Jane.”

  I nod and press my lips tight together as if I’m trying not to tear up.

  “And I’m a good man.”

  “I know.”

  “Maybe God brought me into your life to take care of you.”

  “Oh, Steven,” I sigh. I drop my head and sniff, letting my breath shudder out of me. “That would be really, really nice.”

  “I know we’ve only been dating a few weeks, Jane, but it feels like I was called to take care of you. Guide you. I’m not like other guys you’ve dated. I believe in commitment. I believe in love and respect.”

  I breathe shakily and nod, keeping my face covered. “I love that about you.”

  “And my dad already likes you. That means the world to me.”

  “I like him too.”

  “Make me proud tonight, baby.” He pulls me into a hug and kisses my cheek.

  “I’ll try.”

  “Good girl.”

  This was all Meg ever wanted. A nice man who’d protect her. A decent husband who would take care of his family and home. That had been her dream since childhood. I’d seen the notebooks she’d kept as a little girl, with pictures of wedding dresses and Victorian houses and adorably decorated nurseries. I teased her and she laughed about it, but she kept those notebooks her whole life.

  Steven had dreamed those dreams with her. They spoke of marriage and how many kids they’d have. He told her how much he wanted to be the kind of father his own dad was. He even painted a picture of having their first son baptized in the United in Christ Church, the baby’s head cleansed of sin by the hand of his own grandfather.

  I have no idea if he believed in those dreams too or if he was just toying with her. I don’t care. Either way, he built her up on good days and then used the fantasy of their future together to tear her to pieces when he was angry. He knew just what Meg wanted and he terrorized her with her own childhood dreams.

  He thinks he knows what I want too. He thinks I’ll do anything for it.

  We walk through the dusk toward a big white house with a wraparound porch. The lights glow with welcome and warmth. I can hear faint laughter from inside.

  “Steven,” I whisper, tugging him to a stop. It’s time to make clear just how eager I am for the smallest bits of affection. He turns toward me and I gaze up at him, stars in my eyes. “I love you.”

  He smiles and cups my cheek, holding me tenderly for a moment before he gives me a gentle kiss. He doesn’t reply in kind, but he does gaze fondly at me for a long time before putting his arm around my waist to lead me toward the front stairs. He looks pleased, and he should be. I’m vulnerable and he has the power.

  The party is exactly what I expect. There’s soft, vague music playing beneath the murmur of conversation. There’s a room off the entry where everyone leaves their coats. Many square feet of middle-aged white people stretch out before us. I see a few children darting between the adults.

  I stay close to Steven as he picks a trail through the guests. Most of them hold wineglasses, but I’m not allowed to touch. I will absolutely be imbibing in the bathroom within the hour. I’m not good at watching other people do things I want to do.

  If I were really Low Self-esteem Jane, this party would feel magical. The Hepsworths probably call themselves upper-middle-class, but through the eyes of almost anyone else in this country, they’re rich. The lights of an outdoor pool glint through a back window, and they can probably only use it a few months a year, if they bother using it at all. The floors are all hardwood and crowned with molding that looks like icing on a wedding cake. There’s a dining room and a study and a media room, and of course a huge kitchen, complete with two sinks and a fridge that blends in with the cabinets.

  This is the kind of life I can look forward to someday if I can just learn to be what Steven wants me to be. If I can please him, if I don’t make him mad, if I live in the right.

  Steven finds his father and raises a hand to hail him from across the room like a long-lost college buddy. As far as I know, Steven saw him on Wednesday for Bible study. They love each other excessively, and I’m beginning to think their relationship may be my key to Steven’s downfall.

  “Dad!” We’ve worked our way through the crowd to Pastor Hepsworth for the requisite father-son hug and backslaps. I stand demurely aside.

  “I see you brought your pretty friend,” the pastor finally says.

  I smile shyly. “Thank you for the invitation, Pastor Hepsworth.”

  “It’s my pleasure, dear. I’m happy you could make it.”

  “You have a beautiful house. Steven was just telling me he didn’t grow up here, but he got the chance to stay for a while during college.”

  “Yes, we lived a little more modestly when Steven was young, but the Lord does provide.”

  “He certainly does. And Steven can’t speak highly enough of you, sir. I wish I’d had a father like you when I was growing up.”

  He nods sympathetically. “The world isn’t what it used to be, I’m afraid.”

  “It sure isn’t.” I lean a bit closer and put my hand on his arm. “But I want you to know that the church was a sanctuary for me when I was a girl, and I know there must be a lot of young women who look up to you as a father figure. I know I would have.” I nod earnestly and slide my hand down his arm. “Thank you so much for that.”

  His eyes actually look a little damp. He grasps my hand between both of his and squeezes. “That means the world to me. Steven, this girl is just a darling.”

  “She is,” he agrees.

  “Oh, stop now,” I scold. “You’re making me blush.” He’s not, but my words alone will make it true. I wrap my free hand over his for a moment and slide my fingers along his knuckles before he lets me go.

  Steven grins proudly.

  They start talking church business and I smile vacantly as though I’m not listening. I am.

  Before I arrived in Minneapolis, I’d thought I could set Steven up for embezzlement and get him sent to prison, but I can’t see a way to make that happen now. The business is a standard midlevel health insurance company with lots of moving parts and redundant safeguards. The accounting department is located at the headquarters in New Jersey, and all checks are cut there in a process that seems as laborious as childbirth. Steven doesn’t have an expense account. He doesn’t distribute payroll. He doesn’t even shift money from department to department.

  But the church . . . the church no doubt has looser accounting standards and probably a slush fund that pays the Hepsworth family expenses. I may be able to find a way to funnel some of that money into Steven’s personal account. Or maybe just write him a few checks from their account. I’m not bad at forgery.

  “Daniel’s cabin is open next weekend if you’re interested,” I hear Steven’s dad say, and Steven perks up.

  “Are you kidding? I’d love to get out.”

  “Get out for what?” I ask.

  “Deer,” he says shortly, as if I’ve interrupted important talk.

  “Oh no!” I cry. “You don’t shoot them, do you?”

  The men both laugh condescendingly. “Of course we shoot them,” Steven says.

  “But they’re so cute!”

  “They’re also a nuisance. You know how many car accidents they cause every year?”

  “But—”

  “Where do you think your food comes from?” Steven asks. “The supermarket? It comes from animals that people kill.”

  “I know that.” I pout a little, and Pastor Hepsworth reaches out to pat my arm.

  “This is why men hunt and women don’t.”

  Steven winks. “Maybe I should teach her how to hunt and toughen her up a little.”

  “No way,” I protest, but then I see the opportunity I’ve been presented. “Althou
gh . . . I have always wanted to learn to shoot.”

  “Oh ho!” Pastor Hepsworth cries. “She gets better and better! Maybe you should give her some lessons.”

  “I could come to the cabin with you this weekend!” I suggest.

  Steven clears his throat. “That wouldn’t be appropriate, Jane.”

  Oops. I’ve painted myself as a woman who’d spend the night with a man she’s dating. “Of course. I only meant—”

  “Perhaps just a day at the range to start,” Pastor Hepsworth suggests. “Or maybe fishing.”

  “Yes. Perhaps.” We fall into an awkward silence. “Well,” I murmur, “I think I’ll find your wife and wish her a happy birthday.”

  “Good idea,” Steven says, turning away from me to talk to his father again. I’ve been dismissed for my transgression. Such swift punishment.

  I smile as I walk away. Steven truly doesn’t want his father to see him as anything other than the perfect Christian son. I’m kind of surprised he ever let Meg move into his house in the first place, but she told me once that his family had no idea. He probably made her keep all her stuff in boxes in the storage room just in case his dad stopped by.

  I know Steven will stick close to his father for a while at least, so I grab a glass of white wine from the caterer’s bar and roam the rest of the house. I discover a big family room and another office, this one tucked at the end of a hallway near the laundry.

  Slipping inside, I close and lock the office door behind me and turn on the light.

  I sip my wine and methodically go through the drawers of the desk, but most of the documents are at least five years old. I do make one interesting find, though. Medical bills and records for an infertility specialist. Not exactly a big surprise when an older man is trying to knock up a younger wife. Still, I might be able to use it. I tuck the papers into my purse just in case.

  I slip back out into the hallway and nearly run into one of the caterers coming through a back door. “Spanx,” I complain. “They never stay up.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, I finally said screw it and stopped wearing them.” I give her a high five.

  After ditching my empty wineglass, I venture back toward the main crowd and finally spot Rhonda, the birthday girl.