by L Neil
When it’s clear that I won’t back down he confesses, “If you didn’t want me, if you said no... I would not have accepted your answer.”
He slides his hands around my waist and lowers his lips to my ear. His rich, smooth voice pours into me, through the curtain of my hair, “You could never fathom how deeply I have loved you. How far I would go.”
Those hands pull me in close. With my body now pinned against his, my entire being starts to hum with need.
“For many years, I dreamt of you - of how my name would sound on your tongue, what you would feel like in my arms, how red your cheeks would grow when I made you horny.”
He cups my arse and begins to knead it. When he loosens a heavy sigh, I shudder and feel myself becoming wet and ready. My face grows warm - there is no doubt that he has made my cheeks red now.
“If I asked you to be mine and you declined, how could I possibly let you go, knowing that it was my one shot and that even my fantasy of you would be ripped away? No, I wouldn’t take no for an answer,” he breathes. “Baby do you know what I’m trying to tell you?”
Realising that I should be afraid, I tense in his grip.
“Are you implying that you would have killed me?” I ask, trying not freak out too much.
His surprised burst of laughter startles me. “God, woman. No.”
I’m glad he can find my reaction amusing.
When he leans back, he keeps his hold on my waist and says in earnest, “I would never harm you. No matter what.” Then he chuckles. “That was a very casual way to ask me, by the way.”
“Well, I had to be cool in case it was the truth. I could pretend it don’t bother me and slip away into the night,” I joke. But that is pretty much what was going through my mind, so, not really a joke.
Eyes sparkling, he runs a hand through my hair. Then he sighs and says, “What I would have done is pluck you from your little world and held you hostage in mine.”
“So, kidnap me, then?”
“Mm hmm.”
Why is the idea so... tantalising? Surely, I should be petrified. Instead, I slide my hands up his chest, over his shoulders and ask softly, “You’re not joking, are you?”
He shakes his head, a sharp no. “It would have been so simple. You know I have the means.” There is no trace of humour left when he leans in and claims my lips with a hard, urgent kiss.
It seems he has gathered courage from our kiss because he suddenly declares, “I think it’s time I tell you about our prisoner.”
I think about how honest he has been with me and decide to admit, “I know it’s the Taxidermist. I overheard your meeting weeks ago.” Embarrassed, I bite my lip. He watches the movement like a hawk.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Please don’t be cross.”
His deep voice mumbles, “That was very cheeky of you.”
“I know. I swear I’ll try not to do it again-
“But it’s not the Taxidermist.” He rests his forehead on mine and tells me, roughly, “It’s Tommy.”
Moments pass as his words sink in and at some stage, I no longer see the room or Frank.
I’m back in Tommy's red, beaten up Volvo - his hand clamped over my mouth, making my horrified screams futile. With every strained breath I take through my nostrils, the smell of popcorn wafts from his warm, clammy hand.
My mind screams at me that this isn’t right, that this can’t be happening. But he is everywhere, tearing me apart.
Why is this happening to me? How do I stop it?
I can hear Frank calling my name, but he is still so far away.
All the pain, the anguish and the shame well up so suddenly that I forget how to breathe. The all too familiar feeling of panic has set in. I am no longer in control of my useless, weak body and there is not enough fucking air.
“Baby?” Hearing the distress in Frank’s voice helps pull me back.
I need to stop. I have to. It’s not fair to myself and I know it.
Hot tears are running down my face and it’s happening in the present, not just that night, long ago.
“I’m so sorry,” Frank groans and that’s not right. Why is he apologising?
I remind myself that Tommy’s not on top of me, destroying my body, my mind. No, that happened years ago.
Taking deep breaths, I centre myself, remind myself that it’s over.
Right now, that piece of shit is in the basement – in my basement.
I wipe the tears away with my sleeve and finally meet Frank’s eyes, so full of anguish and sorrow for me.
Shaking my head, I tell him, “Don’t be sorry. Take me to him.”
Frank opens the basement door and, always the gentlemen, motions for me to go through first. Then, he watches in quiet amazement as I lead the way.
When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I find myself in one of the nicest basements I have ever seen. I suppose it’s more of a wine cellar, with barrels stacked against the brick wall ahead of me and bottles slotted into spaces on the wall to my right, opposite to the staircase.
Below the rustic, dimly lit candelabra in the centre of the room, there is a lump of a figure tied to a chair. But I don’t give it much mind – not just yet. It’s like my brain knows that it’s not quite ready.
Half of our security team is here. Max is closest to the stairs, to us. Antonio is next, stationed by the barrels, undisturbed by our arrival. Last is Dominic, standing in a typical bodyguard stance with his feet apart and one of his hands gripping the other wrist in front. He is by the wall of wine bottles, nearest to the slumping man tied to the chair.
Do they know?
The thought makes my stomach twist. With a heavy heart, my eyes bounce between them to try and determine the answer. But then Frank whispers in my ear, “No one knows. Not a single soul.”
My eyes land on Dominic again. I notice that he isn’t his usual, petulant self for once. No, he is curious as to why I’m here. Not just curious, though. The bags beneath his black scrutinizing eyes are tight and his jaw clenches on and off. If I didn’t know any better, I would say that he is concerned about me.
What do the others think of this? One look at their disinterested faces tells me that they must assume Frank is just giving me a little show and tell.
These men helped find Tommy, a stranger, and they had no idea why Frank wanted him. And not just the men in this room, either. Tommy is the “other target” that they discussed at that meeting with Leo and all those other men I don’t know.
It’s a weird feeling, realising that they procured him for Frank to torture but had no idea why.
Finally, I turn my attention to the man tied to the wooden chair. Fighting the urge to crumble, I take a steadying breath and walk around to I.D. the prisoner, as suggested by Frank. He said he was certain he had the right guy but that I must be sure before we decide what to do with him next.
There is a drain beneath the chair, which must be where his blood, urine and other excrements are washed down. The scent of the citrus detergent they use to clean it up is the strongest in the cacophony of smells.
Is there something wrong with me to not be repulsed by all of this? What does it say about me that I am not disturbed in the slightest over the torture of another human being, no matter how much they may deserve it?
As I step past Max and Antonio to stand by Dominic, I can see that the hair is matted with both dried and fresh blood. It is impossible to tell what colour his hair was to begin with.
Cuts and bruises cover the large, muscled arms and torso. Tommy was large, muscular and tanned too, but a lot can change in ten years.
The man flinches as I draw near and I think, too bad if it was the wrong guy.
Just when I think that it would be too difficult to distinguish who I am looking at; bright blue eyes shine between the thick streaks of blood covering his face and I know.
It’s him. It’s definitely him.
I thought I was prepared; thought I was ready. I was wrong.
I sway o
n my feet and quickly remind myself to continue breathing. It takes an incredible amount effort not to fall down into that deep despair again. Seeing him here – right in front of me – is almost like a physical blow.
But I cannot see any spark of recognition in those eyes and words can’t describe the anger and the hurt that I feel at that. After what he did to me – the hell I had to live through – he doesn’t even know who I am.
I look up to Frank, whose own eyes are hooded, and teeth are gnashed together in anticipation of the coming violence. Somehow, I have made it obvious that he got the right guy. It must be the way I’m trembling, barely holding myself together.
What the fuck do I even do right now?
I exhale long and hard until my chest hurts.
Franks asks the men to leave us, but I reach out to grip Dominic’s arm, stopping him from going. I’m not even sure why I’m doing it, but I hold on.
Instead of getting confused or annoyed, Dominic seems willing to stay in place. When I drop my hand, he straightens up once again, resuming his position.
As Max and Antonio’s feet shuffle up the stairs, I can’t bring myself to look at Frank. Not even as he approaches us with echoing footsteps.
“Helena, darling,” he rasps, “I’m here.” He steps between me and the prisoner and lifts my chin, compelling me look at him. He is pissed that I want Dominic to stay but he won’t get mad at me. He never could, apparently.
The man in the chair whimpers and thrashes against the ropes at the mention of my name.
A tear spills down my cheek. Now he knows who I am.
Swiftly, Frank turns to backhand him, the sound of his slap simultaneously sharp and thick. The prisoner grunts in pain and the sound is wet, wheezy.
Just as smoothly, Frank faces me again and says, “There is no need for anyone to stay. I’ve got you.”
Yes, usually I feel safe with just him. But Dominic is… my guard... and maybe I’ve just got used to him being around. I really can’t explain why I need him to stay.
I have no doubt that Frank is the most dangerous man in this room, no matter how strong and imposing Dominic may be. But... Frank is the one who brought the monster to our home and I know that’s not fair but... I can’t think straight. All I know is that I don’t want Dominic to leave.
It’s redundant anyway, any plan to protect me. No one will be letting Tommy loose. There is no chance that he is walking out of here alive.
“Fuck!” Tommy chokes, claiming our attention again. “I didn’t mean to do it.”
WHAT?
Frank steps aside so that I may take a turn to hit Tommy and I do - I slap him across his stupid, fucking face.
My hand stings but that’s about it. I don’t feel any better. I’m still shaking, still broken, still raw.
I hit him again, this time with a closed fist.
Why doesn’t it feel hard enough? It’s sluggish, useless. I’m too weak – just as weak as I was in his car that night.
Tears flow as I deliver another blow, this time hooking him in the stomach. He doesn’t seem to be that bothered, only exhaling slightly.
He had fooled my stupid, younger self with his charming words and his handsome face. I hit him repeatedly in that same face and it’s not enough.
It will never be enough.
My knuckles ache and for some reason that only pisses me off further.
“You didn’t MEAN to do it?” I choke. “What the fuck?” I claw at his cheeks with my nails, the skin catching on his flesh, tearing it.
Finally, there’s a scream – but it’s mine.
When I close my mouth, I can hear him groaning, whining. Yes, that must hurt.
When I let go, only to start clawing at the skin on his forehead, he begins to sob. It’s starting to feel like I’m getting somewhere now. I had forgotten that you don’t necessarily require strength to cause someone pain.
If he were to live through this, which he won’t, he would have the ugliest scars. Fucking asshole.
He took so much from me.
When I retract my nails, blood wells up in the pockets of broken flesh above his eyebrows.
I catch my breath as I roll up my sleeves and then I plant my nails on his twitching, shining chest.
Just as I am about to shred him to pieces, he sobs, “I was… only supposed to… date you.”
Bright red blood drips down his eyes and spittle shoots from his swollen lips as he continues, “I… didn’t know how… to make you stay.”
I back away. “What?” I breathe.
Am I supposed to understand what that means? One look at Frank and Dominic’s confused expressions tells me that I’m not the only one who is lost.
“Answer her!” Frank shouts and it is menacing, terrifying.
But Tommy has checked out and doesn’t respond.
Dominic is suddenly beside me, kneeling on the floor. Even bent down like this, he is so tall.
He picks up Tommy’s hand and grips the jaws of his pliers onto one of the remaining nails. It’s no wonder my earlier attacks didn’t faze Tommy much – he has been tortured much worse over the past week.
Dominic only applies a little pressure and it’s enough. Tommy breathes hard and fast and then spills it out in one long, devastating blow:
“Jimmy didn’t want you going out with those Mariano boys. He said if I could date you, he’d bring me in, make me rich. I went too far, I know. I was just caught in the moment. I’m sorry,” he sobs, “I’m sorry.”
Jimmy.
My own father.
I collapse to the floor in despair and blood rushes to my ears, drowning out the world around me.
When Jimmy found me on the front lawn, broken and bleeding, sure, he was shattered. But he didn’t cry. No, he was…confused, unsure. I had assumed that he was ashamed or worried about my reputation after being violated in such a way. But no, it was something else.
He knew it was his fault.
Trembling, I look to up at my husband. I can see my father’s death in his glittering eyes.
A strangled cry brings my attention back to Tommy. I watch as Dominic tears the nail from his finger, aware that it’s not necessary because he had already answered my question.
“Wait!” Tommy howls. “Please, there’s more.”
Dominic pauses and looks down to me. I guess I’m calling the shots.
“What?” I growl at Tommy. How can there possibly be more to know than this?
“He paid a cop to cover for me. I can tell you his name… if you let me go.”
I don’t recognise the cackle that escapes my lips. And I didn’t expect to be laughing anytime soon, but there we have it.
Dominic raises an eyebrow, and questions me, “Campbell?”
Meeting his eyes, I softly say, “Yeah.”
“W-wait, you… you know?” Tommy stammers.
“Yeah.”
“Fuck.” He breathes harder and faster now. He knows it’s over for him.
Dominic ponders this for a moment. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time.” He clears his throat. “All I knew was that you killed a cop and that we needed to make it go away.”
I look to Frank, who nods.
So, Frank is the reason I didn’t get caught. He covered up my crime. My guardian angel – or perhaps my watchful, obsessive demon.
I ask Frank, “Did you even wonder what Campbell did – the reason why I killed him?”
“Of course. But after doing some research, I discovered that he liked little boys, so I had no cause to think he had done anything inappropriate with you. I thought, if anything, he may have hurt your brother.
“But like I said,” he shrugs, “I never needed a reason.”
Little boys huh? I’m feeling less and less guilty about ending his life by the minute. And Jimmy was in cahoots with this guy? Man, he and I have a lot to discuss.
Now that’s the understatement of the century.
I laugh to myself and both men appear concerned. They don’t know wh
at’s so funny. Honestly, neither do I. I guess it’s either that or cry.
And I refuse to cry in front of Tommy.
Minutes later, we are standing in the rose garden out back. Max had helped Dominic carry our prisoner up the stairs, out the back door and down winding path of terracotta tiles.