“I need you to start looking for a secure building. One we can load up and lockdown.” My phone starts to ring and I roll my shoulders, annoyed at the distraction. “In Brooklyn.”
“For what purpose?”
“A compound,” I say, the tips of my mouth curving upward without my permission. “Like Lockwood.” I know he'll know what this means. Bryan blinks and I know that's his way of acknowledging my request. My phone vibrates beside my keyboard and as I move to answer it, he turns and exits as quietly as he came. As I speak to the head of my operations in Beijing, I look through my drawer for my father's heavy gold letter opener. After a few seconds, I can't find it. Annoyed and impatient, I grab the envelope and rip it open. I pour out the contents into my palm and my chest tightens.
It's a single shard of beige bone, about five inches long, and a folded slip of paper.
I roll the cool piece of bone in my hand, running my thumb over the minuscule grooves in the surface. The edges are sharp and jagged. I lift it to my nose and sniff. It smells like smoke and blood and death. I close my eyes and try to focus on what the woman on the other line is saying. She's throwing out difficult figures in Mandarin and I know I need to pay attention, but I can't.
I'm holding a piece of Adrienne in my hand.
It's a part of her left tibia, according to the folded paper in the envelope. Bryan had a forensic scientist take a look at it because he knows me as well as I know myself. He knew I would need to know exactly what I'm holding in my hand. I need to know exactly where the bone was in her leg. I'm obsessed with having all pieces of her accounted for. Her belongings from the hotel, her melted camera, and now her bone are all in my possession. I can't believe the small piece I hold in my hand is all that's left of her legs. It's strange, but oddly fascinating. It makes me feel powerful.
I want all of her and soon I'll have it.
And there's nothing she can do about it.
*****
I like my new wheels.
I roll back and forth over the rug so many times it's starting to get grooves. I roll from the bed to the windows and back again. It's something to do and at least now I have natural light. I opened the curtains and instantly the room brightened and felt less dreary. My mood brightened along with the room. I didn't realize how long I'd been without sun. It also feels good to stretch my muscles. My arms are getting a good workout. I know I'll be sore tomorrow, but I don't care.
I return to the window and gaze out again. I can see the familiar Hudson river in the distance, with it's serene glassy top and dark blue water, so I know now that I'm not too far from the city. There's comfort in that. Even though I've avoided the city and my family home for a long time, it feels strangely good to know that I'm close. At the very least, I know where the nearest airport is.
Too bad I have no idea where my passport is.
There's trees and land as far as I can see, but very few houses. Dorian's brought me to a large estate, I'm guessing. Acres of private land, with an English hedge maze and a large pond along the side of the property. I can see a crew of landscapers working in the hedge maze and I bang the heel of my palm against the window, seeing if it's possible to get their attention. They don't look up or pay me any mind. I watch them for awhile, until they move out of my line of sight.
It's early fall, I think. It'll be my birthday soon. The leaves on the trees have started to turn yellow and red. I wish I could open the window and get fresh air into the room. It smells like medicine and blood and me, and now that I can see the land outside, I'm even more stir crazy. I glance up to the camera. The little green light is blinking, as always.
My constant companion.
I wheel back around the bed, taking my time because I'm not in any hurry. Dinner's not for at least another hour. I roll to the pile of books beside the bed, my eyes lazily running up the stack of spines. There's books I've never read before, books that normally would interest me. But none of them sound appealing and it's making me depressed. That's when I see something shiny on the floor, a little thing half in the shadow between the bed and the bedside table. I brace myself and lean forward to study the little shiny thing. Soon enough, I realize it's a cufflink. One of Dorian's cufflinks.
I stretch out my hand, trying to reach for it, but my fingertips barely scrape the wool loops of the carpet. I wheel backwards, giving myself room. Then, as gracefully as possible, I scoot my ass forward in the chair. I take a deep breath and then I throw myself forward onto my hands and remaining knee. The shock of the landing shoots through me and for a long while, I just stay there, my ass in the air.
Finally, I inch forward, my fingers digging into the carpet. I close my hand around the cool metal of the cufflink and drag it out from under the bedside table. I roll over onto my back and hold the bauble up to the light. The cufflink is expensive, of course. It's platinum, with his initials etched in the precious metal. I turn my head, my eyes searching the floor for the other half of the pair. I find the other one behind the table, laying on top of the lamp wire. I reach it with some struggling, but it makes my heart pound. It's like an adventure, somehow.
I hold the matching set up to my face and stare at them. I like the way the pieces catch the light. And if I'm honest with myself, I like that I have a piece of him now, however small and insignificant. A little fantasy unfurls in my mind. I imagine him waking up next to his blond wife and walking to his ridiculously appointed closet. I imagine him getting dressed in an expensive shirt and suit. I smile at the idea of him searching for this missing pair of cufflinks. I like the idea of his face as he searches. I like the idea of him getting flustered when he can't find his favorite pair. He's an infuriating, evil man, and the thought of him getting pissed off when he doesn't get his way makes my day.
It's pathetic but it's true.
I trace my thumbs over his initials in the platinum. For a second I consider swallowing them. Maybe I'll choke on them and that would serve him right. How poetic, to die with his fancy cufflinks jammed in my throat. I close my hand around them and drop it to my chest. I stare up at the ceiling and a giggle escapes my lips. One giggle turns to many and before I know it, I'm laughing until tears are running down my face. I have to take my joy where I can get it, these days.
I can't remember the last time I laughed.
CHAPTER TEN
She's trying to pick the lock.
I'm riding across town in my big black SUV, watching Adrienne in her bedroom. Upstate, she sits beside her door in her new wheelchair, working on the lock with a fork from my great-grandmother's priceless silver collection. I make a mental note that from now on, she only gets plastic utensils with meals. No knives, no forks. Only spoons.
Maybe a spork if she's lucky.
It's been two days since I gave her the wheelchair and she's getting restless. Well, she's been restless for weeks, truth be told. She's almost healed so the pain is no longer holding her back. She's a brilliant woman with a creative mind, and I'm keeping her locked up with nothing to pass the time but figuring out how to escape.
Not smart on my part, I'm beginning to realize.
I should be keeping her busy with my cock.
I watch her fuck around with the lock, curiosity getting the better of me. She doesn't have a chance in hell of opening the door, but I like watching her try. I like torturing her, just a little bit. I like giving her get a smidgen of hope and then yanking it away. I can be a real heartless prick sometimes. But she has to know that I'm the one with all the power in our relationship. She has to know that I own her, completely. She'll learn that in time, but for now, I'm enjoying pissing her off.
My phone rings and I glance at the caller ID.
Selene.
“What do you want?” I say as I answer, not bothering to hide the annoyance in my voice.
“Good afternoon to you, too, my love.” My wife's voice is dripping honey and I know immediately that she does indeed want something. “How's your day?” she gushes.
“What do
you want?” I repeat, my eyes dropping back to the iPad screen to watch Adrienne.
“Somebody's grumpy.”
“It's been a long day,” I reply.
“It's only one in the afternoon, you silly man,” she says with her patented fake laugh. “We could meet for late lunch if you like. I'll even let you fuck me in the bathroom at Per Se, if you need some stress relief.” The sad thing is, I'm tempted to take her up on her offer. My appointment last night with Cora didn't come close to scratching the annoying itch that has been plaguing me for weeks.
“I'll think about it,” I say, because my dick is already hard.
“I'll make a reservation,” she purrs. “Now, I have a great idea. Hear me out.” I don't answer, just stare down at the grainy image of Adrienne. Her breasts move with her as she tries to jimmy the lock. The next time I see her, I'm going to fuck her tits, I decide. Then I'm going to come all over her beautiful face. My cock calls out for relief and I drop my hand to my thigh, resisting the urge to jack myself off right then and there. “Thanksgiving. I think this year we should go away, just the two of us. Maybe Germany. Or Scandinavia. What about Denmark? You love it there.”
“Selene,” I say, my voice a warning.
“I'm not letting you ship me off to Napa again. It looks bad that we never spend the holiday together.”
“I'm not having this conversation with you,” I say, distracted, leaning forward in my seat. I stare down at the screen in disbelief as Adrienne drops her elbow and the door pops open. I almost laugh out loud. She glances back over her shoulder at me and smiles a triumphant smile. “Son of a bitch,” I mutter, a mixture of anger and admiration rippling through me. She's a constant surprise. I guess I should expect nothing less from her.
She opens the door, slowly, her chair making movement awkward. Then she rolls herself to the threshold and peers out into the hallway. On my iPad, I scroll to through to the view from the camera installed in the right corner of the hallway. I can see her, although the light is dim. I watch her inch her way out, confident that she won't get very far. She bangs the chair against the doorjamb, but then she rights herself and continues moving forward.
“You don't have any family except for me,” Selene is saying in my ear, but I'm barely listening. “It looks strange that you don't come to the vineyard. If you're not careful, people might start to think that you don't love your own wife.” She makes it sound like a threat, but I don't think it's any secret that I don't love my wife. Our marriage was arranged between our fathers, and it was a good match. Nothing more, nothing less.
Selene has a habit of forgetting the 'nothing more' part.
Adrienne rolls out into the hallway. To her right is a bank of closed doors – the library, my father's old office, and another bedroom. To her left is the expanse of hallway that leads to the rest of the house. She chooses to go left, like I knew she would. She rolls slowly down the Persian carpet, working her arms. I can see the lines of muscle in her arms and back, pronounced under her skin. I know the more she practices, the stronger and faster she'll get.
For the first time, I regret my decision to get her a wheelchair.
“Maybe this year, we'll go upstate instead of the vineyard. Mother and Father can stay at Lockwood with us, can't they? It's so pretty this time of year along the Hudson,” Selene continues.
“No,” I say, in a tone that leaves no room for discussion. “You're going home for the holidays, like you do every year. I am staying in the city and working, like I do every year.”
“We'll see.” Her tone hardens as she issues the challenge and the true Selene emerges. She likes to pretend she's got fluff for brains, but I know the truth. She's smart and spoiled. She thinks she deserves to get whatever she wants. Unfortunately for her, I'm smarter and more ruthless. She thinks we're playing the same game, but she hasn't even made it out on the field.
“Yes, we will,” I respond, my blood going cold as Adrienne moves closer and closer to the staircase. I can't do anything but watch as she peers over the edge of the bannister and then inches closer to the top step. I change camera angles, scrolling to the camera in the foyer. I can see her at the top of the stairs, her face pale and ghostly in the light from the chandelier. The sweeping staircase is grand, wide, and carved from hard, unforgiving limestone. She sits on the edge of the top step and I can see her thinking about it. I can see her battling with the choice. If she throws herself down the steps, she'll most definitely die. The fall will kill her. I can almost see her battered body, broken at the bottom on the stairs. I can see her blood staining the stone steps. I can see the smile on her face as she dies, knowing that she's won.
“Fuck!” I roar, my voice echoing in the enclosed space of the vehicle. I hear Selene's voice in my ear, but I hang up the phone without thinking. I toss it across the car and I hold the tablet to my face, inches from my nose. My breath fogs the glass screen as I watch her. “Adrienne, don't you fucking do it,” I hiss, like she can hear me. She leans forward and puts her elbows on her thighs. She stares straight ahead like she can see the same thing I can see – her dead body at the bottom of the stairs. The longer she sits there and thinks about it, the tighter my chest gets. “Upstate,” I finally say. “I need to go upstate.”
“Sir?” my driver, Ellis, replies when he figures out I'm talking to him.
“I need to go to the house upstate,” I say. “Right fucking now.”
He takes a right turn at Lexington and we start heading north. I force myself to relax. I know that the longer she sits at the top of the stairs and debates about killing herself, the less likely she will be to do it. She'll lose her nerve and turn around. But I keep watching and she doesn't turn around. She just keeps staring into the abyss.
Finally, after what seems like forever, the head nurse appears at the bottom of the stairs. She hurries up the steps and pushes Adrienne back to her room. She calls for the other nurse, the little mouse, and together, they get Adrienne into bed. She doesn't fight them or talk back. She doesn't struggle against them. She lets them tuck her in. The head nurse, Marketa, glances in the direction of the camera before she hustles her fat ass out of the room. She knows that I'm watching her. She knows she's in serious trouble. The nurses lock Adrienne back in her room and I watch as they disappear to their quarters downstairs. They're flustered and upset, but they think the danger is over.
I know the truth.
It's far from over.
I have the driver turn the car around. Then I find my phone and call Selene back.
“What the hell, Dorian?!” She answers on the first ring. “Did you hang up on me?”
“I'll meet you for lunch in half an hour,” I say, not at all impressed by her outburst. “No panties.”
“Are you serious?” she scoffs, like she isn't going to make good on her earlier promise.
“You heard me,” I say. “No panties.” Then I hang up.
*****
I should've done it.
I should've rolled forward and let gravity take care of all of my problems.
But I didn't. Couldn't.
I press my face into the pillow, hiding my smile. He saw me, I know he did. He'll have to come for me now. He'll have to come and punish me. I know I must really be going nuts if I want him to come back, but I'm itching for him. I want to know what he wants from me. He dangles a wheelchair in front of me, but then he has the nurses lock the door to keep me in. He's playing with me, toying with me, and I don't know why.
I want answers.
I've never sat around with nothing to do for this long. I've been on the move so much that I've never had time to get bored before. Now I'm back in New York, the place I hate the most, and I'm stuck. I need something to occupy my mind or I'm going to go crazy. He knew by giving me the chair he was playing a cruel joke. He thought he was one step ahead of me, but I proved him wrong. I'll keep proving him wrong.
Irina brings my dinner and I roll around to look at her. She doesn't smile when she sees me. Her f
ace is pale and she doesn't look up at the camera. She stares down at the tray as she places it on the table. I sniff the air. The cook is getting more creative with my meals. Gone are the bland broths and boiled vegetables. I smell meat and rosemary and other heavenly scents. Lemon, too. I push myself to sitting and hold out my arms, suddenly ravenous. With a sigh, Irina brings me the tray, but she backs away as soon as she hands it to me.
“Why did you do that?” she asks in a low whisper. “He will be angry.”
“He'll be angry with me, no one else,” I say, as I set the tray on my lap. Sure enough, there's roast duck with gravy, steamed asparagus, and a cup of red wine. On the side, in a little bowl, there's a sizable scoop of lemon gelato. I also notice something else. The silverware and the fine china have been replaced with plasticware. I let out a little puff of air. He's not taking any more chances.
“He will be angry,” she repeats, then she goes.
I eat the duck and asparagus with my fingers because he's only given me a plastic spoon to eat with. I stare at the camera as I do, wondering if he's watching me shove food into my mouth like an uncivilized creature. That's what I'm becoming, after all. That's what he's turning me into. I was never very civilized to begin with, though.
When my stomach settles, I decide to try crawling toward the wheelchair. I haven't tried crawling much, except to and from the bathroom. I need to get used to it. Now that the pain is slowly but surely becoming more manageable, it'll be easier. I scoot down to the end of the bed and grab ahold of the bedpost. I lower myself slowly to the floor, the arms in my muscles screaming in protest. I fall the remaining few inches and land on my ass. A slight but sharp pain shoots through me – a little reminder that I'm not completely healed from Dorian's last assault on me, even though it was many days ago. I'm not sure how many, but it sure feels like a long time.
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