“I want a camera,” she says. “Like the one I used to have. I want to take pictures again.” Before I can reply, she closes her eyes again. I run my hand over the curve of her shoulder and down to the dip of her waist. The blankets are thick but I can still feel her body beneath them. However, I'm not going to get into bed with her, no matter how much I may want to. Soon, when I'm less raw and angry and shaken, I'll come back for her. Not tonight. Tonight I may do something I'll regret. But I won't forget. She'll rue the day that she caused me this much aggravation.
“I'm going to make you suffer, pet,” I say as I stare down at her beautiful face. “I'm not sure how yet, but going to make you wish you'd never left this room.” I press my fingers through the thick quilting, feeling the warmth of her body through the layers. “That's a promise.” Then I force myself to turn and go, shutting the door behind me softly.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I haven't personally laid eyes on the Hamina estate in quite a few months, but Bryan tells me the crumbling fortress is still standing. He tells me the front gate is almost rusted shut and that the ivy has grown out of control and now covers the front visage of the house. The old willow tree still stands in the overgrown back lawn. There's no house staff. There's no groundskeeper. Adrienne has completely let the multimillion dollar property go to rot. While she was off living in ditches in third world countries and getting herself blown up, she was sitting on a prime piece of real estate and pretending it didn't exist. Part of me is curious as to why she neglected her childhood home, part of me understands, and the other part of me doesn't care in the slightest. All I know is that I want it.
Jessica Stockton-Hamina is going to give it to me.
She doesn't know that yet, of course.
Stuck in traffic on the West Side Highway, I check my phone. My attorney sent the documents over for review and I've read over them twice, but I skim over them once more. Selene is away to her family's vineyard in Napa Valley for the weekend so I don't have to worry about her. I can completely focus on the task at hand. I keep getting distracted, though. I smoke a cigarette and drum my fingers on my knee, trying not to be impatient. The drive downtown is taking longer than I would prefer. Jessica will be at the loft soon. I planned to arrive before her to make sure everything else is in place and ready to go. Tonight, I'm finally going to get the last piece of the puzzle. Tonight, I will finally have complete and total possession over Adrienne. She doesn't know it yet, but she will. I can't wait to see the look on her face when she realizes it. However, there's something else to look forward to as well. Something that will be very satisfying. Something that I've been looking forward to for the past two weeks.
I've finally figured out how to get my revenge on Adrienne.
It took me a few days of intense thought but when the idea came to me, I knew it was perfect. It would kill two birds with one stone and get me everything I want. It's a decidedly cruel plan but I want to hurt her for hurting me. I want to hurt her so badly that she'll never think of doing it again. I want to flex my power because it feels good to be strong. I definitely don't like how weak I felt when I was out in the middle of the cold, wet night, searching for her in the maze.
Unsurprisingly, she got the flu after her adventure in the hedge maze. For three days she was bedridden with a high fever and chills. For three days, I stayed in the city but I watched her, morning, noon, and night. I almost couldn't function because of the preoccupation with her condition. That was unacceptable to me. After tonight, I'm not going to have that hanging over my head any longer. After tonight, she'll understand how serious I am. She'll know that this isn't a game she can win. My victory was always guaranteed, whether she realizes it or not.
Bryan pulls into the parking garage beneath the building. He parks in the spot formerly designated for Cora. We take the elevator together to the top floor and walk in silence to the loft. Cora left with relatively little trouble. She demanded more money before it was all said and done, of course, which I gave to her with no complaints. It was worth it to have her out of my life. The dissolution of our contract was mostly clean, and I appreciate that the most.
The loft is already set up for what I have planned. It's empty except for a table and chairs and an enormous sectional couch that stretches underneath the windows. There's also a small flat-screen television monitor set up on the kitchen counter. I glance up at the corners of the main room and the cameras are all there, catching our every movement. When Cora lived here, I kept an eye on her occasionally, but not as much as I watch Adrienne. With Cora, it was more of a sexualized thing. I watched her when I wanted to get off. With Adrienne, it's different.
Every time I watch Adrienne, it feels like when I was a kid and used to go to the Central Park zoo. It was intoxicating for a whole different reason. I used to stand outside the walled off enclosures and make up stories about the creatures in their natural habitats. How wild and free they must've been, and how caged and bored they were in captivity. I never had any inclination to live a wild life, even as a child. I didn't need to; I got all my needs met by imagining theirs. And by witnessing those magnificent beasts, tamed and taken care of in that unnatural way. I can't tell you why I liked it, just that I did.
Jessica arrives twenty minutes late, citing traffic as an excuse. She's dressed in an ankle-length fur coat even though it's not entirely cold enough tonight to warrant it. The dark color sets off the unnatural red of her hair and the sickly paleness of her face. Bryan lets her in and she steps inside carefully, cautiously, like she isn't quite sure what to expect. I bury the urge to grin as I pour her a glass of wine. This is going to be fun, I think. Very fun indeed.
“Thank you for meeting me,” I say, calmly, to put her mind at ease. “I promise I won't take up too much of your time.” I could tell her that it will be quick and painless, but that's a lie.
There will be nothing painless about it.
*****
I can hear Irina saying my name over and over. I can feel her hands on my shoulders, shaking me. I try to push her away, but the metal handcuff around my wrist that binds me to the headboard limits my movement. The chain is long, but it's tangled around the bedpost and the pillow. I whine in annoyance. She's determined to get me to wake up, even though it's her fault I'm like this. She's the one that's been doing his bidding. She's the one that pricks me with the needle three times a day. She's the one who won't unbind me. She's the only one, in fact. I haven't seen Marketa or the other nurse in many days. At least, I think it's been days. I can't really be sure.
“Wake up now,” she says and I can hear a bit of fear in the back of her throat. “Can you open your eyes?”
“Yes,” I say, even though my mouth is dry. “I just don't want to.” Thankfully the sound of my voice stops her from shaking me. I groan and shift, trying to get comfortable again.
“You sleep long enough,” she says, her voice already sounding far away. “How do you feel?”
“Water,” I say, finally opening my eyes. My throat has been scratchy and sore since he carried me out of the hedge maze. I was sick for awhile afterwards and I still feel weak. After all the crawling I did and all the strength I gained, after my sickness, my muscles feel limp with fatigue. I haven't been eating properly. If I want to get strong again, I have to eat. I have to start doing my exercises again. I have to start living again.
“Here,” she says and I lift my head as she presses a cool glass against my lips. I pull the glass out of her hands greedily and gulp freely. The liquid feels good. My skin feels hot. Ever since the fever passed, my skin feels hotter than normal. I think it's the blood under my skin, trying to send me a message. My blood wants to pump and my heart wants to beat. I got a taste of freedom and my body wants it back again. “Thank you,” I murmur, when I can speak again. “I'm hungry.” She shakes her head.
“No food yet,” she says.
“What's that?” I ask, my attention drawn to the television placed at the end of the bed on a wheeled cart. It
wasn't there when I went to sleep and I haven't watched television in a very long time. But I don't get any answer. She's already closing the door behind her, leaving without a word and leaving me alone with the television. It's an older model, a hulking tube TV. I wonder where it came from. I sit up and my head swims for a minute as all the blood rushes to my brain. I press the heel of my hand to my forehead as I scoot forward, yanking on the chain of the handcuffs as I move. It's infuriating, how he feels like I have to be chained like this. I hate it. But for the moment, my attention is elsewhere. I lean forward and pull myself closer to the end of the bed. There's cords connected to the TV, running down to the floor and out of the door. My eye follows them. I wonder what's on the other end.
I wonder what he's got planned.
I roll around and stare up at the camera's little blinking light. I know he's watching. I can feel his eyes on me, just as if he were here in the room with me. I lift my arm, drawing his attention to the thin but strong silver cuff around my wrist. I rattle the chain. I get no response of course, just the constantly blinking light. It's just as frustrating and silent and distant as he is. I wonder how he would feel if I chose not to play his game. If I close my eyes and pull the covers back over my head and ignore him. Before I can think more about it, an electric hum and a static pop sound behind me as the TV turns itself on. I gasp in surprise and push myself up on to my elbows to look.
There's a woman on the screen. And a man.
“I didn't expect to ever find you below 14th street,” the woman says, her voice echoing in the room they're standing in. “Is this your loft?”
“It happens to be for sale,” the man says. “Do you want to buy it?” I suck in a breath. The picture isn't crystal clear and there's static from the poor connection but I know who it is I'm watching. I know instantly.
Jessica is wearing the fur coat my father gave her. I recognize it easily.
“It reminds me of when I first moved to the city,” she says. “I stayed a few blocks away.”
“Oh?”
“In a loft with other models from my agency. We had bunkbeds from floor to ceiling in every room,” she laughs lightly, but mirthlessly. I lean crawl forward, as much as I can until the metal cuts into my wrist. “The other girls came and went so fast I barely even learned their names.”
“You were a model?” he asks, but from the way he asks I know he already knows the answer. He's toying with her. Or flattering her. I can't be sure which it is. Either way, I don't like it.
“Yes,” she says, faintly. She sips at the wine he gives her.
“Where are you from?” he asks, lifting his own wine glass as well but not drinking from it.
“Wisconsin.” I'm surprised she answers with the true answer. She doesn't like to tell people where she's from. She likes to pretend she's from a more special background, a background that made her more worthy of living the life my father left her. I would've given anything to have grown up in the cozy little house she grew up in. We would laugh about it, how our different lives had ended up in the same place. How we'd ended up together anyway, despite everything.
“I can honestly say I've never been to Wisconsin.” He shifts his hips and, even though I can't see his facial expression clearly, I know he's fucking with her. Making fun, in his annoyingly arrogant way.
“A man like you has no need to go there, I'm sure,” she says, her voice even lighter than before.
“I don't have much time for pointless excursions, sadly,” he sets his glass down without ever having taken a drink.
“Dorian-” she begins but he holds up a hand.
“You're right,” he says without letting her finish. “Our time is precious, is it not?” I swallow hard, wondering what he's doing. Why he's showing me this and what he has planned for Jessica. I have a very bad feeling. It settles in the pit of my stomach, cutting off all thoughts of hunger. Now I'm glad I didn't eat. I already feel nauseous. “May I take your coat?” he asks and she shakes her head quickly.
“Adrienne,” she says and my heart jumps in my chest. Of course this is about me. Of course it is. He smiles and I wish I could reach through the screen and pull her away from him. I wish I could protect her.
“Ah, yes.” He motions his hand and a man I didn't know was there steps into my field of vision. He wears all black and he's a bit shorter than Dorian, but thicker. Stockier. He looks vaguely familiar but I can't see his face well enough to know for sure. He holds a rectangular case that's twice the size of a briefcase. “I've acquired some artifacts that might be of interest to you.” He points toward the large table that's left of the kitchen and the man sets the case down on the table. Then the man in black disappears again, moving to the edges of the frame where I can't see him.
“Please, Jessica,” Dorian moves forward and pulls out one of the high-backed chairs that flank the table. “Sit.” After a moment's hesitation, she obeys him, sliding into the seat and perching on the edge. She crosses her legs at the knee, out of habit, no doubt. I can see her heeled foot shaking and bobbing and I can practically feel her nervousness through the screen.
“What is it?” I ask, to no one, but wishing with all my heart that she could hear me. “What has he promised you?”
*****
It's almost more perfect than I imagined.
Jessica runs her hand over her hair, like she's self-conscious being this close to me. Her diamond-studded wedding ring catches the light of the modern chandelier that hangs above us. It's an impressive piece of jewelry, but I wouldn't expect anything less of her late husband. He had either good taste or a very good jeweler, seemingly. The piece is big but not gaudy. It shines as only a well-mined and expertly cut diamond could. It's better than any piece of jewelry I've given Selene, in fact. I wonder if Adrienne ever admired it on Jessica's finger. I wonder if she ever had a taste for such things. I wonder if she ever wished for a man to give her such a gift.
I have many questions about Adrienne that will probably never get answered.
That's something Jessica and I have in common.
I step around to the table and pull the black case closer to me. I glance over at Bryan and he nods. He knows what's in the case, as do I. They're some of my greatest treasures after all. Treasures that I've been hiding away all to myself until this moment. I flatten my hands on the smooth leather of the case, a feeling of possessiveness coming over me. I don't want to share but it's a necessary evil. Never show your hand, my father used to say. This feels like revealing a few too many cards, but it can't be helped. Without wasting any more time, I unclasp the case and spread it open.
The case is separated into compartments, each containing one or two items wrapped in plastic. Theres a bag of latex gloves on top of and I select a pair and tug them on. Jessica sways slightly in her seat and I glance over at her. She's paler than before, if that's possible. She's staring at the case and I understand the morbid fascination that she must be feeling, the feeling of needing to look but not wanting to look.
I pull out several plastic-bagged items and set them on the table, one after the other. First, items recovered from the hotel - her comb, then a pair of her pants, then a shirt. Jessica makes a small noise in the back of her throat as I spread the items out, but nothing more. No tears, interestingly enough. Then I reveal the well-worn leather duffel that she had with her on the night in the museum. It's still packed the way Adrienne left it in the hotel. I haven't removed the clothes or other items inside of it. It's preserved exactly in its original state. Surprisingly, that's the item Jessica reaches for, her hand pressing into the plastic wrapping.
“Where did you find it?” she gasps.
“The hotel where she was staying,” I say. “Down the street from the café.”
“I gave her this bag.” Jessica looks up at me, her eyes wide. “When she was seventeen.”
“Do you want to see more?” I ask. She nods and I know I have her. I decide to give her one more thing, the second biggest jewel in my collection.
I pull out the disfigured hunk of plastic, carefully, like it's worth its weight in gold. And it is. It was worth everything I had to do to get it, all the things I had to see, all the hassle, trouble and danger. I open the plastic bag, carefully, and the smell of it is indescribable. Ash. Burning. Scorched earth. Jessica reaches for it, but I keep it out of her grasp. “We found it across the street from the café, in the gutter.” I hold it up and study the remains of the camera in the light. The lens is broken and bent to the side. The buttons are melted. The whole thing is sloped and flattened on one side. The thin piece of strap that remains is frayed and burned at the edges. It looks like a piece of modern art now, an ordinary object transformed into something extraordinary. “She had it with her when the explosion happened. It was probably ripped right from her hands.”
“Give it to me,” she says and I have to suppress a smile at her desperate tone. “I have to check something.”
“Do you doubt that it's hers?” I turn it over carefully in my hands, revealing the dented metal plate at the bottom. She stands quickly, pushing the chair back so quickly it almost falls over. She presses her hands over her mouth, suppressing a strangled scream. She still doesn't cry but it hardly matters. This is the reaction I wanted. This is the reaction I needed. Bryan steps forward but I ward him off with a glance. This is far from the end.
“Is that all?” Jessica says and I can hear the pain in her voice. “Is that all that's left? What can fit in baggies and boxes?” She shakes her head, like she can't understand. “Where's the rest? Where's the rest of her?” She points her finger at me, eyes glittering with emotion. “Didn't you look everywhere? Didn't you search for her?”
“There's more,” I say. “But I'm not sure you want it.”
“I want it all,” she pleads.
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