“Hire whatever staff you need to keep an eye on this place and the boyfriend’s apartment, as well as any other locations you know she frequents.” Spencer nods. I turn to the open car door; the driver waits silently. “And when she shows up, I want her detained. She is not to be left alone. Tie her up, cuff her, strap her down, drug her, whatever is necessary,” I turn to Spencer to finish my statement. His brows are raised, but he doesn’t say anything. “Just do not let her get away.” I don’t wait for his response, only get in the backseat. “Ride along with me, Spencer. I have a few other things to discuss with you as well.”
Anderson Valley: Simon Lamb
I silently congratulate myself on being right. Red responds to the rough shit. She’s pure sex—rough, hot sex. This is the version I saw downtown, the version of her that fucked me without even stopping to get my name, the version that got so excited when I whipped her last night. This version matches my darker desires perfectly.
I grin and she grins back, reaching across the table to grab my arm. Her hand’s still a little sticky, but we both ignore this. “Why don’t we go back to bed, Trust?”
“All right.” I stand and pull her up to press her body against mine. I have a fleeting insane thought. Is this considered cheating? I laugh and she looks up at me, touching my lips with her fingertip. She tastes like fruit and syrup. I turn around and grab the syrup from the table. She cocks an eyebrow at me but doesn’t say a word as I lead her back to my room.
I lock the door behind me but put the key back in the same spot on the dresser. Turning around, I see her standing in the middle of the floor. She’s watching me, waiting.
I walk around her to the bed, putting the syrup on the nightstand. I frown looking at the sheets, remembering the sweet smile she had for me this morning, but this is different. This time isn’t about sweetness. Red isn’t about sweetness. This is insane! I should stop right now and get her to a doctor.
“Take your clothes off, Red.” I can hear her following my order behind me. I’m a bad, bad man.
I turn around. She’s still just standing and watching, but she’s beautifully naked now. I’m shocked by how dramatically different she is from the girl this morning. Grace was sweet, tentative, gentle, soft. She seemed smaller and everything about her was tender. She wasn’t weak, but she was submissive. That version pried me open with her softness and forced me to accept the craving to feel more with her than I’ve ever felt with anyone. She was the version I’m afraid will wade with me into unfamiliar waters of deeper emotions.
Now she’s all angles and hard lines. She stands with her hands on her hips, jutting out her body to show off. Her lips are wet and slightly apart, not quite shaped into a smile. And her eyes move over my body slowly. This is a woman who knows what she wants and just how to get it, a polar opposite from this morning. This is the version I want to take deeper into the darkness I’ve always known and craved. She’s the version I know will all too willingly force me into more familiar waters of sadistic desires.
I’m almost kicking myself for not seeing it sooner. I imagined all sorts of crazy stories to explain Grace, but multiple personalities was too crazy to even be on my radar. Now, it seems so obvious.
“Grace?”
She smiles. “Simon?”
“No, I mean…” Fuck. This is going to sound insane if I’m wrong. “Should I call you Red or Grace?”
She only smiles more, cocking her eyebrow and hip at me. “Call me whatever the fuck you like, Trust.”
This is getting me nowhere. I have to know if my theory is right. I can’t just keep going on like this with her. My cock doesn’t agree. I’m hard just looking at her, and her frank desire and bold words only make me want her more.
But I’m not a monster. I’ve had women under my control for as long as I can remember, but I have rules. I don’t take advantage of girls too young or too weak. I suppose I should add “no crazies” to my list now.
What I felt for her last night and this morning was real. I wanted to comfort her, to protect her. I move my eyes over her whipped body and bruised face. Okay. So I don’t mean protect her in the traditional sense. I laugh at my whirling thoughts.
She frowns. “Wanna let me in on the joke?”
I move into my bathroom and come back with my robe. “Put this on.” She frowns more but takes it from me, holding it against herself. “I don’t know exactly how this works, but I need to talk to you. To Grace.” She continues to frown at me, not putting the robe on, not moving.
“So talk.”
“No.” Here goes nothing. “I don’t think you’re the right one to have this conversation with.” I sound like the nutjob here.
She looks around the room, laughing. “Well, I’m all ya got, so shoot.”
“I think I know what’s wrong with you, Grace. I want to help.”
She drops the robe. “I think the only thing wrong here is that I’m naked and you’re not, Trust.”
“I know about your apartments in Chinatown and Potrero and your job in the Castro, Grace.” This does it.
She blanches like I hit her again. Her eyes become completely impassive; her body stiffens. I can only stare, fascinated with the quick and subtle change to her. I think for a second that she’s fainting as she collapses onto the floor, but she steadies herself. She stands back up with the robe in her hand, putting it on without looking at me.
She turns away and perches on the chair I spent the night in, her hands clasped in her lap, her chin lowered. I have no idea where to begin. My mind is going to a million places at once.
I sit on the bed. “Grace?”
She still won’t look up. “How do you know about all that?”
“I first saw you over a year ago. I followed you. I told you it’s what I do. I was going to grab you and bring you here.” That all seems like so long ago, like we were both two different people then.
“To sell me.” She looks up. Her eyes are bright but no tears fall. She’s amazingly quiet and soft. I’m the one that’s a coiled up mess of tense muscles and clenched fists. I’m trapped in her steady gaze.
“Yes.” Only when she looks back down am I able to speak again. “I lost you when you didn’t return to Chinatown. It wasn’t until I saw you again, randomly, that I knew about your place in Potrero. I tried to find out more about you, but you’re pretty good at hiding.” She smiles slightly.
“Not good enough apparently.”
“I didn’t figure out the rest until this morning.”
“The rest?” Her eyes slowly look up. The fear I thought I wanted to see has her breathing a little heavier. Now, I’d give anything to make it go away, but I have to know.
I can hear myself saying the words, as crazy as they are, “Your different personalities.”
She looks back down. “Oh. That.”
I laugh. I expected her to deny it or call me nuts or jump up like the wild animal she was yesterday. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
Her voice is so quiet, but she finally breathes out, “Yes.”
I bring my hands up to the sides of my head, staring at the ceiling. I’m frozen like this for a long time. I can’t even get my thoughts to stop bouncing around. I had a theory; I examined all the things I knew about her last night, but I couldn’t imagine what it would mean if I was right. I finally pull my hands away when Grace stands up. She moves slowly and with tiny steps, like she’s waiting for me to stop her. I just watch her as she gets closer.
She finally sits down next to me, putting her hand over mine gently. I had one thought last night and today that kept circling all the others. I tell her before she has a chance to say anything, “I want you to stay.” Her hand squeezes mine.
“You can’t.”
I laugh a harsh, low rattling of my automatic response, “Don’t ever tell me what I can or can’t do, Grace.” I rub my thumb over her fingers. “You said you wanted to stay.”
“That was before…”
“I told you that I wouldn’t
give you a choice.” And I still mean it.
“That was before too…”
“Well, nothing’s changed.” I’m glad that my voice is back to sounding strong and commanding at least.
She looks up at me and smiles. “You’re a bad liar, Simon. Everything’s changed, and you know it. You don’t want me here. How could you?”
I turn to her more, putting both my hands to the sides of her face. “I do want you. I said that this morning after I’d already figured you out.”
“You want me as your slave.”
I smile at how the word sounds from her sweet mouth. I let her face go. Taking her hand instead, I avoid answering her. I’ll need more time to figure out what all this means, what her staying would mean for us. “I want to help you.”
“I don’t need your help.”
I laugh again. “You think you can go around bouncing between different homes, being different people…for how long?”
“I can take care of myself, Simon.”
“You were living in a rat hole as one person and fucking everything that moved as another.” I say this louder than I intended. She recoils and tries to take her hand away, getting up. I grab her wrist and yank her back onto the bed. “I’m not judging, Grace.” She stops trying to pull away, but she won’t meet my eyes.
When she’s sitting quietly again, I ask the questions that have been racking my brain. The ones that I thought about last night, remembering the small amount I learned in psych class. “Do you have any control over it? How long are you able to stay one personality? Do you all know about each other?”
She laughs this time. “I have some control. More since…” But she doesn’t finish. “I’ve had more control over the last few years. For the most part, we know each other pretty well.”
“Have you seen a doctor?” I keep thinking that I should be getting her to one, not sitting on my bed chatting about it.
“Yes. It helped. A little anyway.”
“Is this the real you or is Red?”
She laughs again. I’m still startled at how calm she looks during this insane conversation, how calm I am. “Both. Neither. We’re both just a part and whole on our own.”
“Do you know how many...you are?” Wow. It just keeps getting crazier.
“Five.” Because she’s watching me closely, I keep my shock in check. “I think you’ve met all of us.”
I think back to each encounter with her. I think she’s right. I have seen five distinctly different versions of her. “When did this start?”
“I’ve always been like this. We have been five since I can remember. I’ve always had the others to…to step out when needed.”
“To protect you?”
“We protect each other.” The craziest part is this makes sense to me. I remember that this disorder usually stems from early abuse. A strong mind will protect itself, splitting to compartmentalize the experiences. It was one of the abnormal behaviors that I found most fascinating when I was in school—how a person without any hope of survival can survive even the worst conditions at any age.
“Why did you agree to come here, to be with me, Grace?”
Her sweet smile. “We like you.”
“But I told you that I’m not nice. I warned you. I told you what I planned to do to you.” Her smile doesn’t change. “Look at how I hurt you already.”
“You didn’t hurt me this morning, Simon. And you’ve asked me to stay.”
“Yes. But I think for your own good, you should leave. I want you to stay, but I can’t be good for you.” She shakes her head, and I pull her face towards to me, keeping her from moving. “You should be in the care of a doctor, not a sadist.”
Her fingers are cool when she covers my hands with her own, her sweet smile is replaced with a determined look. “I’m through with doctors, and I’m through running. I will stay if you’ll still have us.”
“You’ve been hurt enough, Grace.” I get up, needing the distance from her to say what I know I must. “And I’m not the guy you think I am. I didn’t hurt you this morning, yes, but that doesn’t change who I am. I like causing pain. That’s not going to change.”
“I know that.” Her wide-eyed look is so fucking sweet, it hurts for me to look at her. “I’m not asking you to change. Are you asking us to?”
I laugh at the question. It’s like the start of a bad joke. The sadist and the crazy chick walk into a bar…
“I’ve only just figured you out, Grace. Hell, I don’t even know your real name. I’m not asking you to change. I wouldn’t, but I can’t ask you to stay here and….” I don’t finish what I was going to say. The words ‘and take my abuse’ die in my mouth.
I’ve never really thought of what I do as abuse. Sure, I’ve kidnapped and tortured women, but in the end, they’ve been better off. Luanne was starving and living in a dump without power when I found her. She was days away from being evicted and killed by a crazy ex-husband she never would’ve been able to get far enough away from on her own. She’s much better off as Troy’s toy. She has everything she’d ever want. And it’s all thanks to me seeing her potential as a perfect submissive for a man who could pay any amount to have exactly what he wants.
I’ve never been wrong about a girl. It’s a special gift, I suppose. I’ve always been able to pick the ones that truly want and need to be dominated. All of my products leave me with a deep understanding of their innate need to succumb to their dark desires; each one understands that my training, no matter how cruel, only brought out those desires.
Raquel was unfortunate. I didn’t kill her. I just failed to see how fucked up she was. She was my first after all. I learned from my mistake.
Grace is obviously fucked up, and I can’t do this to her. I said I wouldn’t give her a choice, and I won’t.
“I want to stay with you, Simon. We want to stay.” I laugh at how crazy she sounds, how crazy all of this sounds.
“Too bad. Get dressed. I’m taking you back to the city.”
San Francisco: Miles Vanderson
Work is a distraction. I stare down at the reports on the table, but the charts and numbers have lost meaning for me today. Maybe this was why my father threw all of himself into work. He needed to stay distracted from his crumbling dreams.
My own dream of finding Gillian and returning home quickly is proving to be just that, a dream. Spencer and his team haven’t found her. He has a lead, the boyfriend’s brother. Yet another lead!
The tension in my neck is getting worse again. I rub the spot and walk to the windows. I’m tired of the view in this city. I miss the peace and quiet of the northern woods, but I refuse to leave here without her. I was so certain when I came here that I’d have Gillian back where she belongs. I have to hold on to that certainty.
Of course, I was also confident that she was happy with me. I believed her lies when she professed her love for me. I’ve tortured myself with every memory of her from the moment we met, through the strained year that our love grew under her mother’s watchful eye, throughout the year I had her all to myself, then finally the night before she ran from me.
The memory of that last night is as detailed as the rest. It’s a memory worn thin from so much handling just like all the others. I’ve tormented myself with all of the ways I could’ve prevented her from leaving. If only I’d known her plan. If only I’d known her deception.
She kissed me as always that night. She slept in my arms, as always. She begged my forgiveness for angering me earlier in the day, as always. She took her punishment, as always. She was sweet and loving, as always.
I was perhaps a little angrier with her than I should have been. I was perhaps harsher than I usually was with her. Perhaps I applied the whip a little heavier than normal…
But it was for her own good. I told her that night that she was going to be my wife as soon as she finished school. She had to learn to control her mental states. Her outbursts and indulgences into child-like behavior had to stop. At the very least,
she needed to become more adept at hiding them.
The specialists I’d hired said they had helped, that they’d given her ways to pull herself together. They all talked in circles about how her need to protect herself overpowered her need to merge her memories and shared experiences. All psycho-babble excuses for why I overpaid them and Gillian wasn’t improved.
That last night, I made it clear that my patience with her behavior was over. I made it clear that I expected her to stay in control, to stay my sweet, loving Gillian. I made it clear what I would do if her other personalities showed themselves again.
I smile at my reflection in the window. The sky is already darkened from the fog that stole in quickly while I mused through my memories. I smile remembering Gillian’s screams that night.
I’d forced her to stay present during her punishment. I forced her to not turn herself off like she was so capable of usually. I forced her to feel every lick of my whip, but I didn’t let her enjoy it either. I wouldn’t let her turn herself over to her masochistic desires, the personality that took all of her punishments before.
I made her stay my sweet, soft Gillian.
My whip and threats did what a team of doctors couldn’t. I cured her that night. She stayed with me, not hiding inside herself or behind her unreadable stares. All her little cracks filled in with her desire to please me. She stayed in control and promised to be good. And I believed her.
She lied and deceived me, and she ran the next day.
I won’t give her a chance to run and make a fool of me again.
Anderson Valley: Simon Lamb
Grace stands in front of my bedroom door. She’s dressed but won’t move out of the way. “You know that you’re not really blocking the door, right?” I grin at her.
“I know you won’t hurt me, Simon.”
“Have you looked in a mirror today, sweetheart?” I try for threatening, but it falls short. I know she’s right. Red I could hurt, and she’d like it. Grace and all her other versions…fuck. I can’t hurt her at all. “Fine. I won’t hurt you. That’s why you need to go, Grace.”
We Were One Once Book 1 Page 14