Vow of Silence

by Roxy Harte

  There have been only a few people who have come into my life and made me happy. George was one of those people. He was a true friend…and I fucked up our friendship so badly. I thought I’d never see him again. He’s older, obviously. I’m surprised there is gray at his temples. He’s so blond I doubt anyone else would notice but I do. There are also lines around his eyes that weren’t there before.

  I’ve gotten older too. I wonder what he thinks, seeing me? Catching his gaze, I frown and sign, I’m so sorry. Forgive me?

  He signs in answer, I should be asking you to forgive me.

  I sign, No, no, no.

  “Could you use the whiteboard, Miss Marconi?” Detective Carr requests.

  I don’t miss the look that passes between the detectives and George. They don’t trust him to translate exactly what I say.

  George hands me the whiteboard and I start writing immediately. The way I see it, they are here for answers and the sooner I tell them what they want to know, the sooner they will leave. The sooner I can talk to George in private.

  I don’t know who attacked me. He called himself God.

  “God?”

  I write Yes. God.

  Detective Robbins holds a small DVD player in my line of vision. The video shows a truck pulling in front of the emergency room entrance and a man climbs out. Diego. He opens the passenger door and lifts out a woman. Oh God. Even on the small screen I can tell my body was battered, my arm bent at a cruel angle, blood pouring from my throat.

  I scribble That man did not attack me.

  “Can you be sure?” Detective Robbins asked.

  I was at a bar. I left with a man. Not him.

  “But you do know this man?”

  It’s a very blurry video.

  “Miss Marconi—”

  “The truck is registered to your parents,” Detective Carr cuts off Detective Robbins. “We’ve already spoken to them, so whoever you are trying to protect—”

  My parents? Shit. That means they know I’m here. That means they know that I was attacked. They may have already fired Diego. Wait, why would they fire Diego? He brought me here. His actions may have saved my life. I don’t know how I ended up with him, but I know he couldn’t have been involved with the man who attacked me.

  On the whiteboard I write. Business card in my purse with a contact number for the man I was with.

  “Which business card?”

  All it says is ‘Discover Your Darkest Desires’ and a phone number.

  “There wasn’t anything like that in your purse.”

  I look at Detective Carr and feel as if he thinks I am lying. Closing my eyes, I try to remember where I last saw the card. It was in my hand. I was in my bedroom.

  Opening my eyes, I erase the board and write It’s at my house. On my nightstand.

  Detective Carr asks, “Can you describe the man who attacked you?”

  I write Tall. The tallest man I’ve ever seen. Maybe seven feet. Maybe taller than seven feet. He was broad-shouldered, strong. He had a high, wide forehead and a protruding brow. His nose was crooked, like it had been broken more than once.

  “That’s good. Was there anything else? Tattoos? A heavy accent?”

  I write That’s all I remember. That isn’t really the truth. I remember that his voice was terrifying, but terrifying isn’t an accent.

  “Tell us about the bar you met him at. Have you been there before?”

  I know they are going to make certain judgments about my character as soon as I admit I was at a BDSM club. I write I don’t go often, just sometimes. Place called Chaps, it’s a leather bar.

  “A leather bar? You mean a gay club?”

  I mean an alternative club. LGBT and BDSMers go there.

  “Do you believe this man is a regular at that club?”

  How would I know? I’m not a regular. I’ve never seen him before.

  “You’re certain you’ve never seen this man before?”

  Trust me. I’d remember if I had.

  I’m relieved when they finally leave. I sign to George. That was exhausting.

  He’s frowning and I can tell he doesn’t believe me either. He taps the whiteboard. “You just described Herman Munster.”

  Who?

  “Television sitcom back when shows were still broadcast in black and white,” George answers my unspoken question.

  I return to signing since it is just George in the room. Never saw it.

  “Never mind. I thought you were being a smart-ass to the detectives. That was really the description of the man who hurt you?”

  Yes.

  “Do you feel like you are still in danger?”

  I shrug, mindful of the collar.

  “Who was the man in the truck?”

  Diego, my parents’ gardener. He must have been following me.

  “Why would he be following you?”

  He thinks I know where his niece is. She came into the country illegally for work and disappeared.

  “And how would you know where she is?”

  I close my eyes. It’s my only defense. I can’t escape him or the questions any other way.

  “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the whole truth.”

  I don’t open my eyes. This is not how I wanted a reunion with George to go. A sudden thought occurs to me. I could have contacted him. Why didn’t I?

  A noise startles me and I expect to see George leaving, but he has already gone and in his place, sitting in the chair beside me, is my father. Oh shit. At least Mommy’s not here.

  I look at him and he looks back.

  I close my eyes to keep from crying.

  “I warned you that I have enemies.”

  I squeeze my eyes more tightly closed but a tear slips down my cheek anyway. Yes, you said that. Did one of your enemies do this? Or did you pay someone to do this to me to convince me you have enemies?

  I have two thoughts. The room is darker than before—it is evening—I must have slept. Also, I’m not alone with my father. Expecting to see one of his bodyguards at the foot of my bed, I turn my head slightly, mindful of the doctor’s command not to move, and see Lenka. Really? Why?

  Why, why, why?

  He looks even more disreputable in jeans and a leather jacket. Frowning, I look back toward my father.

  “We were very disappointed you weren’t at the gathering this weekend. Obviously you had a good excuse but now, seeing you like this, it is even more important for you to have strong protection. You must have a husband.” My father leans forward and pats my arm.

  I make a distressed sound. How fair is this that I can’t talk? I can’t argue back. I can’t even walk away.

  “Your mother has not yet been informed that you are here. She left this morning for Paris.”

  I stare at him. Is he making excuses for her absence? She’s missed most of my life, does it matter that she isn’t here for this?

  “Who did this to you? I cannot believe it was Diego, he’s been faithful to our family, but if I believed he had anything to do with this—”

  He's acting like he doesn’t know who did this to me. So maybe he really did have nothing to do with this! I grab my father’s hand, making him watch as I write on the whiteboard Not Diego. He rescued me.

  “Then who?”

  I scribble He called himself God.

  My father’s face flushes dark but just as quickly he composes himself. Does he recognize the name? Is he one of the enemies my father was worried about? I’d thought he was just a random guy, but what if the truth is more sinister than that? It seems strange that my father doesn’t ask for details, but maybe he doesn’t want to know if I was raped or went willingly.

  “As soon as possible we’re going to move you to a private facility.”

  No! My father keeps talking, but I’m not listening. I only got to see George for a moment; if I’m moved I will most likely never see him again.

  “I’ll make all the arrangements. In the meantime, I have a bodyguard posted ou
tside your door and this evening Lenka is going to spend a few hours with you so that you won’t be too bored. Take the time to get to know him better. Give him a fair chance.” My father stands and kisses my forehead. “All I want for you is to be safe and happy.”

  My mind is screaming No, no, no! as my father leaves the room. Don’t leave me alone with Lenka!

  He sits down in the chair vacated by my father. Oh shit.

  “The gathering was spectacular—so much luscious food, so many beautiful people—it is a shame you were not there.”

  I write on the white board, scribbling out the words Did you have this done to me? before showing it to him.

  I gape at him, not believing he expects us to have a conversation. I’m exhausted, I hurt. I imagine I must be a sight, not that I care. I don’t want to be attractive to him. Not that I would ever be the pretty one in the relationship if we were together. For all his rough edges, he is still gorgeous. I turn my gaze away, not wanting him to guess I find him the least attractive.

  “Many alliances became stronger.”

  If I could turn off my ears I would.

  “Yet things are still rocky in our territory. My ego can bear admitting that I am a little fish, a guppy, and that I need your father’s strength, his protection. You do realize he is a whale, don’t you?”

  I snicker. I do not see my father as the strong one of my parents. Now, if he’d said my mother…

  “I know that you don’t want a husband. That is why I requested time alone with you. Give me a chance, Giselle. Let me court you.”

  I snort and it makes my throat scream in pain, leaving my eyes watering. I’m not supposed to talk or cough or sneeze. Obviously laughing and snorting are out of the question as well.

  Lenka reacts with concern, trying to help me. “Are you all right? Should I call the nurse?”

  I settle down. I’m still breathing. I write Damn tubes hurt.

  “When do the doctors say you will breathe on your own?”

  I write I don’t know.

  “Your larynx was crushed?”

  Broken. Crushed. The doctor could tell you exactly.

  “You tell me what happened that night. A man did not do this much damage choking you.”

  I wipe off the whiteboard. Do I really want to run him off? I think yes. I do not want or need a husband. I am not wife material. A crowbar.

  Lenka doesn’t even wince. “He meant to murder you with a single hit to the throat?”

  I shrug.

  “What aren’t you telling me?”

  I write I meet men. Strangers. For sex. I want them to hurt me. That’s why I met the man who did this to me. Does that surprise you? Does that repulse you?

  “You seek men out to hurt you?” I don’t expect Lenka to start laughing. “You’re a masochist? And here my greatest fear in our match would be that you were too much like your mother.”

  My mother? What does my mother have to do with this conversation? Wait, did my mother pay someone to kill me? I almost laugh but consider that if she were going to kill me it would have been years ago. I’ve proved my loyalty. I’ve kept my mouth shut.

  “She is a terrifying Mistress. I am glad you are not cut from the same cloth. That is not to say that I am happy you are promiscuous.”

  He says promiscuous like it is a foul-tasting word, but he caresses my cheek with a gentle touch. “Did he bind you?”

  I’d expected him to. I write No.

  The look Lenka gives me is cold and calculating. “Did he fuck you?”

  I don’t want to think about what happened in the hotel. It wasn’t a scene, not a typical one at any rate, unless forcible rape was the prearranged condition. We didn’t have any communication about what would or wouldn’t happen between us. Does it count as rape if you go willingly to a hotel with a man?

  If I think about it too hard it will begin to feel like rape, and I don’t want to think of myself as a victim.

  He hit me—as soon as we entered the hotel room—and the force sent me to my knees. I’m not a baby; I’ve been hit before. Slapped. Close-fisted. What made his attack different was the pure vehemence involved in his follow-through. He pulled me up by my hair, forced me over the bed and fucked me. Every hole. Repeatedly. And then the last blow left me unable to breathe. I honestly believe he meant to kill me with the crowbar. “You are judged, whore, and I condemn you to hell.”

  I wonder if that information would be valuable to the police?

  “You will be faithful to me.” Lenka pinches my chin, making me meet his gaze. “Now that I know we are well-suited, you will not be given a choice. I want you. I’ve wanted you since the first moment I laid eyes on you—actually your photograph—and considered your father’s proposal. As much as I covet his protection, the opportunity to Master you is even more alluring.”

  I tremble beneath his threat, wondering how to get out of this mess.

  I wonder if I really want to.

  He releases my chin and I am left missing his touch. I close my eyes, not wanting to wrap my mind around the thought that this man might be the Master I’ve been seeking. I have no doubt he will be unrelenting.

  “When your father asks you for your decision, will you refuse me?”

  I don’t open my eyes. You already know my answer.

  Lenka grabs my shoulder and pinches. I make an inhuman sound. My vocal cords can’t form a scream. Pain shoots down my spine and I can’t think clearly. Only after he releases me do I consider that he must have applied pressure to a nerve bundle, a pressure point. I’ve felt such pain before, during a self-defense workshop, when the instructor demonstrated how pain could stop an attacker in his tracks. Obviously the lessons didn’t stick or I wouldn’t be stuck in this bed attached to a ventilator.

  He pinches me again and need makes my pussy spasm.

  I meet his gaze.

  “Give me a chance to gain your love.”

  Love or lust? I already lust him and that scares me. I don’t want to be so ruled by desire that I will follow him anywhere.

  I reach for the whiteboard and scribble. I’m a California kind of girl.

  “Russia has its own charm. You will learn to love it just as you will learn to love me.”

  Chapter Nine

  George

  I retreat to the hospital’s coffee shop, debating the intelligence of staying here and putting myself through this emotional purgatory when I could just go home and close the door once and for all on this relationship. A slap on the back takes me off guard and I turn to face Phillip. “I’m glad I caught you.”

  “I needed some food.”

  “Looks like you need sleep.”

  I shrug and look deeply into my coffee. There aren’t any immediate answers on the shiny surface. I guess I assume Phillip will sit because I’m not surprised when he does.

  “It’s nice to see you here. This is where you belong, George.” Phillip continues talking but I only half listen. I’m numb. I don’t know what to think or feel. I can’t imagine Gigi’s father had anything to do with her attack, but… I can’t imagine anyone wanting to hurt Gigi.

  “Have you considered reopening your practice at all during the years?”

  I jerk at the question. “Not really. I don’t think the AMA would be very supportive of that decision.”

  “I’d support you. Others would too. We know you got a bad rap, and what happened to you could have happened to any of us.”

  I nod, believing him.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, George.”

  God, I want to believe that but the doubts…

  Why now? If I was going to return shouldn’t it have been years ago?

  “I’m not so certain I’m not completely at fault. The woman upstairs is a mess. Who’s to say that isn’t a result of what happened between us.”

  “Did you lie on the stand when you said you were just friends? Was she lying when she recanted her tale of abuse?”

  “No.”

  “Then why
the self doubt? She obviously had deep-seated emotional problems as a teen, she mutilated herself, she was on a one-way track to self-destruction. Becoming an adult didn’t change that. You know as well as I do that BDSM attracts a lot of practitioners who had dysfunctional childhoods.”

  “My childhood wasn’t dysfunctional.”

  Phillip laughs. “We had the same childhood, most notably the lack thereof. Growing up in boarding schools we matured without basic nurturing. I don’t know about you, but I have a hard time connecting in relationships. I fear intimacy and commitment because I don’t understand it.”

  I make a face as my gaze droops to his empty left ring finger. “I guess that means marriage number two fell by the wayside.”

  “Marriage number two, marriage number three and marriage number four. You’ve missed quite a bit… Did you ever make a trip down the aisle?”

  “No. Monogamy isn’t really a lifestyle I’m ready to pursue.”

  I think I’ve made Phillip uncomfortable because he quickly changes the subject. “The police have the security video from the ER and were able to identify the truck but not the driver. It was registered to Roberto Marconi.”

  If I hadn’t been in the room with Gigi and the detectives I’d be alarmed. “Yes, from what I understand it was her father’s gardener who brought her to the hospital.”

  “So I guess you are quite in the loop. Did you also know the hospital was notified this morning that her parents want her moved to a private facility?”

  “No. Jesus. She can’t be moved.”

  “Don’t worry. Gigi wrote on the whiteboard that she doesn’t want to go to a different facility. We’ve got an excellent team of lawyers to help her express her wishes if need be.” Phillip pats my shoulder. “I’m sorry, George. I don’t know what I was thinking when I involved you in this mess.”

  “Me either, Phillip, but now that I am, I am.”

  Phillip shrugs. “For now maybe you should stay scarce.”

  “What?”

  “Look, her father has requested permission to post a bodyguard outside her room because he feels like the hospital isn’t capable of protecting her, and in the interim no visitors be allowed.”

  “Shit.” My cell vibrates and I pull it out of my pocket to see that Lin is calling. “I should take this.”