Tony Generaux had picked up Sarah on the Saturday following the frat party at which they had met. He arrived on time, held open his car door for her as a gentleman would, and they had sushi and sake at a new place Sarah had mentioned she wanted to try. To Sarah, Tony seemed to have many qualities she was generally attracted to. He was smart and witty and liked to show off, but in a confident rather than cocky way. The only time he sounded a bit narcissistic was when he was describing his workout routine and the effect it had on his body, but Sarah admitted to herself that she, too, was thinking about his body, and what his abs would look like under the thin black dress shirt he was modeling for her. Pretty boys were not Sarah's type, yet she was somehow drawn to him. That is, until he started talking politics.
Tony had grown up in Grosse Pointe Shores with every possible advantage in life, yet somehow believed he was a self-made man who didn't need any handouts, convinced things like welfare and affirmative action gave the poor and talentless an unfair advantage over him. Sarah must have stiffened at something he said, for he held up his hands and apologized.
“Sorry,” he said. “Didn't mean to offend the liberal.”
Sarah smirked. “How do you know I'm a liberal?”
“Aren't you?”
“Yes, I am, but I haven't told you that.”
“Well,” he stammered attractively, “I mean, I just assumed…”
Sarah glared at him, though she tried to do so in a playful way. She had not given up on Tony just yet, and knew perfectly well that her spiky hair, nose stud and clothing didn't scream “Republican.” But she was trying to make a point to him that he shouldn't judge a book by her cover.
“Because of how I look,” she said.
“Well, not just that. You also said you're going to be a journalist.”
“There aren't conservative journalists?”
“There don't appear to be, no.”
Sarah laughed. “Oh my goodness, Tony. Is your world so small as that?”
Tony smiled, and attempted to change the subject. “I'm sorry I judged you.”
“Judged me? Interesting word choice there. I, for one, could have assumed by your perfect teeth and all-American good looks and expensive shirt that you were a Republican, but I gave you the benefit of the doubt and came out anyway.”
“Ah, but is 'benefit of the doubt' any less offensive than being 'judged'?”
“Yes,” explained Sarah. “Because by your own admission, you knew I was a liberal, a class you're prone to 'judge', but asked me out regardless. I thought you might be conservative, but didn't want to assume either way, when I said yes.”
Tony dismissed this with a wave of his hand. “A distinction without a difference, as they say. But honestly, it doesn't matter to me. Besides, I like liberals.”
Sarah smiled at this, and said “good.” But there was something about the way he had said “I like liberals,” with a raised manicured eyebrow and a slow, hungry smile, that made Sarah think his real meaning was “…because they're easy to get in bed.” Although she was enjoying the evening, she vowed to make sure she did not sleep with this Grosse Pointer anytime soon.
They had shared two pots of sake during the meal, so when Tony had suggested a martini bar for their next stop, Sarah countered with a juice and coffee shop instead, where it wouldn't be so loud. Tony thought about this, and made a compromise suggestion.
“Well look, we're super close to my apartment, and I make a killer chocolate martini myself. Plus, you can meet my roommate who will convince you I'm not evil, and we can end the night at the coffee shop. Sound good?”
It did. Sarah was a sucker for a chocolate martini, and both the presence of a roommate and the future plan of the coffee shop made the offer seem safe.
When they arrived at the beautiful loft apartment, with its exposed brick, expensive modern kitchen, and window walls overlooking the city, Sarah was impressed. The place was decorated in a tasteful fashion, and was actually clean—a rarity among boys of any age, but extraordinary for those in their twenties. She wondered if he had a cleaning service. She was also aware they were alone.
“Huh, Nick must still be out,” explained Tony, sensing her thoughts. “But that's okay, I'm sure he'll be back soon. Do you have a vodka preference?”
“Whatever you think works,” she responded, not wanting to pick a brand that he did not have or looked down upon.
Sarah sat on a stool at the dark granite bar, and Tony began taking bottles down from shelves behind the counter. He made the drinks in a metal cocktail shaker, which eased Sarah's mind a bit, knowing they would each be drinking the same concoction. She did notice, however, that the martini was all alcohol—without the chocolate milk base she was used to. It didn't taste much stronger, but she knew it must be, and paced herself.
“What's in this?” she asked.
“It's a coffee-infused vodka mixed with Bailey's and a splash of Godiva liqueur,” he boasted, as if he had recited this secret recipe a hundred times before. “Kind of like an Arby's Jamocha shake, right?”
“Better,” Sarah conceded. “Good job.”
They ended up talking and laughing quite a bit, and when Tony suggested just “one more drink,” Sarah didn't object. This martini used Amaretto and a different type of Irish Cream, and tasted something like the inside of a chocolate cherry cordial.
“I'm going to need that coffee soon,” Sarah giggled. “Shall we take off?”
“You can take off whatever you like,” Tony teased. He had been sitting across from her, but came around to her side of the bar, placing a hand high on Sarah's leg.
“Hey now,” she smiled. “It's only a first date.” But she didn't stop him when he leaned in to kiss her. It started nice, but felt aggressive for a first kiss, as if he was signaling with his tongue and teeth his ownership of her. In a sobering moment, she remembered the roommate who had still not arrived. She gently pushed him back.
“What about your roommate,” she asked.
“He's in Detroit for the night,” Tony said, then leaned in again to bite her left ear. It felt good, but Sarah was concerned about being lied to, and pushed him back again, with more force this time.
“You said he'd be right back,” she reminded him.
“Don't worry, he won't be.”
“I'm more worried that you lied to me,” Sarah said. “Come on, you promised me coffee.” She managed to wiggle away from him, standing up.
“You sure?” he asked.
“You can't always get your way, Tony.”
She walked over to where her jacket and purse were hanging on the wall. Tony followed her close, and before she reached her destination, she felt his arms around her waist, and his breath on the back of her neck.
“Tony,” she said, annoyed. But he was holding her tighter this time, and when she tried to break free, he spun her around and pushed her body against the wall, hands encircling her wrists.
“I think you should stay,” he said.
“Look, I've had a good time, but you're really hurting your chance for a second date here.”
Again, she tried to break free, still believing his holding her to be playful, but he tightened his grip, and moved her hands above her head in a single swift motion, forcing them tight against the wall. His lower body was crushing hard against her as well, keeping her upright, and she could feel his erection through his jeans as he grinded into her.
“Please stop,” she insisted.
But Tony didn't acknowledge her wishes at all. They seemed to be of no particular concern to him. In a matter-of-fact tone that terrified her more than a slap or a scream, he had answered, simply, “no.”
Sarah didn't know why this memory had come back to her in the maintenance room, but she tried to shake it away as she stepped back to examine her work. If everything was accounted for, the steam pressure would build up and, with a great deal of luck, would cause a massive steam and water explosion which might dest
roy The Eaton. Both of them. She dialed everything to maximum, as Al had suggested, and waited for something to happen.
Within seconds, a white plume of steam shot up from a four-inch pipe near the back of the room, and Sarah realized her oversight. She had remembered to close all the release valves, but there was an emergency steam release pipe that could not be closed mechanically. She would need to find something to stuff into the pipe. Glancing down at her own clothes, Sarah considered using her shirt or jeans, but then remembered the laundry room across the hall. There would be bed sheets perfect for the task, and she wouldn't have to escape in her underwear.
As she entered the hallway, she was shocked to discover the song, which she had assumed had been in her head, was actually playing in the laundry room. At first Sarah thought it must be another illusion, like the record player in one of the first rooms had likely been, and whirled her body around, looking for the monster. But she was alone.
The song ended, then started over from the beginning. It was on a loop. She tracked down the source of the song, the laundry room dumbwaiter, and opened the small door to reveal Sam’s phone.
But I, I love it when you read to me. And you, you can read me anything…
Sarah picked up the phone and unlocked it. She expected to find the music app showing the cover of The Magnetic Fields’ album, but instead it was on the messages screen. She dismissed the “low battery” pop up warning, and saw the text message. It was marked “Not Delivered” due to the lack of cell service, but was legible to her just the same.
No exit on 11. Exit is on 10. Follow tunnel. Will see you there. All my love. Hurry.
Sarah paused for a just a moment, absorbing the instructions. She wondered if it was possible for this to be just another trick of the creature, though she knew the phone itself wasn’t an illusion. She also wondered, for an instant, if she’d be able to forgive Sam if they got out of this alive. Obeying the “hurry,” she silenced the music, shoved the phone into her pocket, grabbed a white bed sheet, and raced back to the maintenance room.
She had to climb on the equipment itself to reach the pipe, careful not to step on any levers or dials. At first, she tried to shove the sheet into the pipe while steam still billowed from it, but it was too hot to get her fingers near. She cursed herself, climbed back down, disabled the steam, and tried again with the system off. With as much speed as she could manage, she rolled and shoved the bed sheet into the release pipe, as far down as she was able. At the end, she was pushing so hard with her fingers she thought they would break off.
She could force the fabric no further. Either the sheet would hold, allowing the system to overload, or the wadded sheet would shoot out like a spitball from a straw. She climbed down and, once again, activated the generator.
This time, the pressure did begin to build. The metal slicers on the wall were spinning into a high-pitched wail. Sarah could feel Sam’s phone in her pocket vibrating with a sympathetic, magnetic reaction of its own. Soon, some of the ancient dials had needles in their respective red zones. Sarah felt as if she were staring at the controls of a submarine plummeting into depths that could not be safely maintained. Since she had no way of knowing how long the machine would take to overload, if indeed such a thing was even possible, she considered the noble option of going down with the ship, making adjustments as needed to assure the great metal contraption exploded with the sufficient force necessary to destroy the creature, even at the expense of her own life.
As she debated this in her mind, Sarah became aware of another presence in the room. She spun on her heels, turning toward the door.
Standing casually just a dozen feet from her, sporting a cocky smile, was Tony Generaux.
Of course it was.
She almost laughed.
thirty-one
“So how does this work, exactly,” Sarah challenged the creature. “Are you standing there now because I was thinking of that bastard? Can you only pluck from my strongest, most recent memories? If I had been thinking of a different thought, some birthday party perhaps, would you be showing up as my Aunt Vivien, holding balloons?”
Tony continued to smile at her. “I don’t know what you mean, Sarah. I knew you were feisty, and I like feisty. That’s why I knew you’d come back someday for another round. You know you want me just as much as I want you.”
Sarah’s eyes darted around the room, cataloging everything that stood between them, looking for some sort of escape route, or something that could be used as a weapon. She thought she could perhaps force the creature in front of the magnetic slicers, but knew she would be too easily overpowered. She thought instead she could just keep stalling until the generator exploded, but knew The Eaton wasn’t stupid, and would know what she had been trying to accomplish.
“I know you’re not Tony,” she said flatly. “So why pretend? Especially now, when I’ve seen your true form, which is a hell of a lot scarier than some asshole from my past. What does this accomplish?”
“You don’t think I might enjoy drawing this out a bit?” Tony’s smile melted into a grin. “You’re the last one, after all.”
Sarah’s face blanched. That meant, if the thing were being honest, that Al and Sam were dead. But Sam had just sent her that cell phone note.
“You’re lying,” she said.
“Oh, sweet Sarah, if only you could access my memories the way I can rape yours.”
The r-word stung her, especially from Tony’s sneering mouth. She stiffened, but again tried to come up with some sort of plan, an action she could take to either kill the creature, escape, or both.
As if reading her mind, and perhaps it was, the Tony creature laughed aloud. “Oh, come now. You must know this is the end.” It began walking toward Sarah, who was backed against the control panel as if held by unseen hands. Soon the creature was ten feet away, then eight, and she was trapped.
But then Sarah noticed something that gave her hope. It came to her that the creature had not quite rendered Tony’s face as well as it had with Kedzie or Vaughn. There were subtle details missing from the real man, as if he had been smoothed out—airbrushed in real life. There was no visible stubble, for instance, even though she distinctly remembered stubble on both occasions she had been with Tony in person. Something about the eyebrows, too, which seemed a bit too manicured, and the skin a bit too free of blemishes or pores.
Sarah’s mind searched for an answer. Was it because her memories of Tony weren’t as vivid as others? That couldn’t be it, since otherwise she would not be noticing the discrepancies now. Was the creature just being lazy, or perhaps injured, and not operating at full strength? Maybe, though this could be wishful thinking. Was the alcohol in Sarah’s system affecting the thing’s ability to fully read her past, therefore having to produce an approximation, rather than an exact copy? This thought gave Sarah just the slightest sense of empowerment, that the creature was imperfect, that it could make mistakes, and perhaps did not know her past as intimately as she once assumed.
Six feet from her now, Tony’s smile hardened into a contemptuous smirk, and his blue eyes bored into Sarah with a newfound intensity. Although some of the details of Tony’s face may have been missing, the creature had nailed the coldness of those eyes. She knew the line that was coming next, and braced for it.
“This is going to happen,” it said.
In Tony’s apartment, Sarah had spat at him when he had uttered this line, hoping his grip on her hands against the wall would loosen from the shock. But the bastard had merely smiled, and made no movement to dry her saliva from his cheek. Instead, he had pressed his erection harder against her, and tightened the grip on her wrists until she cried aloud in pain.
“Look,” he said coolly, inches from her face, martini breath wafting over her in waves. “I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to fuck you. I’ve wanted to fuck you all night. And I know you want it, too, or you wouldn’t be here in my apartment, in that tight t-shirt and that fuc
k-me red lipstick, waiting for me to make a move. Well, this is my move.”
He leaned into her side then, grazing his lips on her neck, below her left ear, running his teeth against her earlobe, gentle but threatening. Sarah had started to cry, and her body trembled against his.
“Please,” she whispered, hating the weakness she heard in her voice.
“It’s okay to want it,” he whispered back. “Or, don't. It’s your call. As I said, this is going to happen, whether you want it or not. The choice of whether or not we’re going to fuck has already been made, by me. Your choice is whether you want to have a great night, too, or whether you want to allow yourself to become a victim. It’s whether you want to walk out of here feeling empowered and sexy, or feeling ashamed, like used-up garbage. What’s it going to be?”
Tony started to kiss her neck again, slobbering, like a dog at a water dish. He used one foot to kick her left leg a few inches from her right, so he could grind into her more directly. Sarah felt something painful then, pressing against her right buttock which was being pushed into the wall. It took her only a moment to remember what was in her back pocket.
He was back on her left earlobe, biting harder this time, trying to create a sort of rhythm between the action on her ear and the rubbing of his clothed erection against her crotch. She knew what must be done, and let a soft, convincingly pleasurable moan escape her lips. He moaned back, pleased with himself, but did not yet reduce his grip on her wrists. She moaned a bit louder, and let one of her ankles rub against his own, signaling desire for the first time. Against her ear, she could feel Tony’s lips curl into a smile. He loosened the grip on her wrists, tentatively, then fully, as his hands dropped to his belt, working to free his erection as soon as possible. Sarah’s hands dropped to her own jeans, but while her left hand went to her front button, in case he was watching, her right hand reached into her back pocket and retrieved the small, iron weapon.
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