Hero

by Leighton Del Mia

  “We didn’t give it to her,” she cries. “We don’t got it, though.”

  I release her husband without a look and walk over to her. She cowers against the counter, crying and muttering nonsensically.

  “What’d you do with it?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. We spent it on groceries, fixing the house, a new truck. I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re worthless scum. Your only purpose on this planet was to give Cataline a safe, happy home and deliver my money to her. You failed on both accounts. Have that check in my hands by the end of the week, and maybe I’ll let you both live.”

  “Is that—are you threatening us?” she asks. “You can’t kill me. I have children.”

  “You think I give a fuck? I’d be doing them a favor. And if you run, I’ll find you. I’m always up for a good chase.”

  The man’s voice comes from the floor, where he’s crumbled against the wall. “Who are you?”

  “I’m someone with the money, the power, and now, the motive to hunt you down. Nobody can save you from me. Get me my money. Understand?”

  I don’t wait for an answer before I leave, busting their front door off its hinges in the process. There are female cries nearby. I know they have daughters younger than Cataline, but I can’t muster any sympathy for them. Instead, I get in my car and start back for New Rhone, calming myself with the thought that they’ll spend the next few days in sheer terror.

  ———

  “Gone?” Norman asks.

  “All of it. I don’t think they ever intended to give her a dime. And the stipend I provided them every month she lived there, I’ve no idea. She probably never benefited from it. How could I have missed it?”

  “You couldn’t be there all the time. You did what you could. They’re the ones in the wrong, not you.” He watches me pace the room a moment. “You did well to contain your rage.”

  “You’re giving me too much credit. I want to kill them still. I’m not sure I can’t.”

  “You can. You’ve come too far, learned too much control to let it slip. Think of what it makes you to kill a family.”

  “They deserve it,” I say.

  “Perhaps they do. But not for this. Find me more evidence of wrongdoings, and we can revisit.”

  I know he’s right. And the fact that I want them to pay so severely means I’m in too deep. Spending a day with her was imprudent on my part. She won’t know why she’s being punished, but that won’t make it any less sweet for me. It’s my responsibility to return us to captor and captive. Anything else can only mean more danger for both of us.

  When I kneel, it’s not in worship or gratitude. It isn’t to unload my sins and ask for absolution. It’s only under the guise of these things. In my heart, it comforts me to be in the Lord’s presence. It’s a selfish time for me, to ask for healing and to be brought back to my parents. I kneel in supplication.

  The glow is not simply from the lit candles at the base of the statue of the Virgin Mary. It’s from a feeling of warmth and security that exists only in the sanctity of this room in a dark mansion. I ask for help, greedily, for relief, for guidance. It’s only my second time in the mansion’s chapel. It feels wrong to be in here after these past months, after the shameful things I’ve done.

  My forehead touches my knuckles, my hair long and loose over my shoulders. Because everything in my closet is fitted, short, or sexy in some manner, Rosa has lent me a white, long-sleeved, shapeless dress. I am relatively calmer hidden beneath it with my sins. Deep in the recesses of my thoughts, I don’t hear Calvin enter. It’s the creak of the pew directly behind me that draws me from my prayer. His presence is strong at my back. Through the cotton of my gown, his hand cups my bottom, his fingers curling under but not quite reaching their target.

  “What are you doing?” I whisper.

  His hand moves, rubbing me as my body devolves into pure panic. My heart stutters and stammers against my chest as his fingers move deeper toward my clit with each slide.

  “Y-you can’t do this,” I stammer. “Not here.”

  “I can do whatever I like to you because you’re my possession. I own you.”

  “No, you don’t,” I say in hushed fury.

  “I don’t?”

  “No.”

  The wood groans again, and his heat envelops me, his mouth moving to my ear. “You keep denying that you’re mine. Do you belong to someone else?”

  “I belong to no one.”

  “I’m glad you think so. I have a debt that can’t be paid with money. Since you don’t feel obligated to me, I think I’ll have you repay it on my behalf.”

  “What are you talking about?” His massaging is harder now, my body warming against my every instinct. I fight it entirely, but his fingers are too skilled. When his other hand closes around my breast, my body convulses slightly.

  “You’ll fuck my friend because I say so. Because you aren’t mine. Perhaps I’ll watch, or even record it so we can watch it together.”

  My loud words echo in the small room. “No. You’re psychotic.”

  He moans hot breath against my ear. My knuckles shake as I crush my intertwined fingers together. “Then tell me this is mine,” he says, squeezing between my legs with a firm grip. “That’s all I ask.”

  “Never,” I whisper.

  He gathers up the dress behind me and slips his hand underneath, caressing up the inside of one thigh. “My stubborn sparrow. Your pride will only hurt you.”

  One finger pushes into me, and my vision blurs. It delves deeply into my heat, and I know when he removes it, it’s wet. It returns with a second finger, driving up again until he can’t push any deeper. “How many fingers do you think I can fit inside you before you come?”

  My shoulders shudder with a sob. His hand on my breast slides up around my neck and under my chin, forcing my head up. “Keep your eyes open,” he says. The Virgin Mary looks down on us impassively, and I’m forced to watch her as his fingers curve inside me and massage, causing my body to tighten up. “Not yet,” he says. “Two is nothing.”

  A third finger presses inside, and I’m full with him.

  “Tell Him,” he says. “Confess how naughty you’ve been.”

  I shake my head in his grasp.

  “Confess,” he hisses. “I know you touch yourself at night and think of me.”

  My denial is garbled by the lump in my throat.

  “You liked when I fucked you, and you want me to do it again. Say it.”

  “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

  He groans, and his erection jabs into my ass cheek.

  “I’ve had impure thoughts and committed impure acts.”

  “Did you touch yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you wish it was me?”

  “Yes,” I say as tears roll down my cheeks. “And I wished you would do it again.”

  His fingers spread inside me to welcome a fourth. I groan loudly and attempt to squirm away. His movements are fast and hard now, and his thumb presses against my anus.

  “You’re dripping all over my hand. I wonder if you’ll come this way, or if you need more.”

  I gasp. “More?”

  “I have ten fingers, don’t I? A fist?”

  “Oh my God.”

  He chuckles in my ear. “Thou shalt not take the Lord’s name in vain.”

  I’m too afraid to come and too afraid not to. I’m dissolving into nothing but tears that stream from the corners of my eyes as my head is tilted up. His fingers still, and his other hand releases my throat to pet my hair. My head drops, but I incline slightly into his gentle touch. His thrusting starts again, this time soft but deliberate.

  “There, there,” he whispers. “It’s okay. I’ll make you come this way.”

  True to his word, he removes the pressure from my anus and swivels his hand to replace his thumb on my clit. His rhythm goes unbroken as he pushes me to the edge, whispering nothings into m
y ear, and stroking my hair. My orgasm crests, and I reach back to grip his hand in my hair, squeezing it as my thighs tremble and my pussy constricts around his fingers.

  My body wholly unclenches, and I melt against the pew in front of me. He removes his hand and pulls my dress down, smoothing it over my backside with a saint’s touch.

  Behind me he moans with a sucking noise, and says, “So sweet.” His breath is hot on the back of my neck as he kisses me once on my hair. He leaves without another word.

  I am strangely liberated after my forced confession. Whatever was blocking my vision shifted, allowing me to see my situation with Calvin for what it is. My mind is submitting to my body, understanding that I not only accept but want what I know is wrong.

  Early afternoon sun skims the dying leaves outside my window. My heart thumps with thoughts of Calvin’s hand making its way inside me while I revealed shameful secrets. It’s been days since I’ve seen him, but the memory is fresh at all hours.

  My door opens without announcement, and Calvin enters. “Good afternoon, Cataline,” he says as he approaches. “My little sparrow on her perch.”

  “It looks like a nice day.”

  “Truth be told, it’s a bit chilly for my taste. Good thing we shut your window; I’d hate for you to catch a cold.”

  “Yes, good thing,” I murmur.

  “I have a proposition for you. I promised to consider letting you outdoors for good behavior.”

  My spine straightens immediately. My breathing stops.

  “Before you get excited, I have one last assignment for you. I’m not sure you can handle it, though.”

  “I can,” I promise. “Anything.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Anything?”

  His threat in the chapel returns to me suddenly and without mercy. I’d somehow blocked it out until this moment, and the memory is almost crippling. I grip the edge of the sill. My stomach flips violently at the thought of Calvin sharing me with someone else, and my shoulders slump again. “What is it?”

  “In my position, I’m expected to support different causes through donations or by making appearances. Long ago I agreed to host a charity ball here at the mansion. There will be food, dancing, socializing, that sort of thing.”

  “A party,” I supply.

  “Sure. A party. I don’t care for them, but it comes with the territory. If I could throw the event without attending, I would. Now, your behavior has improved since your arrival, but it’s far from ideal. I can’t very well have you screaming at the top of your lungs while I have guests downstairs.”

  My hands flex as though clinging to his every word. “What are you going to do with me?”

  He clears his throat, adjusting his stance. “You have the opportunity to plead your case to me. Either I tape your mouth shut and lock you in the basement, or you make yourself useful to the caterer and serve food.”

  I blink my confused shock. “You want me to serve food? To people?”

  “Left to your own devices, I’m not sure you wouldn’t come down and make a scene. At least this way I can keep an eye on you. Would you like to see people?”

  “Yes.” I pause. “I think. What would I say?”

  “Avoid any attempts at conversation. If anyone approaches you, it’s acceptable to say that I’ve asked the staff not to interact with guests.”

  “You’d trust me enough for that?”

  He steps closer. “Can I trust you?”

  I nod.

  “If you do well, then I’ll allow a horseback ride accompanied by me. And perhaps even lunch outdoors or whatever other fantasies you’re fixating on.”

  I clap my hands together once. “I can do it.”

  I recoil with surprise when he reaches out to take my chin. “However. If you make any attempt to enlist help or escape, I will be very, very disappointed. And I can assure you it won’t go unpunished, no matter the outcome. I am a powerful man, Cataline. With a long reach.”

  “I understand,” I say. “When’s the party?”

  “In a couple hours.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, that’s—I’m . . . Thank you.”

  “I’ve been thinking about our time in the chapel.”

  My response comes from under my breath. “I have too.”

  “Don’t wear underwear tonight.”

  I swallow audibly. “You told me once I wasn’t here for that.”

  “For what, Cataline?”

  “Sex.”

  “You’re not.”

  When he’s gone, I go directly to the shower where I brace myself against the tiled wall. Things are rushing at me at warp speed. Emotions, ideas, fears. If I were to throw myself at someone’s feet, would it be the end of my nightmare? Calvin’s trust is oddly moving, but I don’t know if I can stay idle knowing there’s a chance of escape. Languorous water droplets slide down the tip of my nose, buoying there until the next one comes along. Escape should be my only thought, but it isn’t. The no-underwear rule means I’ll have Calvin again tonight if I’m compliant.

  By the time I’m finished drying my hair, there’s a caterer’s uniform waiting for me on the bed. The white button-down blouse tucks into a fitted black skirt that barely reaches mid-thigh. In my past life, I never would’ve worn something so short and revealing, especially during this time of year. But since it’s a uniform, there isn’t much I can do.

  There are five other caterers, two women and three men, and they all wear the same white shirt and thin black tie as I do. My excitement at company wanes when I’m received with wide-eyed stares. Since they’re in pants and tennis shoes, I’m loudly out of place with my legs on display in a skirt and high heels. I’m introduced as a member of the staff, and their patience for my questions and fumbling is short. Nothing I do seems to be right, and my insecurity is heightened by anxiety about what the night will hold.

  I’m crossing under the foyer’s magnificent chandelier, balancing in my shoes, when the doorbell rings. It seems to happen in slow motion—Norman appears to greet a couple, and the door lingers open while he takes their coats. The air’s frosty bite is welcome on my bare legs. I don’t remove my eyes from the door, even when Calvin’s unexpected heat warms me from behind and his voice is in my ear.

  “Tempting, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “If you’re thinking of flying, Sparrow, know that I will catch you. There is no escape. Fly until your wings fall off, until there's no more sky, but I will find you. I will always find you.”

  Norman closes the heavy door, and the guests follow him from the room. I look over my shoulder. Calvin wears a tuxedo, his bowtie near my hair. I meet his eyes behind his glasses. His hand smooths over my backside and under the skirt’s hem. The tip of one finger grazes my opening and slips inside, eliciting my sharp gasp.

  “Good little bird,” he praises. “Make sure you’re very attentive to my guests tonight.” He removes his hand and pats my ass before walking past me into the dining room. My heels puncture the room’s quiet as I go to the door. I touch the handle for some time until the doorbell rings, causing me to jump away.

  Norman rushes into the room and halts abruptly when he sees me. I take two steps back, staring at him. He shakes his head slowly but doesn’t speak. It’s not until I’m retreating that he lets the guests in.

  When most people appear to have arrived, I navigate through the room with a tray of hors d'oeuvres. My mind is in overdrive being in a crowd that feels three times as big as it is. I almost drop my tray when a man touches my shoulder to pass by. His apologetic smile is kind, but I back away.

  “Excuse me, Miss?” I turn to an elderly woman with fading red lipstick. “Where can I find the restroom?”

  “Um, I . . .” I freeze, my heart racing, until she raises an eyebrow. “The bathroom,” I manage. “It’s just down the hall, second door on the right.”

  When she’s on her way, I set my tray on the nearest surface and inhale a dee
p breath.

  “You all right there?”

  “A little short of breath,” I say.

  “Maybe you should have a seat.”

  I look up. The man seems in his early forties, average build with a noticeable beer gut. My immediate thought is that he’s no match for Calvin should I need him to be.

  “You ever catered before?” he asks.

  There’s a loud noise behind me, and I whirl around, knocking a champagne flute off my tray.

  He laughs loudly. “I hope this isn’t your day job.”

  “It’s not,” I say, bending awkwardly as I brush the shards into a pile. “This is my first time.”

  “Hey, careful,” he says. “You’ll cut yourself. Someone’s coming with a broom.”

  I straighten up and catch Rosa signaling to me that she’s on her way. Across the room, I catch Calvin staring at us. His unreadable eyes move between the man and me. He doesn’t seem displeased that I’m socializing, more intrigued. As though he expects it.

  “So what do you do?”

  “What?” I ask, returning my attention to the man.

  “For a living. You said this was your first time.”

  “I—” My palms begin to tingle, and there’s a sudden lack of moisture in my mouth. “I can’t say. I’m . . . I work for Mr. Parish.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “You work for him, or he hires you?”

  “I’m on the staff. I can’t really talk about it.” I’m drowning, sure that Calvin will appear at any moment to whisk me off to the basement.

  The man studies me a moment before nodding. “Ah. I see. No, I get it.”

  “You do?” I ask.

  “Sure. I wouldn’t exactly go around broadcasting it either, but I’ve been down that road a time or two.” He winks. “Though, never with someone like you.”

  Could he possibly know the truth about me? The thought that Calvin’s done this before, and that others know about it, puts a strange knot in my chest. “I should really get back to work,” I say.

  “You . . . do you work exclusively for Parish?”

  “What?”

  “You know,” he says. “Catering. Does he hire you just for himself or for others too?” He chuckles. “Like a party favor?”