Jane Doe

by Stone, Victoria Helen

  But he’s frozen. Afraid. Steven doesn’t like this game as much as I do.

  He stares into the woods for a long time before taking two backward steps toward the cabin. If he does plan to go out looking for me—and that’s a big if—he wants to grab his gun first.

  I throw another rock, and he cranes his head toward the sound. “Jane?”

  I throw one more rock, aimed closer to one of the narrow trail openings in the trees. “Jane!” he calls with a little more irritation and a little less fear. “Where are you?” With only one sparing glance toward the cabin, he takes off for the trail.

  I slip out of the trees and into the clearing. I draw the knife from my coat pocket and free the blade.

  Moving slowly, I place my feet with care, avoiding twigs and leaves, setting my boots only on areas of bare dirt. I need to give him time to put a little distance between himself and the cabin.

  I’ve pictured myself slitting his throat from behind, but that would spray blood everywhere, and we can’t have that. Plus he’s taller than I am. I wouldn’t have the right leverage. Oh, well. I’ll sneak up behind him and bury a quiet blade between the ribs. Almost as satisfying.

  I’m halfway across the clearing and straining my ears for noise on the trail ahead. I hear a distant brushing sound; then he calls my name again. He’s facing away from me, so I can’t tell how far into the trees he is. I lean down and pick up another rock. I need to lead him deeper.

  Concerned that I’ll hit him with it, I whip the rock a little to the left.

  “Jane?” I hear again. His stupid voice grates on my ears.

  Gripping my knife more tightly, I move toward the tree line. The clearing is littered with leaves and sticks here. I watch my feet with each step. One loud snap and he’ll hurry back to me.

  The wind picks up suddenly and I use the chance to take five quick steps across the brittle leaves. I’m almost to the trees and the trail. The wind will cover my noise. I can rush up behind him and—

  He’s suddenly in the opening right in front of me. “Jane?”

  I freeze.

  His eyes widen as I stare at him. I don’t know what I look like, but I’m definitely not wearing the sweet, submissive expression of his girlfriend. I think of my cat. The tiger at the zoo. Those cool, cruel eyes.

  Then his gaze drops to the knife in my hand.

  I could just jump forward and stab him before his surprise wears off. Thrust the knife right into his throat. I can almost feel it sinking in. But we’re way too close to the cabin. I can’t risk it. And his shocked expression is crumpling into suspicion.

  I fix the mask back to my face and open my mouth in a frightened gasp. “Oh my God!”

  “Jane . . . what are you doing?” His deep animal brain has finally registered the danger I present. He eyes the shiny blade warily. I imagine goose bumps spreading over his skin.

  “I heard something!” I yelp. “I got scared!” I fling the knife aside and rush toward him.

  He catches me automatically, though I notice his hands grip my arms and don’t reach around to embrace me. He’s not a stupid man. But I have an advantage. He’d never believe a woman can hold the upper hand. He’s in charge here; I just need to remind him of that.

  “I was scared,” I whimper.

  “Where were you?” he asks.

  “What?”

  “The cabin was empty. Where did you go?”

  I make my voice quake and wobble. “I just went out for a quick walk.”

  “A walk?” I feel his muscles give a little, relaxing. His hands slide down my arms. “Christ, Jane, there are bears up here.”

  “I took a knife.”

  “A knife?” He finally sets me back and his jaw drops as he stares at me. “So you thought I was a bear and you were looking for me with a knife?” The scornful words echo against tree trunks. He’s back in full form.

  “Well, I didn’t know it was a bear. I was just out for a walk and—”

  “You don’t have a gun and you don’t know your way around here but you decided to go for a walk.”

  “I didn’t go far. You were gone so long and I got bored.”

  He shakes his head in disgust. “Jesus, you’re an idiot.”

  “You just went into the woods without a gun too.”

  “Yeah, and I was coming back to get it so I could find you!”

  “Come on, sweetie. I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “You didn’t scare me; it was just an idiotic thing to do! You’re like a damn child.”

  “I didn’t get lost and I didn’t see any bears. I’m fine.”

  “Pure dumb luck, I’m sure. Good God, I need a beer.”

  “You said you brought champagne.”

  “Well, have at it.”

  He leaves me there and grabs a beer on his way inside. I blow out a long, tense breath as the door closes behind him.

  He’s shaken up, but I gave him a narrative he could believe. The narrative that’s easiest for him to believe: I’m just a dumb, helpless woman.

  But it was very nearly a fatal mistake. I let my guard down. I let him see the real me. For a moment he recognized the predator inside.

  I shouldn’t have strayed from the plan. “No more mistakes,” I murmur aloud. There’s a chance I could lose everything in my quest for revenge, but I have to keep that chance as small as possible.

  Tonight I’ll play my part perfectly, and he won’t remember what he saw in my face today until he’s bleeding out on the forest floor tomorrow. It’ll be far too late for his animal brain to save him then.

  I dig my knife from the fallen leaves, set my shoulders, and head back inside to make sure my man is too happy to think about anything but our blossoming love.

  CHAPTER 40

  He’s guzzling his beer when I walk in.

  “Did you see any deer?” I ask, trying to smooth things over. He gives a negative grunt. “Will you help me open the champagne?” This grunt sounds vaguely positive.

  I pull the champagne from the cooler to peel off the foil and unwind the wire before delivering the bottle to Steven. He opens it the showy, stupid way, of course, pushing with his thumb until the cork shoots out and hits the ceiling. A good three sips of champagne are wasted in the foam that drips to the floor.

  “I didn’t see any glasses . . . ,” I prompt.

  He shrugs. “I must have forgotten. I think there’s a mug under the sink.”

  Gross. I take a swig from the bottle instead. Steven’s lip curls, but he pats the couch beside him. “Grab another beer for me?”

  I get a beer and take another gulp of cheap sparkling wine, shivering at the way the alcohol is already seeping into my veins. I cuddle close to him and sigh.

  “I was worried about you, babe,” he says.

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I thought I was going to come home and find you in your sexy lingerie, and then I couldn’t find you at all.”

  I giggle and take another drink.

  “Why don’t you put it on for me now?”

  “It’s not even dark yet!”

  “When it gets dark, I won’t be able to see it.”

  “Steven . . .”

  “Come on. Be a good girl for me.”

  “I don’t know. I’m feeling a little shy.”

  “I know. I like that about you. I like it even better when you’re shy and naked.” He nudges the champagne toward my lips, apparently past his disgust with my drinking from the bottle. “Have another drink.”

  I take another drink, totally enjoying the buzz. He kisses my neck. “Come on, baby. Put on your pretty outfit for me.”

  “Okay. All right. But you can’t look while I’m changing.”

  “Promise.”

  I move behind the couch and change near the beds, shucking all my clothes shamelessly before I slip the nightgown over my head. The fine net material is nearly transparent. I don’t bother putting on panties. He’s going to love it.

  �
�Close your eyes,” I whisper before I move to stand in front of him. He opens his eyes before I give him permission and he groans loudly at the sight of me.

  “Oh my God. You’re so damn hot.”

  “You like it?”

  “Hell yeah. Let me see the back.” When I turn, I glance over my shoulder to see him tugging his phone from his jeans.

  “What are you doing?” I scream as I shield myself.

  “Taking a picture.”

  “No way!”

  “Come on. I’m your boyfriend.”

  “No. No pictures!”

  “You’ve never taken dirty pics before?”

  “Never.”

  “Not even with your stepdad?”

  “Steven! Oh my God! I can’t believe you asked that!” What a shitty way to take a hard swipe at my confidence.

  “I just thought those guys were really into pictures.”

  “I never . . . no. Absolutely not.”

  He puts the phone down. “Come here, babe.”

  I drop onto the couch beside him and pout.

  “Listen. This is something special. I’m not going to show these to anyone. They’re just for me. I think about you all the damn time and I want to be able to see the girl I love.”

  I shake my head.

  “Okay. Then I’ll delete them before we get back to town. Come on. Do this for me. It’s such a turn-on.” When I hesitate, he nuzzles my neck. “Don’t you like making your man happy?”

  “You know I do.”

  “I want to be the first,” he murmurs. “The first guy you pose for.”

  I wonder if this is exactly what he said to Meg. It’s a double betrayal—to talk a woman into this vulnerable intimacy, then use it as proof that she’s beneath contempt. But I can’t think about Meg now. I can’t let my rage bubble up. I must be absolutely harmless tonight.

  “You’d have to use my phone,” I whisper. “Not yours.”

  “Okay. But maybe you’ll send me some?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Yeah, baby. Have another drink. Loosen up a little.”

  I don’t mind taking photos, but I can’t leave him with any evidence on his phone. Even if I make him delete them, who knows what the police will be able to recover? I swallow another gulp of champagne and move his phone to the other couch before getting mine.

  He pokes around on it for a minute. “You don’t take any photos? Not even selfies? I thought all girls loved selfies.”

  I stand in front of him, pretending to be self-conscious. “I don’t have much memory. I have to transfer all my pictures to my computer to save space.”

  “I see. All right, baby. Smile for me.”

  I begin posing, giggling at his instructions. “Maybe you shouldn’t get my face in the photos.”

  “I’ll do my best. Turn around. Lift it up. Yeah. Now lean over a little. Hell yeah.” I hear his zipper and he’s breathing harder. “Touch yourself.”

  “Steven!”

  “Come on. Move for me. Yeah, that’s my good girl.”

  “Are you taking video?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Steven!”

  “Turn around and take it off.” His voice is a little harder now.

  I do as instructed, stumbling as if I’m drunk. “Nice,” he grunts. “Real nice. You’re good at this. My own personal little slut. Now touch them.”

  I cup my breasts and moan. I like showing off and I don’t have to pretend to be turned on. I’ll watch the video myself later.

  He masturbates for a while, issuing instructions to me that I obey. It doesn’t take long for him to order me to my knees. “Make me happy, baby.”

  “Don’t record it,” I say.

  “I won’t.” But of course he will. I pretend to trust him anyway.

  “I love you,” I say, looking up at him with big eyes.

  “I love you too,” he mumbles. “I love you so much, babe.” He moves my head where he wants it. “So much.”

  He thinks he’s in control here, his hand pushing me down, his penis shoving into my throat. He thinks he’s dominating me. But he’s the vulnerable one, sliding his favorite part between my open jaws. My knees hurt on the dirty wood floor, but I fantasize about sinking my teeth deep into his shaft, ripping it off right at the root, and the time just flies by.

  Afterward, I get him another beer and snuggle close. He doesn’t return any favors. Big surprise.

  But it doesn’t matter. I’ll take my satisfaction in knowing he’s lost any sense of wariness now. A job well done.

  CHAPTER 41

  “You ever thought about getting a boob job?” he asks, the words slurring together. It’s only seven, but I think he’s had a whole twelve-pack at this point.

  I push back and frown at him as if I’m offended. “What?”

  “They’re kind of small.”

  “They are not!”

  “I mean, they’re great and everything. Real pretty. But they could be bigger with your body type.”

  “I can’t believe you’d say that!” I cover my bare breasts with my arm and reach for a blanket slung over the back of the couch like he’s made me feel ashamed of my body. The fabric smells of dust and mildew. “Do you really like those big fake breasts?”

  “Sure. My ex had them. They were great.”

  He’s talking about Meg. She got them for herself as a graduation present after college. I filled her prescriptions and brought her take-out food for three days after the surgery. “You wish you were still with her, don’t you?”

  “No. I told you she was crazy. I’m just saying I think you’d look great with implants too.”

  “Well, I could never afford them, so this is a stupid conversation.” I flop back on the couch and pout.

  “Maybe I could help you out someday.”

  “You’d pay for surgery?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, they’d kind of belong to me, wouldn’t they? A nice new toy.”

  “Whatever. Mine are fine the way they are.” He’s doing his best to undermine my confidence, so I pretend to seethe.

  I wonder how many times he’s had this conversation with women. I wonder if he looked at Meg’s breast implants and saw a woman who’d already done the work for him. A two-for-one special: big boobs and body image issues!

  I tried to talk Meg out of the implants, but not because I think there’s anything wrong with them. Any advantage we can get in this world we should take. My objection was that I don’t trust surgeons. Too many of them are like me. It’s a wonderful profession for our kind. So much power and no fear about making mistakes. Great on that end of the scalpel, not always so great for the person on the table.

  Still, I helped her through the recovery, and I’ll probably get surgery myself when I get older and my breasts start to lose their shape. I can’t let such useful tools get rusty. It’s fascinating how helpless men are in the face of them.

  “You know I think you’re beautiful, baby,” Steven murmurs into my ear.

  “Do you?”

  “Of course. You’re my girl.”

  “What’s your favorite thing about me?”

  “You’re sweet. And hot. You’re a nice Christian girl. And my family likes you.”

  I turn eagerly to face him. “Do they really like me? Because I like them so much.”

  “My dad keeps telling me not to let you get away.”

  “Aw! He’s so sweet. Do you think . . . if we . . . you know . . . if we ever got married . . . do you think I could call him Dad?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I think he’d really like that. And so would I.”

  “It’d be so nice to have a real family, Steven.”

  “It would make me happy to give that to you. A real home. A good dad.”

  “And Rhonda too. She’s just so sweet.”

  He stiffens immediately and my pulse quickens. In the thrill of the hunt, I’d forgotten about his weird interaction with Rhonda. And this is the perfect time to press for details. Steven’s words are runn
ing together, draping over themselves. He’s drunker than I’ve ever seen him. I’ll take every advantage I can. I’m not sure what wound Rhonda inflicted, but it’s festering, and I want to poke at it.

  “You know,” I say breezily, “I was thinking I could get Rhonda’s number from you and maybe we could have tea or something. Get to know each other better. A girls’ day out.”

  “No.”

  “But if we really might get married someday—”

  “No. I don’t want you around her. She’s a bad influence.”

  “Rhonda?” I crease my whole face up in confusion. “What are you talking about? She’s your stepmom.”

  “She’s a whore.”

  Good Lord, this again? We’re everywhere. “Steven, she’s nice. You shouldn’t be so mean about her. She seems like a good wife and—”

  He cuts me off with a loud snort. “She’s a gold-digging slut! That’s what she is.”

  “I don’t understand. Did she cheat on your dad or something?”

  “Yes.”

  “What?” I fail to keep the trill of delight from my voice, but he doesn’t seem to hear it.

  He growls deep in his throat. “Yeah. Everyone thinks she’s such a perfect wife, but, believe me, she’s a cheating whore.”

  “Wow. And . . . and your dad took her back?”

  He shrugs. “They never broke up. My dad doesn’t know anything about it.”

  Well. This is getting very interesting. “But, Steven . . . if your dad doesn’t know, how could you know?”

  His lips spread in a sneering, self-satisfied grin. “How do you think?”

  Is he saying what I think he’s saying? Delight shivers through my nerves at the possibility, but I pretend I don’t understand. I shake my head, making sure I look upset. I’m worried for the family. Maybe a little scared.

  Steven’s grin fades. He takes a swig from the bottle and stares at the far wall for a minute before speaking. “Never mind.”

  “What do you mean? What happened?”

  His eyelids dip in a slow blink. His head wobbles on his neck. “It was me,” he slurs.

  “What was you?”

  “She cheated with me.”