The Beast In The Castle

by Daniella Wright

  “If you need to take a short trip, I’m sure Soraya can watch Mary for a few hours,” I said.

  “Okay,” Jennifer replied. I wanted to know why she was asking. Where would she go for a night? Was there something in Ashford? Had she met someone? The thought made me freeze. I felt, I realized, jealous.

  “Did you meet friends at church, as well?” I asked her, not really wanting to know, but not being able to bear the suspense.

  “I met a few people,” she said vaguely.

  “Are there even places to go out in Ashford?”

  “Not really,” Jennifer replied. I could think of nothing further in this line of questioning that wouldn’t be a straight up interrogation. I could feel all of my actions pushing both Jennifer and my niece farther away from me. It was both a relief and agony at the same time. Jennifer inhaled sharply. I looked up to find her gaze on the small television set in the kitchen.

  Emblazoned across the screen in front of the news reporter was the headline: Woman Found Dead, Mauled by Large Animal. My heart stopped. I knew that it wasn’t my doing this time. I had spent the entirety of the night before throwing my large weight at the rebar. Mercifully, it had held, and I had awoken that morning, slightly bruised, but otherwise guilt-free. This time, it had been my nemesis—the other one, the one who had bitten me, infecting me with this curse. My hands automatically clenched. He had killed. He had taken away any sense of normalcy I would ever experience. But he had taken away a woman’s life. He had gone too far. I needed to find out who he was.

  He had disappeared for a long while after I had been turned, returning to the area infrequently. I had no idea who he was, and I often wondered if maybe, he was just better at keeping himself contained. I had reasoned this away. He went elsewhere to hunt, returning here for some unknown reason. I needed to step up my efforts to find him and to kill him before he did any more harm.

  A photograph of the woman who had been killed was placed on the screen—her high school yearbook photo. Jennifer gasped.

  “She looks like you,” Mary pointed out in a small voice. The woman killed had that same brown hair, warm eyes, and bright smile that Jennifer did. She even had a similarly shaped face. They could have been sisters. I grabbed the remote, hastily changing the channel.

  Chapter Ten

  Over the next week, Damien texted me throughout the day. They were frequent, sweet texts, asking me about Mary, and how my day was going. They would always abruptly stop as soon as it got dark. It was jarring. I wondered if it was because he was going out with other women from the town. They all obviously had a thing for him, and it was not like we were in a committed relationship…yet. On Wednesday afternoon, he even called.

  “Hey pretty lady,” he said when I answered, and I could tell that he was smiling by the tone of his voice.

  “Hey yourself,” I replied. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much. Just thinking about you.”

  “Only good thoughts, I hope.”

  “Oh, yes, very good.” He paused. I wondered what else he would have to say. Damien’s conversation was never deep. He lacked anything beneath the surface, I had realized, which was very strange for a writer.

  “Do you have time for our lunch date, by any chance?” he asked me.

  “I can’t,” I replied. “I have a complicated math lesson to get through with Mary today. She’s having a little bit of a tricky time with this one.”

  “Agh. We’ve been trying for days,” he complained. “You must be playing hard to get.”

  “Nah. I just have a demanding job,” I reasoned. “You’re the one with flexibility, and yet you didn’t seem to have the time when I was free on Tuesday.”

  “Touché.” He sighed.

  “I’ll see you in church,” I offered.

  “Yep.”

  “Okay,” I said. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

  “Yeah, yours too.” He said it with a startling lack of emotion. As the call disconnected, I thought about Michael. He seemed to always make time to have at least one meal a day with Mary, even if he was slightly distant. He was always there, attempting some sort of communication. I chastised myself for comparing my boss with my supposed and stagnating romantic fling. One did not date the boss. Especially if one was the nanny.

  On Sunday, I had just finished pulling my hair back into a neat ponytail. I was wearing a lilac-colored sundress and a pearl necklace from my grandmother. I exited my ensuite bathroom, on my way to help Mary prepare. When I opened the door to my bedroom, Michael was standing in the hallway, his hand raised as though he were about to knock on the door.

  “Oh,” I said. “Hello.” He looked me up and down, and smiled nervously.

  “I…I was wondering if I could join the two of you,” he said hesitantly.

  “Sure,” I said. He nodded.

  “Excellent,” he turned. “I’ll get the car.”

  “Okay,” I said. I was surprised. I was also nervous—how would he react to my slowly budding relationship with Damien?

  I found myself squirming a little in the passenger seat of the Camaro—Michael’s car of choice, as he drove us in to Ashford. He seemed communicative, for once, and even Mary was talking.

  “I’ll introduce you to Jackie,” she told him. “She’s my best friend.”

  “Oh, really?” Michael asked.

  “Yeah. We both have pink tutus,” Mary said. “You’ll really like her.” When I looked over at Michael, I noticed a small smile on his face.

  “What about the church?” Michael asked her.

  “It’s kind of small,” she admitted. “Smaller than the one I used to go to…but it’s nice. The people are nice. You’ll like them.”

  We pulled in, and I stopped by one of the folding tables to drop off the pasta salad that I had brought for the lunch after the service. Michael met me by the door, having dropped Mary off at the Sunday school classroom. He opened the door, gesturing for me to walk in.

  “Thanks,” I whispered. He nodded. We were a little late, so we sat in the back row. Glancing around, I saw no sign of Damien Price. My heart sank, wondering why he hadn’t texted me to say that he wouldn’t be there. I frowned and sat back in my seat. I looked at Michael, sitting beside me. His face was sad, eyes wide and solemn. If he had been anyone else, I would have assumed that he was on the verge of tears. He noticed that I was looking at him, and he smiled at me, the gesture not reaching his eyes. He held out a hand. I paused, surprised at the gesture, before taking it.

  He pressed my hand in his. I felt torn—what if Damien walked in and saw me holding the hand of another man? But, at the same time, sitting silently beside Michael in church, my hand tucked within his, something felt so…right. The service was lovely—I barely paid it any attention, trying to figure my employer out. He wanted distance, yet hated it, or so it seemed. But what was the reason? What had happened to him to make him distance himself, even from his niece, to whom he had been so close to before?

  The service ended, and we stood, heading for the door behind the procession. To my shock, Damien stood beside the door, his hands in his pockets. He stood casually, looking at me with Michael. I looked at Michael—his face was impassive. He didn’t know Damien, I realized.

  I waved to Damien, and his smile spread slowly across his face in an almost threatening manner. I felt my stomach drop like a lead weight. Something was wrong—direly wrong. I walked over to him, Michael following.

  “Damien, hi,” I said.

  “Hello,” he replied, leaning forward, and kissing me on the cheek. Michael’s face looked stern, shocked.

  “Um, Michael, this is Damien…Price,” I said feeling the full awkwardness of the situation. “Damien, meet Michael Price, my employer.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Michael said, obviously not meaning it, yet holding out his hand anyway. Damien took it, leaning in and whispering something in Michael’s ear. Michael’s face registered shock like I had never seen before. Damien leaned back as he said:
>
  “I know you. All of you.” He turned away from Michael, and took me by the arm.

  “If you did,” Michael replied. “Then you would know better than to touch what was mine.” Damien laughed, placing a hand on my arm.

  “Shall we get some lunch?” He asked, maneuvering me away. I glanced back at Michael, who was watching us walk away, a look of fury on his face. I mouthed to him, “Are you okay?” He didn’t respond. I turned to Damien.

  “What was that about?” I asked. “How do you know each other?”

  “We met about three years ago,” Damien replied. “You know, Michael Thompson is rather a dangerous sort. You should really stay away from him.”

  “Michael? Dangerous?” I laughed. “He might be a bit stern, and a little eccentric, but I doubt that he’s dangerous. Whatever would make you say something like that?”

  “I don’t want to discuss it right now…” Damien looked about us. “In such a public place. We should have lunch.”

  “Okay,” I said as we got in line for the buffet. I felt deeply uncomfortable. I looked about me for Mary. I saw that she was talking to Michael. Her eyes were wide, and she was toying nervously with the end of her braid.

  “Excuse me for a moment,” I told Damien. He didn’t reply, simply nodding as he grabbed a plate and began piling it with food. I walked over to Michael and Mary.

  “What’s going on, guys?” I asked. Mary turned to me a perplexed look on her tiny face.

  “He wants to leave without meeting my friends,” she said mournfully.

  “I want to leave,” Michael said. “Now.”

  “A few more minutes,” Mary pleaded. “Just a few.”

  “No. Now, Mary,” he said.

  “No,” she stomped a foot, for the first time I’d ever seen her act petulant. She reminded me of her uncle in that moment.

  “Mary,” I said, kneeling. “Your uncle says that we have to go. We will see your friends this week at the park. Run and say a quick goodbye to Jackie and the girls and let’s go home. We can fix the dinosaur chicken nuggets for lunch, okay?” She sighed deeply, rolling her eyes.

  “Okay.”

  Chapter Eleven

  As soon as we got into the house, I paged Soraya. She came running quickly.

  “Yes, Mr. Thompson?” she asked.

  “Can you watch Mary while I talk to Jennifer?” I asked. “She needs lunch. I believe she was promised the dinosaur chicken nuggets.” Soraya nodded briskly. I always made sure to phrase my demands to Soraya as questions, as if she had a choice. She took my niece by the shoulder, guiding her to the kitchen.

  “Come with me,” I told Jennifer, walking toward my office. She followed silently. I opened the door, standing aside to let her pass, and shutting it behind us. “When did you meet Damien Price?” I wasn’t going to beat around the bush. She cocked an eyebrow curiously.

  “A few weeks ago. His mother owns the general store in town.” She paused, as if she were debating something in her mind. “How do you know each other? Damien doesn’t seem to have a very high opinion of you.”

  “Technically, today was our first formal meeting.” I wasn’t about to tell her that Damien Price was a psychopathic half-man half-wolf who had attacked me three years earlier. I let the silence stretch between us. I could see that she was waiting for me to say more. “I don’t like how he was looking at you.”

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “I want you to be safe.”

  “Funny. Damien said something similar about you.” She was sexy in her righteous anger. She was leaning against my desk. She was glaring at me, and biting her lip. The light purple sundress that she was wearing was made of a thin material, and one of the straps was sliding down her arm.

  “Don’t mention him to me,” I said as I launched myself at her, my primal instincts taking over, I slid my hand beneath the strap on her dress as I kissed her passionately. She froze for a second in surprise, but to my relief, responded. I picked her up so that she was sitting on my desk as I slid her other strap down. She moaned lightly as I trailed kisses down her neck to her breasts. She grabbed my face, pulling me toward her, and kissing me on the mouth hungrily. She began to unbutton my shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons.

  I ran my hands up her thighs, pushing the soft folds of her sundress up, and she threw her head back. I nuzzled her neck with my nose, smelling the sweet scent of her skin, the floral smell of her shampoo…and I stopped. I stepped back, my heart racing in my chest. All of my senses were turned on into top gear. I ran a hand over my close-cropped hair as I looked at her, the top of her dress pulled dangerously low, and the hem of her dress pulled up to a scandalous point. She looked absolutely tantalizing. Any man would give his right arm to be in this situation with this woman. She was frowning.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “We shouldn’t do this.” She sighed and looked away.

  “I won’t let it interfere with my work,” she said in a low voice. “We’re two adults, in a very isolated situation…it was bound to happen, I guess.”

  “No…it’s not…”

  “Are you and Soraya…”

  “No…we never…” I exhaled. “This is not a good idea.” She looked at me, her head to the side.

  “Why?” It was such a simple question, and I ached to give her an answer—the true answer. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to see the look on her face when she found that I was a monster.

  “You don’t know how dangerous…it would be.”

  “Explain that to me.”

  “I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you.” She was going to go, of course. I probably sounded absolutely crazy.

  “I’m not leaving.” I nodded, and walked out of the room. As I fled down the hallway, buttoning my shirt as I went, I could hear her footsteps behind me, trying to keep up. I took the stairs in twos, reaching my bedroom, and locking the doors behind me. I heard her knock once against the door, and then let out a deep sigh. I pressed my ear against the door, listening to her breathing as she leaned against the other side. I remained where I was, listening as her footsteps traveled the length of the hallway.

  Chapter Twelve

  I didn’t see Michael for the rest of the day. I tossed and turned until late in the night, unable to fall asleep. I was confused and sexually frustrated. I wanted him, and I was angry with him at the same time. He was totally shutting me out. I finally fell asleep after the night was well progressed, only to be awoken the next morning by my phone ringing. I didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?”

  “Jennifer Hart?” It was a woman’s voice. Older, professional.

  “Speaking,” I looked at the clock beside my bed—the red numbers spelled out 4:55.

  “Hi, I’m calling from SUNY Downstate Medical Center,” the woman said. “Your sister, Julie, has been in a car accident. As next of kin, we will need you to come.”

  “Oh my god. Is she okay? Is she awake? Is she asking for me?”

  “No. She is in a medically-induced coma. She has some pretty severe injuries, but the ER doctors have stabilized her and sent her to the OR. The prognosis is yet unknown. She was in pretty bad condition when she came in.” My heart was racing. I got as much information as I could before I ended the call with the nurse, who promised to contact me if and when anything changed. I needed to tell Michael that it was an emergency situation. I got dressed and packed a bag, writing a note to Mary, and slipping it beneath her door. I scribbled my cell number on it so that she could call me.

  I walked to Michael’s suite, knocking briskly on the door. I was greeted with silence. I knew that he was definitely inside; he never worked during the night. He was always in his room by five o’clock in the evening, and didn’t come out until seven o’clock in the morning. I sighed heavily. He was ignoring me, if anything, and I just didn’t have the time or the patience to play games. Julie needed me.

  I tested the door knob. It was locked. I pulled out my wall
et, sliding the credit card that Michael had given me out. I slid it in between the door and the lock, manipulating the card and the knob at just the right time—I had learned this trick through raising my siblings. Sometimes, in our overcrowded apartment, one of them would lock the rest of us out of the single bedroom, for “privacy,” while they spoke on the phone or journaled. When they overstayed their private time, I would sometimes have to jimmy the lock in order to break in so the rest of us could go to sleep.

  The lock clicked open, making a chiming sound, and I walked in. The room was dark, and I could make out a messy tangle of sheets on the massive, four poster bed…but there was no one asleep in it. I frowned and turned the light on. The room was empty. It was modern, sleek—a high tech bachelor pad.

  “Michael?” I asked, then paused as I realized that this was the first time that I had referred to my employer on a first name basis. I was greeted by silence. This was ridiculous. I crossed the room to what I assumed was the closet, turning the knob and opening the door.

  It was a large, walk-in closet, with bare racks and empty shelves. Taking up most of the space was an enormous, rebar cage that had been battered severely. Inside of the cage, Michael Thompson, my stern employer, was curled up on the floor, asleep…and naked. Wounds covered his flesh, some were fresh, and others were scars several years old, yet massive and twisted. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth in shock.

  Michael woke with a start. I began to back away as his eyes opened. He was shocked to see me, and he reached out a hand, as though to stop me.

  “Wait,” he rasped, as though he had screamed for weeks. I ran, closing the door to both

  the closet and the suite behind me. I ran to my room, packing everything. I had to leave. I had thought that he was strange, but now I knew too much—or did I? Was it a fetish? Was it…what?