by Melissa Jane
Its headline read, Gallery Owner Found in Compromising Position.
“What the…hell?” Clicking on the link, my eyes widened in horror as I read the disturbing report.
The owner of a highly reputable downtown art gallery was discovered early this morning by a pair of joggers. They claim to have heard muffled moaning from down an alleyway just off Third and Fifth Street. Upon closer inspection, two men, both naked, were found hogtied behind a dumpster. The witnesses claim the men were tied together at the waist upside down to each other simulating a lewd sexual position. The man believed to be the gallery owner was bloodied and bruised indicating that this could be indeed a hate crime or that of retribution. Police have confirmed that foul play is behind this bizarre discovery. Ambulance personnel arrived on the scene, and both men are being monitored closely in hospital. They are expected to be released this afternoon, but not before facing curious questioning by the authorities.
“What. In. Actual. Fuck?” I mouthed, wide-eyed at the screen.
“Now what?” I was startled back to reality by Charlie’s voice.
Without saying a word, I turned the laptop around as he took a seat on the other side of the desk. He read in silence, his frown deepening, his mouth agape.
“Jesus H Christ!” Charlie looked up in disbelief. “What the hell does he get up to in his private time? He's kinkier than me.”
“I can’t even fully comprehend what I’ve just read.”
“Foul play? Who has he pissed off?”
One face came to mind. I shivered at the thought.
Had Mason been watching last night?
Was he angered by the way David treated me?
This was a particularly violent and deviant crime. It practically had Mason Carter’s name written all over it.
“Someone clearly had a point to prove,” Charlie said, sitting back in his chair. “And they certainly proved it.”
I decided to keep David’s assault and blackmail attempt from the night before to myself.
“This is going to look really bad for the gallery when word spreads David was involved,” I said, preparing for the worst.
“What’s our damage control?”
“We don’t have one. This isn’t something anyone could ever prepare for. We just need to reassure our clients and investors that the gallery is running as per normal. Keep social media to the standard posts and don’t address anything provocative.”
“So, we plead ignorance?”
‘Yes. This is David’s mess. When he returns, he can clean it up.”
Charlie gave a questionable smile. “I sense a bit of coldness?”
“I have my reasons, and no I won’t divulge—”
“Oh, come on, you can’t—” We were interrupted by my cell vibrating on the desk.
“It’s Rufus,” I said, ready to accept the call although filled with some dread. “He’s probably heard by now. I’ve got to take this. Can you check the Facebook and Instagram accounts, and make sure everything is kosher?”
“On it.”
When Charlie left the office, I swiped to accept the call. “Rufus! Good morning.”
“Gemma, is David there?”
“No, he’s… he’s in a meeting right now.”
“Hmm… is that so?”
“I can get him to call you back when he’s free. Or I can help you.”
“You can help by not lying to me, Gemma. The Downtown Herald has released David’s name in their online article.”
As quietly as I could, I typed in the Google search bar, and sure enough the article popped up. Not only had they mentioned David’s name in full but also the gallery name. This was not only bad for David but awful for me. My name and reputation were on the line and would be brought into question with future curating jobs.
“I don’t know what to say, Rufus. I’ve literally walked into my office, and this has been sprung on me. I know it comes as a shock, but please trust me when I say it’s not going to affect your exhibition.”
“Again, although I know you are only saying what you have to, you’re lying to me. This is not ideal, Gemma, and if I’d known the gallery I was considering investing in was being brought into disrepute by its owner, I would never have initiated contact in the first place. The Maximus Kline vandalism and this? I’m out.”
“Rufus, please, give it some thought. Let’s see how the week plays out, and then—”
“I’ve given it enough thought. Take care, Gemma.”
The call ended, and I was left in a moment of shock. Everything was happening so fast I could hardly keep up. I had to lower my head between my knees to quell the unease in my stomach. If Mason was behind this, even if it had been with misguided intentions, he was now ruining my career.
Inhaling deeply, I released a few steady breaths before righting myself and scrolling through my contacts. When I reached Christina’s name, I pressed call.
After four rings she answered, “Gemma,” she greeted softly.
“Hey, Christina.” My heart started a heavy beat. “Before you hang up on me, I just wanted to apologize for my behavior on the weekend. I don’t know what possessed me, but in any case, it was unacceptable.”
“Don’t apologize,” she said sounding defeated. “After all that, you were right.”
“What do you mean?” I cautiously asked.
“Mason was never interested in me. He left pretty much straight after you pulled out of the drive. When I asked him where he was going, he told me to delete his number. It was like he had staged the whole thing.”
I swallowed hard.
My gut feeling had once again been correct. If Mason was no longer in Maine with Christina, that meant he could very well have been in town watching the violent interaction between David and me.
But why punish David?
I would have thought anyone trying to hurt me would bring a smile to Mason’s face.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t want it to be that way, Christina. I really didn’t. Mason is a dangerous man and seeing him with you and Evie and knowing what he’s like, sent me over the edge. You deserve so much better than someone who only wants to use you.”
“Perhaps one day you can tell me a little bit more of the history you two share, and I’ll understand. For now, he’s just another douchebag to add to the ever-growing list.”
For the next few minutes we chatted about small stuff, the tension still not yet cleared. When I ended the call promising to be in contact soon, I grabbed my handbag and headed downstairs to reception.
“Where are you going?” Carleen asked, looking more frazzled than earlier. All phone lines were buzzing, her hair poking up in places courtesy of the headset. “I have all of these reporters phoning, asking if I knew about David’s sexual fetishes. Why would they be asking me such a thing?”
The look on her face made me have to stifle a smile. She obviously hadn’t seen the papers. “Let the phones ring out,” I instructed. “Cancel the rest of David’s meetings for the day and close up.”
“Close up?”
“I’d do it sooner rather than later before those reporters end up banging on the glass demanding answers.”
“Jesus! What did the guy do?”
There was one thing I was certain of. “I don’t think it was all him.”
Chapter 24
Outside the precinct, I stood under a gloomy sky, the streets buzzing with those wanting to get back to work after their lunch break before the rain began to fall. Scanning around the sea of faces, I searched for one person. I needed Mason to see me outside the precinct and wanted him to know his time was up. I wasn’t going to take any more of his shit.
Satisfied that if he were watching, he’d seen me by now, I entered through the revolving doors. On the third floor, I found Kinross and Walsh waiting for me. They’d made the special trip to see me, but it was obvious they’d collaborated with the NYC district before.
“Ms. Sinclair,” Detective Kinross greeted, exuding the warmth Wals
h lacked. “We’re pleased you’ve made this step. Though we are curious as to why.”
“Let’s just say I’ve realized playing it his way was doing more damage than good.”
“Follow us,” Walsh said, the corners of her mouth turning up the slightest degree. It was the first time I’d ever seen her truly smile, and in a way, it caught me off guard.
“Don’t get used to it,” Kinross quipped as if reading my mind.
I let them both lead the way through the maze of tables and into a less formal interview room. Instead of the standard metal chairs, stark interior, and fluorescent lighting, this one was furnished with leather fireside chairs and a bookshelf on the far wall. A camera sat perched on its tripod ready for recording confessions such as the one I was about to give.
“Please,” Detective Kinross said while gesturing to the couch opposite the camera.
Taking a seat, I shifted a few times until I was comfortable, my nerves starting to take hold.
“Relax, Ms. Sinclair,” Detective Walsh urged. You’re not here because you are a suspect in an investigation. At least we don’t think you are… yet.”
“That’s not helping,” I said, taking the bait.
“We’re here because we have one thing in common and that’s Mason Carter,” Kinross encouraged. “Just remember, everything you say will be recorded and may be used when we take Mason to court. Is that acceptable, Ms. Sinclair?”
“Yes, and please just call me Gemma.”
“Okay,” Kinross exhaled. “Let’s get the show on the road.” He signaled to Walsh who aligned the camera and pressed record.
“Please state your full name,” Kinross requested now on auto-pilot.
“Gemma Audrina Sinclair.”
“What’s your relationship with Mr. Mason Carter?”
“We were neighbors growing up until the age of sixteen and a bit.”
“Thank you. Now, what would you like to share with us?”
Sweat pooled in my palms and I wiped them on my skirt while gathering my thoughts. It had been so long since I allowed myself to think of that particular moment, and I didn’t need to remind myself that anything I said would be used against Mason and if I wasn’t careful, Lucas too.
“Gemma?” Kinross prompted. “Can you tell us about that night?”
I nodded, inhaling deeply, preparing my words. “It was almost two months after Mason had used his knife to carve into me…”
Chapter 25
THEN
The night was hot and humid, the air close and uncomfortable.
Temperatures had soared throughout the day, and in the distance a storm was brewing. Lying in bed, my skin sticky with sweat, I stared at the roof which was swimming in darkness. It had been yet another night of arguments. Another night Mrs. Carter had failed to take action and protect her boys from the one person she continued to welcome back in her life. She wore his bruises and cried every time he left. Mason was old enough to leave home, and he often did so, but for Lucas’s sake, he continued to return. He had no other home of his own, and I had suspicions he was staying at the cabin more regularly.
The night had been explosive. Glass had broken, and screams and shouts from everyone in the house echoed straight into my room. One thing I had learned about the boyfriend was that he liked to call Mrs. Carter a filthy fucking whore. He also liked to say ‘your boys are sons of a slut.’ These comments were usually followed by dull thuds that churned my stomach.
Sometimes I’d wait, hoping she would fire back an insult, or until the sounds of her cries drifted across the fence. If I heard either of those it would bring a wave of relief—she had survived the blow. Survived so she could take another punch to the face the next night. The evening had been filled with terrified screams from the mother, and the Carter boys yelling at the abusive man who’d taken their father’s spot. I couldn’t understand what they were saying because everyone was yelling at once and then… like the click of a finger, the noise abruptly stopped, and silence descended on the broken Carter family.
Lightning lit up the dark sky with a bright flash, and a moment later thunder angrily grumbled causing the house and its contents to shake. The storm was right above us, ready to add more anger and aggression to an already volatile night.
The pitta-patter of rain sounded on the window, large droplets falling and exploding on impact.
The lightning and thunder now worked in tighter unison, the wind picking up a few knots, while the tree branches scratched against the side of the house. Yet, beyond all the noise of Mother Nature was the sound of the Carter boys, their bickering voices reaching my ears. Crawling out of bed, I padded over to the window but stayed far enough away to not be seen. Peering over the edge I saw Mason and Lucas, but only their shadowed faces. They were both visibly angry as they continued to debate something. They moved awkwardly, but I couldn’t see why.
Opening the window, I watched what was unfolding. The brothers, cast in a midnight-blue light, were standing at the open trunk of their mother’s Volvo. In their hands, they carried something long and large wrapped in a tarpaulin. It slipped in their grasp, wet hands and the sheer weight of it, difficult to maneuverer. They struggled with the awkward weight of the heavy object, eventually lifting and rolling it into the trunk.
Mason, using his booted foot, kicked hard, pushing the object deeper before slamming the lid. The brothers shared a few curse words while gathering their breath. Mason was becoming irate, his hand wrapping around Lucas’s neck, a finger raised in warning. In turn, Lucas was visibly upset, wiping tears away with the back of his hand. He managed to free himself from his brother’s hold and paced nervously back and forth.
The rain grew heavier on my face, wet hair clinging to my forehead. But I didn’t care. My heart was pounding. My stomach sickened with anxiety. There was a lot wrong with this situation and deep down, no matter how much I tried to deny it, I knew exactly what was happening.
A brilliant continuous flash of sheet lightning lit up the neighborhood coating everything in its glory, including the brothers. Clothes and arms were covered in blood, their faces wearing the bruises and cuts of another night’s beating.
Lucas was first to catch my eye as the lightning continued its magical light show. He was sad, frightened. Mason followed his line of sight and turned to face me, his jaw set like stone, eyes as stormy as the one breaking above us.
A booming crack of thunder erupted above like an out of control machine gun. Terrified at both the noise and at being caught, I fell to the floor.
You saw nothing.
You saw nothing.
It’s just thunder.
You saw nothing.
Trembling, teeth chattering, I hugged my knees to my chest. I let time pass, lost in a world that looked and felt like a war zone. When the thunder grew tiresome of chasing the lightning, I turned on my knees, hands splayed against the wall. I wanted to look. I needed to see if what I saw was true. Lifting myself just high enough to peer over the edge I once again met his gaze.
Waiting for me to return, Mason stood alone in the rain. Clothes drenched the blood coating his skin, now diluted to reveal his pure hatred. His stare never broke from mine in a silent standoff.
Mason had remained behind to personally deliver a warning.
Slowly sliding a finger across his throat, I heard it loud and clear.
~
“Gemma!”
The banging on my bedroom door erupted once again.
“Gemma, honey? Wake up,” my mother called from the other side. There was something strange about her tone. It was troubled, anxious. “Darling, are you in there?”
Flicking off the cover, I answered, knowing she’d be persistent. “I’m in here. Come in.”
The door creaked open, and I met my mother’s confused face. “Gemma, you never told me the Carters were moving!”
I blinked slowly at her, my expression mirroring hers. “Huh? They’re not moving, they haven’t even had the house up for sale.�
��
My mom raised her eyebrows in disbelief and crossed her arms. “Lucas never mentioned any of this?”
I got to my feet and ran to the window. Outside, putting the last few things in the Volvo, were Lucas and Mason moving with urgency and with purpose, to and from the house. Mrs. Carter wore her best knee-length dress with dark sunglasses in what would otherwise be a perfect day after such a nightmare of a night. She kept her head down allowing her sons to do all the work.
“No,” I murmured feeling a little lost. “He hasn’t said anything.”
“Well, I suppose we better say our goodbyes.” I could hear my mother’s footsteps take to the stairs yet all I could do was watch.
I wasn’t ready to lose Lucas.
I didn’t know if I’d ever be.
“Gem,” my mother called from downstairs ushering me into action. “Come on, they’ll be gone before you get down here.”
Wrapping the robe around me and flattening my tangled mass of hair, I ran down the stairs and met Mom at the door. She followed me out into the bright sunlight, and together we walked across the green and still-wet front lawn to the driveway.
Lucas emerged from the house carrying a medium-sized brown box sealed with packing tape. His expression was dark and chilling. He almost seemed to be a different person. But after the night he’d had, I could understand.
I looked at the car, the memory of the brothers hauling the awkward tarpaulin-wrapped package playing over in my mind.
“Mrs. Carter?” my mother called, waving her hand but it was purposefully ignored. “What’s going on?” Mom mouthed only to me.
I crossed over the driveways and approached Lucas who was jamming the box into the backseat of the car. “Lucas,” I called, gently touching his shoulder.
He yanked his arm away like he’d been stung, his hateful gaze softening when he saw me. Immediately his eyes moistened, his pinkie reaching out to touch mine. A painful hard lump formed in my throat and I couldn’t manage the words I wanted to say.