by Anya Sharpe
Jesus, she’s fucking gorgeous.
“Locksmith.” My voice has lowered by about five octaves.
“What? Why?” Her eyes grow wide.
“Because I won’t be able to sleep tonight knowing Derrick would be able to let himself in here anytime he pleases and hurt you. I don’t think you will either.” Not to mention all the improper fantasies I’m sure will be parading through my damned head for the rest of the night after seeing her in this robe.
“Derrick wouldn’t do that.” The quiver in her voice is proof she isn’t convincing anyone, herself included.
I cross my arms over my chest and give her a stern, doubtful look.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right,” she finally admits. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Really, I do.”
I hand her a glass of red wine. “Hope you don’t mind. I took the liberty of opening a bottle. I figured you could use a drink.”
Nodding, she sips. “Mmm. Good. Thanks.” She studies me for a moment. “I’m not hungry, but if you want I can order take-out.”
My dick is screaming Yes! Yes! Yes! But I figure I need to get out of here before it climbs into the driver’s seat and talks me into doing something I shouldn’t. Like burying my face against her tempting neck…
“No. Thanks.” I force the words out, clearing my throat. “I’d better be going. I wanted to make sure you were safe and all. You probably need some quiet time. Or whatever.”
A shy smile forms. “Yeah. Or whatever. Thanks so much, Evan.” She blinks a few times and shakes her head. “I don’t even want to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t been here. Derrick was…out of control.”
Yeah, he was.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine tonight. You have my number, right? Use it anytime for absolutely anything at all, Erynne. Even in the middle of the night, if necessary. I’ll be here in a heartbeat.” The grip I have on the knob is the only thing keeping me in line. I’d love nothing more than to gather her in my arms and hold her close to me for the rest of the night. Instead, I slip quickly out the door.
My dick is not happy with me.
On the way home, the whole incident in Erynne’s apartment replays in my mind. What was the douche thinking? Jesus. If I hadn’t been there, would Derrick have seriously hurt her? A shiver runs down my spine at the thought. He slapped her hard enough to leave a mark on that gorgeous skin of hers. How far would he have gone?
My hands grip the steering wheel all the way home.
After pulling on a pair of old sweats and popping open a beer, I flop on the sofa and flip on a basketball game. Sip and stare. I’m trying to figure out why I had such an overwhelming need to take care of Erynne tonight. Actually, that’s not true. I know why. The thought of a woman being physically hurt by another man—even if he is her husband—infuriates me. Especially when he’s her husband or boyfriend.
I’ll never allow that to happen on my watch again. Ever. Once was enough. Once was too much.
I lean back and close my eyes.
I’d forgotten my jacket. Sprinting up the walkway to our small house, the sound of someone crying catches my attention. A kitten? Is a kitten stuck under the porch again? I’ll check in the morning when it’s light outside.
The front door is ajar. That’s strange. Why would Mom leave the door open? Weren’t she and Charlie going out tonight? They had a huge argument the night before, and he begged her to go out to dinner as an apology. I wanted to stay home until he arrived, but Mom insisted there was no reason to wait with her, and shooed me off with my teenage buddies.
When I stepped inside the house, the crying grew louder.
“Mom?”
I follow the sound down the hall to the bathroom.
“Holy shit! Mom! What happened?”
Mom was sitting on the edge of the tub. Her face was swollen, bruised and tear-stained. Her blouse was torn in several places. Her eyes were wide with fright.
“Evan? Why are you here?”
“Jesus, Mom. What the hell happened? Where’s Charlie?”
She sobbed harder, unable to speak coherently.
“Who did this to you?” Deep down inside I knew the truth. “Charlie did this, didn’t he?”
I eased Mom to her feet, and slowly walked her into the living room, making her sit on the sofa. Then, I got her a glass of water. And called the cops.
I never should have left Mom alone that night. Charlie had a history of becoming angry at the drop of a hat. I’d walked in on their arguments and thrown him out after decorating his face with my fists a few times. I hadn’t wanted Mom to go out with him again, but she assured me everything was fine between them.
I was such a fool.
I vowed then and there I’d step in whenever a woman was in trouble. No matter how big or small the trouble was.
That’s exactly what I had done this evening.
The asshole meter had been twitching at full tilt. Some sixth sense told me there would be a problem tonight.
I’m glad I listened.
Chapter Twelve
Erynne
My head aches like a son of a bitch. Last night, Derrick had shaken me hard, slamming me against the wall several times before Evan was able to pull him off. The bath, ibuprofen, and wine helped some. I managed to sleep a little bit, but after tossing and turning for the last hour or so, I give up. It’s only five o’clock. Far too early to get ready for work. My mind keeps replaying the ugly scene.
I can’t go through this every day.
The early morning light filters in the windows, as I wander aimlessly around the apartment, considering everything Derrick has done this past week. The difficulty of repairing our relationship weighs on me like an anvil.
He accused Evan and me of having an affair and called me a bitch. He actually hit me.
Nope. He’d cut me too deeply. As much as I loved Derrick, he’s driven a spear into my heart and ripped it out while it was still beating.
Without making a conscious decision, I find myself in Derrick’s home office and begin poking through files. Out of the blue, I’m curious about how many months is left on our lease. I spot an unmarked letter-size manila envelope and open it.
“Here it is.” I take the papers out and search for the dates. “This can’t be right. Two more years? It’s a year-to-year lease. This makes no sense.”
Then, I read the unfamiliar address: 22551 W. Fairmont Avenue, Apartment 202.
The papers are dated back eight years, and signed only by Derrick.
“What the hell is this?” Derrick didn’t live here when we met and dated, and he’d certainly never told me about any income property. Plus, this is a lease. At the bottom of the envelope are two gold keys on a simple wire ring.
Chills slither down my spine. The keys slide out of the envelope and into my palm. I half expect them to burn the skin. Shaking and swallowing hard, I copy the address onto a Post-It note. Then, place the lease in the envelope and return it to the file cabinet.
I keep the keys.
I have no idea what to do now.
Or do I?
****
The shiny gold keys stare back at me from atop a pile of contracts and ad proposals as if they were poisonous snakes waiting to strike. I poke at them with a pencil. Then scoop the ring onto the tip and hold them up, studying them as if they’ll magically impart answers to all my questions.
Answers I’m not sure I want. I need them, though.
Oh yes, those keys will answer some questions, I’m sure. They’re the linchpin to the entire house of cards already on the verge of total collapse. There’s no doubt in my mind they’ll unlock a whopping big secret that will crush any remaining love for Derrick into a fine, fine powder which dissipates into the wind forever.
Every muscle. Every bone. Every shred of tissue on my body aches with the knowledge that this is the turning point. The only option will be to walk away from the dregs of my fractured marriage. If I was scared and hurt and sad before, that was not
hing. These keys will open the lock to the final blow.
Am I strong enough to handle it?
Probably not.
But, I have no choice.
I need to know.
Should I go?
When?
Will he be there?
What is he hiding?
Why?
Should I take someone with me?
All day, these questions have danced around in my head like evil fairies. Taunting me. Daring me.
I make my decision.
“That settles it. I’m going. Now.” I stand up and boldly announce this to myself.
“Where are you going?” Maya bounces into my office. “Do I want to go, too?”
“You probably don’t.” I stare at the keys which have been tormenting me. “But, I think I’d really like you to.”
The smile fades from her face. She knows this is serious. “What are those?”
“Keys,” I say blandly.
“Keys to…?”
“I don’t know. Most likely to nothing good. Are you coming…before I lose my nerve?”
“Yeah, I’m definitely going with you.”
The taxi leaves us on the sidewalk, staring up at a scrolled sign that reads Pantheon Apartments. It’s an ordinary looking, dirty gray stone building about five or six stories tall wedged between two other ordinary stone city buildings. Nothing fancy, nothing derelict. Just an unassuming, older New York apartment building.
My heart is pounding so hard and heavy I hope I don’t pass out right here on the street.
Taking a deep breath and grasping Maya’s hand, I tug her toward the entrance. The dirty glass door opens with the loud squeal of metal against metal. I’m glad I didn’t need to have anyone buzz us in. The odor in the tiny lobby is vaguely like mildew. Otherwise, it’s clean. To my left is an open staircase, and straight ahead is an elevator. Intricate, older mailboxes line the right wall. I search for apartment 202. Below each number is a label with the residents’ last names. Beneath the number 202 is says “D. Sommers.” I suppose I hoped I’d see another name.
I gulp hard. Twice.
“Shit.” Maya’s hand comes to rest on my shoulder.
“What do you want to do, Erynne? We can leave right now.”
“No.” My voice cracks. I clear my throat. “No.”
I turn around, contemplating the elevator, but decide on the stairs, perhaps to delay the inevitable.
The well-maintained building has to be more than fifty years old. My feet make a clomping sound as I plod up the narrow, steep wooden steps. The strong, spicy aroma of food cooking which hits me the closer we come to the second floor is a bit nauseating.
On the landing, I pause to gather my courage once again.
“Are you sure, Erynne?” Maya is skeptical. I think she’s having second thoughts. I am too, but I nod and step forward to check the first apartment. Number 208. Our footsteps are muffled by the worn dark green industrial carpeting as we make our way down the dim hallway. The last door on the right is 202. I trace shaky fingers over the stick-on numbers. Should I should knock or just try keys? Will they work?
I decide against knocking. Meanwhile, my heart and pulse are racing as if I were being chased by a band of cheetahs.
This sucks.
I take a deep breath and blink hard before inserting the first key in the deadbolt. It fits and turns with a smooth click. The pounding inside my body increases. The second key goes in. It also fits.
Maya and I give each other an uncertain look, then I turn both the key and the knob at the same time. The door swings open with a soft creak.
The lights are off, so as we shut the door behind us I flip a switch on the wall.
In an instant, every ounce of the air in my lungs is expelled with a whoosh.
“Oh. My. Fucking hell…” I gasp, leaning against the door for support.
“Jesus,” Maya says.
We’re both rooted to the spot, speechless.
The lighting from the ceiling reflects with a strange soft glow off of crimson walls that appear to be padded. The apartment is a studio, which is big enough for its apparent purpose.
In the center of the room is an enormous bed covered only in a red satin fitted sheet, framed by four thick, tall posts which brush the low ceiling.
My eyes continue scanning, absorbing every scandalous, unfamiliar item.
Against the far wall stands a giant cross with cuffs secured to each end of the X. A wood rack is filled with crops, whips and I don’t know what else. Various padded and unpadded benches and tables are scattered around. A large chest with many small drawers sits against another wall.
“Holy shit. Holy shit.” I pray I don’t pass out. My wide eyes move upward to find a strange grid or pulley system installed on the ceiling.
“Is this all Derrick’s? It can’t be.” My brain cannot wrap itself around the contrast in what I am inventorying and what I thought I knew about my husband.
“Jesus, Erynne. This is…” Maya can’t finish her sentence. She looks nearly as sick as I feel.
Slowly, I start moving along the periphery of the room, taking note of small, insignificant things such as candles, a waste basket, and a metal clothes rack with a few hangers, and a robe or two. I sniff the air near the robes and take in the faint, unfamiliar scent of a woman’s perfume.
My stomach lurches.
Next, I move to a computer on a desk, and what looks to be a sound system of some sort. Idly, I tap the keyboard, and the screen pops to life.
“No. Please no.” I whisper, comprehension dawning at the stilled video that was left open. I know I shouldn’t, but I press the button, and it begins.
So does my uncontrollable sobbing.
“Tell me why I’m punishing you.”
“B-b-because…”
“Say it! Start talking or I won’t let you come. I’ll bring you to the edge over and over. But you won’t come. Not for several days.”
“Nooo! Please! I got in the way.”
“Keep going.”
“I pushed you too hard about…”
“Oh, don’t stop talking now, sweetheart. I’m not nearly done yet.”
“Derrick, please!”
“Start. Talking.”
I watch as Derrick works over Morgan’s naked body with some kind of a whip. He’s stripped down to only his jeans, his body glistening with sweat, and a very noticeable hard-on pressing against the zipper.
“Please!”
“You wanted this, Morgan. You wanted me back. I’m here now. You fucked with my marriage. As soon as we’re done here, I’m gonna fuck you in this pretty red ass. Hard.”
“Ohhhhh…”
I press my hand against my mouth, willing the bile to stay down.
The door bangs open.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Maya and I swing around and stare wordlessly at Derrick. I need to get out of this hideous room and far, far away from my husband.
Like right now. Before I pass out or vomit. Because surely I am very close to doing one of those two things. Or both.
I latch onto Maya’s arm, and we plow our way past a surprised and angry Derrick, into the hall. As we stumble down the flight of stairs, I hear Derrick running after us, shouting my name.
“Erynne! Goddammit, stop! Let me explain!”
I can’t imagine what kind of explanation he could give which would be acceptable.
We sprint down the street as fast as two women in heels are able, and without looking, I can tell my husband is gaining on us. A strong hand reaches out and pulls me to a halt.
“Get your slimy hand off of me!” I manage to choke out as I gasp for breath.
“No. Not until you listen.” His grip on my arm hurts, and I twist trying unsuccessfully to get him to release his grasp.
“Let go! Let go! Let go!” I wail. Now, Maya is yanking on his hand, too.
“What’s the problem here? Sir, step away from the women.” Two cops a
ppear out of nowhere on either side of Derrick, each one pulling him away.
“This is my wife. I’m not trying to hurt her. I just want to talk to her. She…” He’s panicked now.
“It’s okay. It’s okay,” I say louder than I need to while still panting. “He wasn’t hurting me. I can’t…please let him go.”
It takes a few uncomfortable minutes to sort out the situation with the cops. In the end, they reluctantly agree to let Derrick go, but not before hailing a cab for Maya and me.
I sink back into the seat and lay my head back.
“Could my life suck anymore, Maya?”
“Don’t think so.”
****
Red leather and satin swirl, entangled with red hair. Lights flash like a discotheque, blinding me to everything but the raging sea of crimson flowing in front of me. An opaque mist or fog rises from the floor, glowing luminous and white. I squeeze my eyes shut against the searing brightness. When I reopen them, I’m standing in a poorly lit hallway with four doors in front of me.
Something sharp presses into my palm. Four shiny gold keys. Each engraved with a number corresponding to a door—one, two, three, four.
I approach the one furthest to the right, labeled door three. I insert the key and push it open.
Derrick is standing inside, shiny with moisture from either sweat or a shower. He’s completely naked, and totally aroused. Behind him in the shadows is the red room.
“Erynne. This is me. I didn’t want you to know everything so soon. Now you do. Come join me, sweetheart.” He’s pleading, motioning me with his hand.
I slam the door shut and move to the next one, strangely, number one.
Derrick and Morgan are tangled up in sleek black satin sheets on an enormous circular bed framed by sheer white curtains. Candles on tall floor sconces set the scene aglow. They are tumbling together, their moans of ecstasy filling the air.
“Oh, God.”
I bolt straight up, breathing hard. My body is damp with sweat, and I’m shivering, my teeth chattering. Clutching the blankets, I pull them up as far as I can and flop back into the pillow. The darkness of the room unnerves me, so I turn on the small bedside lamp. The soft light eases some of the hammering dread inside me.