by L. C. Moon
The Peter that Kayne had met was very different from the one Laura described. Did she even know what her brother had become, or did she blind herself willfully?
She was a special girl, far beyond her years. He sometimes forgot she was only twenty-three. He never liked girls much younger than he was; he’d be turning thirty this year. He had learned a lot about her today. They had more similarities than he cared to admit. Both motherless. Although he’d never been abused, his father had a creative idea or two when it came to disciplining him as well. His father was a peculiar man. He made him the man he was. From his father, he had learned the value of words and the importance to choose them carefully. That any man worth his salt commanded respect, never demanded it. Lev Malkin laughed at clowns in flashy cars making ruckus whenever possible, to be heard and impress, and in the process, reassure their fragile egos. Know who you are, and they will too was Lev’s golden motto. As a true disciple, Kayne steered clear of red convertibles and extravagant clothes. He appreciated beauty in its simplest form, always opting for understated elegance.
He remembered his tenth birthday. He had asked for a toy gun he had seen on TV. He received a real one. His father led him down to the holding cell where a man was tied up on a chair, beaten to a bloody pulp. It was his first kill. He remembered how nauseous he felt, he could still taste the bile rising in his mouth. However, when it was done and his father had patted him on the back as he seldom did, he felt a sense of well-being wash over him. He knew then he had done the right thing.
Kayne looked back at the postcard he was holding in his hands, feeling conflicted. He had Lucas go through Laura’s mail and clear her apartment. It had taken them over six months before even discovering Laura. Peter had never mentioned a sister, smart move. In the two weeks he’d watched her, he hadn’t noticed anyone close to her. He doubted anyone would raise too many questions about her disappearance. They’d assume she’d taken off. What a shame, he thought, she was definitely worth looking for. He hadn’t mentioned the postcard to Dimitri. Placing it back on the table, looking at the jumble of random characters and scribbles, he knew he’d keep it that way.
Day-6
The day was rather uneventful. Laura made sure and asked Olga whether Master Kayne was around before she ventured out of her room. She went to the library and picked a few books before making herself a sandwich and settling in her living room, which she now baptized as her reading room. It was a rather pleasant day, all things considered. Olga came in only once to check if she needed anything and, as always, to confirm that supper would be served at seven, but she was otherwise left to her own devices. She even found a sealed pack of cigarettes left on the table in the living room where she had sat the day before with Kayne. She wondered if he left it on purpose for her. She had a cigarette or two during the day, making sure she smoked them in the living room, unsure if she was allowed to smoke anywhere else in the house.
As the clock hands moved toward the dreaded hour, Laura’s nerves ebbed and flowed. She was unnerved, constantly looking at the clock. She felt fearful one moment, and the next… It was hard to describe, she didn’t know what she felt. But that night, when Olga came to fetch her for supper, she was dressed and ready, her hair down, wearing jeans and a cute sleeveless pink top. Kayne was already seated at the table as usual, in jeans and a grey sweater. He restrained a smirk upon noticing her different look, though an amused look remained plastered on his face. She blushed, inwardly cursing herself for straying from her drab attire. “Good evening, Laura.”
“Good evening.” She kept her head up, as if unaware of the smoldering stare he threw her way.
“How was your day?” he added in a jovial tone.
“It was good, thank you.”
“Olga tells me you borrowed a book from the library yesterday… Yes, I ask about you,” he teased in a mock romantic confession.
“She said it was okay. I asked…”
“Relax, Laura, I told you, as long as you obey my rules… Make yourself at home.”
She wondered if he saw the paradox in his statement.
“I was just going to ask you which one.”
“Oh… It’s just this book… by Hesse… Steppenwolf… I read it a long time ago.” He kept surprising her with his unpredictable conversation twists, she could never guess what would come out of his mouth.
“You like Hesse? Well… aren’t you full of surprises, Miss Spencer…” he teased, and she was. Although he could better understand her fondness for such an author with everything he now knew about her.
Steppenwolf told the story of man torn from within, believing he was part man and part wolf. The man in him wanted to integrate into the world, the mundane society he lived in, even craved it. The wolf within despised his every attempt to do so. Realizing he couldn’t reconcile his dual nature, he decided to end his life. He embarked on a mysterious journey and discovered the iconic Magic Theater, where the lines between fantasy and reality blur. It was an unusual and surreal story, filled with despair, poetry, and mystery, but in the end, with hope.
“You’ve read it?” she almost screamed in surprise and excitement. He nodded, smiling benevolently. “My mother loved that book. It was hers.” As with the few times before, his eyes darkened at her mention, his smile, however, remained intact.
“I see.” She smiled back feebly. “Are your parents… still around?” she asked, treading uneasily on dangerous ground.
“No,” he answered coolly, the smile wiped from his face.
“I’m sorry.” She meant it.
“Don’t be.”
She wanted to ask more but knew instinctively she had reached the limit. They both remained quiet for a few moments, her waiting for his lead, him waiting to see if she would take her questioning further. When he saw she wouldn’t, his face brightened again. He pulled out a box, gift wrapped beautifully with ribbon, and handed it to her.
“What is this?” she asked, turning the box in her hand suspiciously. “A gift. Open it.”
“Oh… thanks?” she replied, her tone suggesting uncertainty. She unwrapped the gift carefully, making sure not to tear the wrapping. It was a book, The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini.
“Wow… thank you,” she said, the feeling sincere.
He smiled at her. “Have you read it?”
“No actually. I’ve been meaning to, just never got around to it. Have you?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you, really.” She held the book lovingly, looking him straight in the eye, wonder and gratitude in hers.
He nodded then gently commanded, “Let’s eat.”
Supper went relatively smoothly, discussing books, authors, but especially movies. It turned out they both shared a passion for film, though their tastes varied considerably. She bowed in awe at Peter Jackson’s masterpiece, The Lord of the Rings and rambled endlessly on the many levels Harry Potter could be understood and appreciated. He preferred Korean action thrillers and Scorsese films. However, they both agreed, smiling at each other as if on a first date, The Shawshank Redemption was possibly the best standalone movie ever made.
After they both finished eating, he cleared their plates, refusing her offer to help, and casually asked, “I’m staying in tonight. Would you like to watch a movie with me? I’ll even let you choose which one…” he added cajolingly.
She hadn’t realized he’d gone out the previous nights. She was caught off guard, unsure how to respond. Was it a genuine question or a subtle command? She didn’t want to find out, didn’t want to break the mood. A part of her enjoyed his company, she had been spending her time mostly by herself. She realized she craved the human interaction, even if it was with a monster. But was he? She wasn’t so sure anymore. What kind of monster could appreciate Hesse, see the beauty in Shawshank, and admit his favorite novel to be The Little Prince, by Saint-Exupery? Partly in fear of his reaction to rejection, partly out of the troubling desire to spend more time with him, intrigued by this unusual brand of mon
ster, she accepted his offer.
He pointed to the couch as he told her to sit and handed her the remote after selecting the movie menu. As she scanned the menu, she began to feel chilly, cursing once again the cute but sleeveless top she had opted for. He noticed her rubbing her arms and offered her a throw.
“No, I’m okay, thank you,” she automatically answered.
“Don’t lie to me, Laura, even out of politeness.” His eyes narrowed with the slightest hint of threat.
Her body immediately tensed. “Yes please, a blanket would be great. Thank you.”
He nodded, satisfied, and left to fetch it for her. She wasn’t sure what movie to choose. He did say she could pick whatever movie she liked, but she wanted to choose one they could both enjoy. Her eyes fell on The Usual Suspects. She had heard many good reviews about the film but never considered it as gangster flicks were not her thing. She asked him if he’d already seen it; he hadn’t.
“Do you want to watch it? Apparently it’s really good.”
“Your choice.” He offered her an engaging smile as he handed her the blanket and even a pillow, taking the seat next to her on the couch. The movie started. They had never been so close physically for such a long period. She cuddled up on the couch, trying to maintain some space between their bodies. She leaned her head on the pillow she had placed on the arm of the couch facing away from him, pulling the cover up to her chin. He sat with his legs spread apart, his arms wrapping the back of the couch, his knee brushing her feet. She could feel his warmth and was troubled by it, getting distracted from an otherwise captivating movie.
Halfway through the movie, his cellphone rang. He picked it off the table and read the caller ID, then resting his hand gently on her leg over the cover, he excused himself. “I have to take this.” He walked out of the room to take the call.
She could still feel his touch where his hand had been. She felt her stomach knot, remembering her dream, Yes, Master… Moisture pooled between her legs. She squeezed them tight, mortified, and thankful for the cover.
He returned, a pleasant smile on his face, a disappointed look in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Laura, I have to get going.”
“Oh…” She had paused the movie for him and was about to stop it.
“No, no. Finish it without me. I’ll catch up later, okay?”
She was never sure when he seemed so benevolent if he was giving her an order or not, and as the time before, she decided against finding it out for herself. “Are you sure?”
He nodded. “I’ll be home late.” With a mischievous smile and a mocking tone, he added, “Don’t wait up,” before turning to leave.
Day-7
Laura slept deeply that night, grateful for a dreamless sleep. The next day, she went to her reading room and opted to begin reading The Kite Runner. As she settled on the couch, she looked out the window at the sunny day, seeing the security men guarding the premises. She wondered again about a possible escape. If she ever tried, it would have to be planned. She would have to earn his trust enough so he would let her go outside, and maybe then… Even so, she couldn’t hope to outrun the gunmen from the house all the way to the gate. She fantasized about what she would do if she ever succeeded, where she would go. She knew they would be looking for her and shuddered at the thought. She then realized, against all logic and reason, she felt safer with him than she would on her own. She recalled a quote from Gangs of New York, one of her Scorsese favorites; Kayne’s was Raging Bull. In Gangs of New York, Leonardo DiCaprio’s character befriends his father’s killer with hopes to eventually seek revenge. He describes their complex relationship in one scene: “It’s a funny feeling being taken under the wing of a dragon. It’s warmer than you’ d think…”
She shook her head as if trying to throw the thoughts off. She didn’t have the strength to look ahead, plan, and analyze. For now, her main goal was to get through the day, survive until the next, and, if possible, maintain her sanity throughout.
She opened the book decisively, opting for the safest escape at her disposal, within her mind. The story mesmerized her from the first line, and she didn’t notice the hours go by. Sometime in the afternoon, Olga gently confirmed the usual supper time. It was almost seven when Laura looked up at the clock and realized she had under fifteen minutes to get ready. She decided on slim jeans in a darker hue and paired them with a beige long-sleeved fitted sweater. She left her hair in a ponytail and decided to forgo makeup once again. She realized with a twist in her gut that she was trying to look pretty, for him, but in a manner that wouldn’t betray her desire. She showed at seven sharp on her own and found him sitting on a high stool by the kitchen island. He was dressed unusually casual, in grey sweat pants and a loose white T-shirt, his hair pulled in a low ponytail, loose strands tucked behind his ears.
He looked tired and weary, offering her a mirthless smile as she sat on the stool facing him. It made her feel uneasy, and she wondered if his murky mood had anything to do with her.
“Olga left early. I ordered us some Chinese.” He pointed to the bagged cartons on the counter in explanation, a forced breeziness in his voice. Supper was unusually quiet. She looked down at her plate, throwing furtive glances when she thought he wouldn’t be looking. He caught her gaze every time.
“So, how was the movie?” he eventually asked, a visible effort to lighten the mood. That was all it took. She dropped her fork and clasped her hands enthusiastically. She was dying to share.
“It. Was. Crazy! Wow! I can’t believe I waited so long to watch it!” She was caught up with excitement. The movie was really good; she had loved it. And Laura always got caught up talking about books or movies she loved.
“That good, huh?” He softly chuckled.
“Yes! You definitely have to finish it!”
“Why don’t you just tell me what happens?” He grabbed another bite, amused by her childlike excitement.
“No way! You’re crazy if you think I’m going to tell you!”
His brow shot up. He calmly put his fork down on the table and leaned as if taken aback, his eyes narrowing, reflective.
She immediately regretted her candor and rushed to justify her words, panicky. “No, no, no… I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that… I mean…” She was frantically searching for words, her eyes watering. “I just didn’t want to ruin it for you… I swear! I wasn’t trying to disobey you or disrespect you or anything… I swear… I can tell you if you want me to… do you want me to…? Please don’t be mad… please…” she pleaded again, having run out of things to say.
He crossed his arms, waiting patiently for her nervous ramble to end. “Are you done?”
“Yes… Please, sir…” she implored again, her voice cracking.
He turned his head slightly, half rolling his eyes. “Come here.”
She got up, hesitantly approaching him, her walk shaky. He offered her his hand and gently pulled her between his legs; still sitting on the stool, they met at eye level. Her heart was pounding in her chest, she was almost hyperventilating.
He put his hands on her waist delicately. “Breathe, Laura… Breathe…” His voice was soothing, coming through lips curved in a roguish grin. He gently rubbed her arms, forcibly calming her down. “Don’t you think I can tell the difference?” His voice was soft as he brought his fingers to her chin, forcing her to look at him.
A few tears slid down her cheeks. “Yes… I don’t know… please, sir…”
She flinched as he brought his hand to her face, but he gently wiped her tears away with the pad of his thumb. There was a certain pleasure at the feel of his rough skin, touching her ever so gently. He caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Bringing her even closer, enveloping her with his body, he leaned his face to the side of hers.
“Tell me, Laura,” he whispered huskily in her ear. “Why is it you always call me sir when you feel afraid?”
“I don’t know…” she cried, biting her lip.
“You do know…
tell me.”
“I don’t know… it just… comes naturally I guess… Please, sir… I don’t want to go back… there…”
He pulled back so he could face her, his expression seemed sorry. “You think I would have locked you up just for that?”
“I don’t know…” Her eyes were glistening with renewed tears.
“You really think I’m a monster, don’t you? Answer me,” he added harshly. With a devilish gleam in his eyes, he then warned her with a deceptive softness. “Don’t lie.”
Her tears were flowing freely by now; he felt her crumble in his arms. She didn’t answer, just broke down completely. He sighed, standing up lazily, and pulled her to him. He brushed the tips of his fingers up and down her back, comforting her with one hand. With the other, he softly brushed her hair away from her face while he made shushing sounds in her ear.
He knew she thought of him as a monster. He smiled inwardly. How right she was. He looked at her with fondness as she closed her eyes, unconsciously, ever so softly leaning into his embrace. She was innocent, though not naïve. Life had not afforded her with such privilege. He began to understand that was precisely the key to her charm.
He was a monster indeed, the truest kind of monsters. He would not be satisfied to only make her cower in fear; he would also make her crave his comfort and render her desperate for his touch. He held and comforted her until her sobs died down and her breathing slowly returned to normal. He then held her shoulders and gently nudged her back to stare into her eyes.