I want to find out who he is, what these certificates say about him, and what the medication is really for—how different is he? How much help does he need, and why? Reaching beneath the covers, I dig into his pocket for his phone. I know it will be the key to what he does locked away in his ivory tower. Modern technology provides the link to the outside world, with the boundaries for everyone’s safety, that someone like Cooper needs. He stirs when the back of my fingers stroke his cock as I take the phone out, but he doesn’t wake. His eyes are firmly closed, the shutters down and mind checked out. He needs it. I think. Maybe he’ll be a bit easier to be captive with when he wakes…but maybe he won't. Do people dream when they’re sedated? Will he have nightmares that will stay with him when he wakes? Will he punish me for whatever his mind does during sleep? Christ, I don’t know. I have to not care. Abandoning him is not an option. I’m not going to be like everyone else.
Griffin doesn’t need me; he has Blue, his parents, his job, our home. He has a life.
My parents don’t need me. They just got used to having a daughter who would fund everything—they can use their own money for a while, and learn to let go of me.
Cooper. Cooper needs me. He has needed me for years, and he’s right. While he was lay dying, I was running from exposure of the fact that I fucked my coach. I should have been there with Cooper, holding his hand as he drowned inside his own body, telling him everything would be okay, and calming the mind I know punishes him. But I wasn’t. I can’t change the past, but I can shape our future. Cooper can’t plan, but I can. Cooper has no idea what’s going to happen, and he doesn’t want to—he’s learned not to trust his own actions. But I trust mine. I trust us. I will figure this out and, finally, think of myself. This is my life now. I will shape it for the both of us.
His phone is locked and I realise I know nothing about the man passed out in bed…not even enough to hazard a guess at what it would be. I turn to leave the room, staring at the keypad and black wallpaper, when I notice the answer.
Doe.
Doe’s birthday.
There’s a photograph of a newborn tucked behind an air-freshener, and I reach out to take it. It has the hospital’s watermark, and I know I’ve got lucky here. When I turn it around, her details are scribbled in thick black pen.
Baby Jennings
23-05-13
6lb 7oz
2.04 am
Violet Ward
Gotcha. I tap six numbers into the passcode box on Cooper’s phone: 052313. The black screen disappears, leaving another black screen—this time with numerous icons. I walk through the house checking them all. His inbox is empty. He has no text messages. His call history is clear. He has no social media accounts. He has no contacts. His phone is empty and yet, he keeps it so close.
“Great.”
“Mr Jennings would not approve.” I look up to see the maid at the stove. Does she not sleep? It’s past 1am. “It is his property.”
“Yeah, well, my life was my property and he took that. He’s sleeping, will be for a while, so you can go and I’ll take care of things around the house.”
“Madame…”
“I know him. I know he didn’t plan this mental vacation. Please just go. If I escape, he’ll kill me, not you.”
“He special.”
“Yep.” I look back down at the phone and continue opening apps. “He’s very special.”
What are you hiding, Cooper? The maid has left by the time I reach the fridge, and I pour myself a glass of milk, sitting at the counter while I continue to scroll. There’s no sound from upstairs, no sound from outside. I’m in complete silence and it’s…eerie. There’s an app on his phone with no title. The icon is black with a silver padlock in the middle. I know that behind that icon, the real contents of Cooper’s phone are kept safe. It has a biometrics login page, and I tear from the counter to run upstairs. I sneak into the room, take hold of his hand and press his thumb to the home button, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh of relief. I should hide while I delve into his privacy, as a screen identical to the one before lights up—only this time there are notification buttons and vibrations as more mount. He has a phone hidden inside a phone…Cooper is more than just a swimmer. I should run away and sit in a corner somewhere while I dive into his mind and private life, but I don’t. Instead I strip down to my underwear, pull his t-shirt over my head, and climb in bed next to him. With everything I now know about the mysterious Cooper Jennings, I prepare myself for ugly revelations I should allow him to give me himself. We don’t have time for that. He’s slowly unravelling; I see that, despite his denial and defence that this is who he is. Yes, he has issues. No, he’s never going to be ‘normal’, but he can promise not to kill me and keep it. He can let me out of the house without wanting to kill everyone around me. He can let me swim without suffocating me with the physical evidence of his desire to drown me.
When I lean over and reach into the drawer on the bedside cabinet, I smile. Of course he has a notepad and pen, ready for me to use.
The contents of his phone seem unexciting at a first glance; an alphabetical lists of names in his contacts; generic mail in his inbox; text messages from Kate and no others. But then I look deeper; behind many of the names in his contacts list are four-digit numbers. Passcodes for something, I’m just not sure what. Behind the junk mail, are coded messages, placed at the bottom like a usual HTML email gone wrong. I know there’s something here, but I don’t know how to decode. I keep scrolling, past all the strange code and blank pages, until I see a name I recognise. One that makes my heart swell to the point of pain as grief and longing seize me.
From: erinthompson355
To: Verity Thompson
Subject: Searching for Sunshine
9 August 2016 23:16
Mum,
I know this will be a shock, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Remember when we went for lunch last week and were talking about taking a holiday in the south of France? Well, I’m not going to France without you, but I am going to jet off somewhere for a while. Something hasn’t felt right since quitting the pool, and I want to spend some time alone, on a beach with a mojito, figuring out what to do next. When I return, I’ll be ready for Griffin, for you and Dad, and to face all the things I’ve been worrying about for the last four years.
Don’t worry about me.
I’ll call you soon.
Love,
Erin
xo
I wonder if my mother noticed that’s not my usual email address, and that I wouldn’t put my swim-time in it. Cooper has been doing more than watching me in bed with my fiancé—and my coach. He’s been everywhere, listening in on the conversations I had with my parents. He lied. Taking me was no impulsive act. He made sure I wasn’t leaving anything behind, and then he struck. There’s no reply from my mother, and a part of me hopes she saw through the façade and took the email to the police. They’d be able to track an IP address or something, wouldn’t they? But after ten days, they would be here, and I would be at home, making Griffin’s smoothies again and forgetting all about Cooper Jennings.
Forgetting about him isn’t an option now; I’m in too deep, drowning in his issues, sinking along with him into the depths of his mental illness.
There are emails between Cooper and Brad that confirm what I know, what Cooper admitted to—he’s helping his country cheat. He documents training regimes, reveals nutrition and fitness plans for swimmers—those who have gone professional, and those who are working towards it—and he’s sent personal records of tens of people from countries often at the top of medals tables. I don’t understand why he’d do it, why he would have a degree, a family, and the opportunity to make an honest living, and still make money breaking the law. None of it makes sense, and I know I won't sleep until I piece the puzzle together, correctly this time and not making a picture of fantasy like Cooper said. I slip out of bed, taking a minute to check his pulse and make sure he’s breathing, before
I go back downstairs and into his office. I sit in his chair, looking around me to see what Cooper does while he sits in here spying on people’s lives and ruining their careers. He’s been there; he knows how much it devastates someone when the only thing they’ve ever known is ripped away from them; I can’t understand why he forces others into the same situation…I refuse to allow him to use whatever his issues are to explain why it’s okay. Simple fact—it isn’t okay. Frames line the back wall of his office; photos of him on the podium accepting medals, most of them gold, the bastard. There are swim certificates; he’s kept the ones he earned as a child, along with badges, and different coloured swim hats. It’s a shrine to his career, and a terrifying reminder that he can sit and look at his achievements while he hinders others’. On the edge of the display, in two A4 frames, are certificates of education, and I stand to read what they are. He has a BEng with honours in mechanical engineering, and a MSc in Unmanned Aircraft Systems Design. Cooper designs and builds drones, and he uses them to spy on swimmers. Why on Earth would he do such a thing? Drones come with a perception of their own; they’re used for surveillance, covert operations, and contribute to the Big Brother scheme that has so many people terrified of being in public. Returning to the desk, I sit down and tap my chin as I look around for motivation. Cooper had to quit professional swimming—that fact was non-negotiable. So he could have walked away, stayed in the UK building his drones and raising Doe, despite his feelings towards Kate. But he took a wrong turn somewhere, and became what he is. How?
Another frame on the sideboard catches my attention and I look over at it to see a photo of Cooper with Brad. He’s orchestrating this…but why? Why does he want Cooper to spy on swimmers and why has Cooper, with his readiness to kill and destroy, continued with this plan? What’s in it for him?
Their emails reveal nothing. If Kate knows anything about what he does, their text messages don’t reveal it. He really is all on his own. Was. He’s not alone anymore. I don’t believe he wants to do this; I will figure out why and pull him out of the rabbit hole before it’s too late.
But not tonight. It’s past 2am, I’ve already spied on Cooper more than I should have allowed myself to and, if I’m honest, I want to climb in bed and take his warmth before he can remind me I’m here against my will, trying to help someone who might kill me for it.
After trying to place everything I touched back into the right spot on his desk, I climb the stairs warily and slump into bed next to Cooper. He’s on his back, breathing deeply, his face relaxed while his mind takes the break it needs. I snuggle into him, throwing my leg over his waist with my arm slung across his chest.
I wake up to bright sunshine and the smell of bacon and coffee. My mouth waters and I scrub my eyes before looking at Cooper. What am I supposed to do with someone who is totally out of it? Will he dehydrate? Should I get him some water?
Yes, I should get him some water. I get out of bed, pulling the sheet up to tuck him in, before I go downstairs and grab a glass of water. There’s a bottle of Calpol in the fridge and after pausing for a second to think of the devotion it takes to be a parent, and the love I know Cooper has for the child he doesn’t see often enough—because of his obsession with me—I take the syringe out of the box and take the water upstairs with it.
The smell of breakfast makes my stomach rumble and I wonder how I’m supposed to feed Cooper. Does he need feeding? I know a human can survive for weeks without food, although I'm conscious of the number of calories a man needs to keep his body functioning, and my mind begins to reel with the thoughts of Cooper starving in his coma, waking up weak and hungry. I swipe at the stray tear that falls for the boy who just needed a little help, and draw water into the syringe. I squeeze a drop onto his lips, wetting them just enough for them to glisten in the morning sunshine. He stirs, parting his lips a little in search of the water. I give him a little, tilting his head up to encourage him to swallow without choking. He takes a few millilitres down before I set his head back on the pillow. His eyelids twitch, but he stays asleep.
“What are we going to do, Coop?” I ask, stroking his hair and kissing his cheek.
Breakfast. Bacon and coffee. My rumbling stomach forces me to leave him and go in search of food. The maid obviously didn’t listen to my dismissal, but I’d be lying if I said I’m not happy she’s returned and cooked on arrival. I can’t see her when I step back into the kitchen and tip the water down the sink, but she’s left the plate of bacon on the side, and a full caffetiere of black coffee. The sun shines down through the skylight and after making a sandwich and milky coffee, I take it out onto the patio and sit at the table—just big enough for two. Cooper really has resigned to a life alone…before me. Cooper’s phone is tucked into the waistband of my knickers and I pull it out, scrolling through the contacts while I eat. Without thought, I press ‘call’ when I notice he has the number of the man who began this.
“Hello?”
“Rob,” I say, something sparking deep inside me when I hear his voice and remember the things he’d whisper in my ear by the side of the pool. “It’s Erin.”
“Jesus, Erin,” he groans. He’s just waking up. “You turned into a fucking ghost. Where are you? Why did you leave? Your mum told me you’ve taken a holiday.”
“Yeah,” I lie, disappointment slamming into me when I realise my mother didn’t notice the alarm bells. “I just needed to get away for a while. Get out of my head, you know?”
“You were missed at the meet,” he says. I hear him guzzling a drink. My mouth waters and I take a mouthful of my own coffee. “The kids needed you.”
Manipulation. Rob’s favourite game. It was how he got me into the changing room the night he took my virginity. I was fifteen, desperate for my coach’s acceptance, and more than a little grateful for the attention he gave me when the others weren’t around. He told me I had the legs of a natural swimmer, the shoulders of someone designed to propel through the water; he told me I had beautiful eyes as he stroked my waist, and bent to press a kiss to my bottom lip as he stroked my wet hair behind my ear.
“Sorry, Rob,” I reply, “I just needed a break.”
“I’m sure we all could. We can’t all go AWOL though, can we?”
“How’s Ella?” I ask, changing the subject.
I shouldn’t be talking to him, shouldn’t be making contact, but it feels good to talk to someone from my old life.
“She’s-” He clears his throat. “Fine.”
He’s done it again, I know it. I don’t know if it’s jealousy that I’m not the special one he told me I was, the guilt that I left those kids in his care knowing what kind of man he is, or the urge to cut his dick off to stop him ruining anyone else’s life like he did mine, that makes me growl into the phone.
“Are you fucking her, Rob?”
“Excuse me?” His reply is a shriek. He’s surprised I asked, but he shouldn’t be. “No, I don’t fuck my swimmers.”
“We both know that’s bullshit, Rob. I put it behind me, but other kids…there’s something wrong with you.”
“Is there?” There’s a pause, but I can hear his smile. My memory makes it much more menacing and psychotic than it had previously. I’ve been pretending he was the perfect moral coach for years. “Care to tell me why you’re with Cooper Jennings?”
Shit! Cooper’s number must have come up when I called. Shit. What do I do? Does he know where Cooper lives? Does he know what happened—does he know I was taken? Does he know I want to stay, or will he send the emergency services to extract me so he can play the hero?
What have I done?
“Who?”
“I’m not stupid, Erin.” The sound of water sprays fills my ears as he turns on his shower. “The new guy watching the swimmers? You thought you were really seeing things?”
“No. I knew there was someone there. I’m just alone—very alone—” It wasn’t exactly a lie. “I’m not with anyone.”
“So his name pops up on my phone by ch
ance?”
I force a laugh. It’s awkward and uncomfortable, but I hope he knows Cooper well enough for me to be able to plant the seed of doubt.
“Maybe he’s a hacker or something. Maybe I’m not the only one who knows you’re a predator.”
“And yet you still worked with me.” He hums. “Well, it seems like you know Cooper better than you hoped I’d believe.”
“You’re on something. I don’t know anyone called Cooper.”
“Of course not.” He sighs this time, the way he used to in order to keep me on a tight lead. He used to make me think he was bored of me, that I’d done something wrong, so I’d beg for attention and eventually, beg him to fuck me on the nearest surface he could find. “Well, it’s been nice, Erin. I’ve got to get to work, but you enjoy your mojitos.”
He’s too close to my mother. She told him everything in the email Cooper sent on my behalf. Maybe she showed him. Maybe he’s known this whole time. Why, of all people, did I contact Rob?
“And the sunshine,” I whisper, hating myself for what I’m about to do. “You should see the tan lines.”
“Tan lines, huh?” I’ve got his attention. Hopefully enough to wipe what he knows from his memory.
“Yeah. Only the bottom. You know how I like the top to be…bare.”
“Oh, Erin,” he breathes, an aroused rasp to his smoker’s gravel. “I’m really going to enjoy the shower now.”
“I’ll be home soon,” I lie. “Don’t fill my spot.”
“Never. You’re my special girl, remember?”
I hang up and toss the phone onto the table like it’s on fire. He got to me again, outsmarted me like he always did, and I’ve risked making Cooper pay the price. I turn the phone off, just to be careful, and tell myself I’ll be honest with Cooper when he wakes; I deserve whatever punishment he’ll make me endure.
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