by Merit Clark
Workers were already calling it a day, heading into the office to clock out. Aranda checked the time on her phone and scowled; not even four thirty. The project was behind schedule—thanks in no small part to Evan Markham—and there was a sense of urgency to get as much construction done as possible before winter. Was Evan dragging out the project on purpose? Did he know what Roger had in mind?
She tugged at her skirt again and did her best to ignore the stares from the construction workers. One of them held the trailer door for her, a young, skinny guy with a long, greasy ponytail wearing shorts and work boots. Inside the trailer, Jeff, the construction manager, had his coat on.
“Aranda, what are you doing here?”
“You knew I was coming up this afternoon. We talked about it yesterday.”
“I thought you’d cancel. There’s a front moving in. I had the guys wrap things up early. The high winds are a hazard. Evan says—”
“Yes. I know what Evan says.” She looked around at the empty desks. “It’s good that you’re safety conscious. There’s no wind in here, though, so we can still have our meeting.”
“Can’t. I have to pick up my daughter from band practice. They’re ending early because of the weather.”
“I guess if you have to pick up your daughter . . .”
“I’m sorry you wasted a trip but you should have called.”
She didn’t like the man’s attitude, acting as if she worked for him. Everyone, it seemed, aside from her, was panicked about a little snow. She sat down at a computer and moved the mouse in abrupt, angry circles to wake up the monitor.
Jeff stood there uncertainly. “I can stay for a few minutes.”
Aranda looked at him and saw his eyes were on the computer screen. He seemed reluctant to leave her alone. “No offense, Jeff, but accounting is drudgery and I’d like to get it over with as quickly as possible. If I have any questions I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
“Go get your daughter. I’ll copy the files I need and then head out myself. I know how to lock up.”
She tried to say it without rancor but Jeff let the flimsy trailer door slam shut behind him. There was a space heater under the desk and she turned it on high, then pulled a memory stick out of her purse and plugged it into a USB slot on the computer. His behavior made her curious; what didn’t Jeff want her to see?
It was always good to know what was going on behind Roger’s back. Roger said he could read people, that he hadn’t gotten where he was without being a pretty good judge of human nature. Except for Evan Markham. Roger had really screwed up there.
In a desk drawer Aranda found a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. She wrinkled her nose. Jack Daniels was disgusting. She decided she’d take the bottle with her and smiled imagining Jeff’s reaction when he found it missing. Apparently the diligent Evan didn’t have any problem with drinking on the job. She couldn’t wait to tell Roger. Or maybe she wouldn’t. At least not right away.
Aranda lost track of time while she snooped and jumped when the door to the trailer burst open.
“Windy out there.” Evan stood in the doorway and looked around. His eyes stopped on the bottle of whiskey. “I didn’t take you for a Jack drinker.”
She hadn’t heard his car over the wind. Well, she wouldn’t let him see she was startled. Very purposefully Aranda turned back to the computer. “What do you want, Evan? Making sure your little plan worked?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Ha. Look out there. The site was shut down before five.”
“High wind is a known cause of industrial accidents,” Evan said. “Why, the cranes alone are deathtraps. Not to mention flying debris and poor visibility from dust.”
“Oh, spare me.” Aranda’s tone was acid but Evan’s placid demeanor didn’t waver. He didn’t take his coat or his gloves off and she hoped that meant he didn’t plan on staying. In spite of her brave talk her heart was pounding.
“You don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you Aranda?”
“I don’t think anything about you one way or the other.” She pulled the memory stick out of the computer, which gave a warning beep and displayed a message indicating she hadn’t ejected it properly.
“No? You seem to have quite a lot to say about me to Roger.”
Roger would never have betrayed her confidence. Evan was guessing. She turned and looked at him, her gaze cool. “Don’t flatter yourself. We don’t talk about you.”
“No? I hear you were very cooperative with the detective, too.”
“I don’t have time for this.” She shoved the memory stick in her purse and hated herself for the fact that her hand was shaking. She picked up her phone. Jack Fariel was in her recent call list. Easy to hit the entry and dial. And what exactly would she say? Evan was stressing her out at work?
“Has quite the way with women, doesn’t he?”
“Who?” She stood. She didn’t dial but she kept the phone ready in her hand.
“Go ahead. Call Jack. I’ll wait.”
“I wasn’t.” She took a hesitant step toward the door but Evan blocked her path. “I’m going to go now and I need to lock up.”
Evan’s voice grew soft, almost sensuous. “I won’t keep you. I wanted to leave something for Roger. A present.”
She frowned at him, confused. “Why would you bring something here? Roger never comes up here.”
“I think he’ll come for this.”
Aranda’s fingers curled around the phone. Her thumb tapped Jack’s name. “What is it?”
“You.”
His voice was so soft and low she didn’t think she heard him right. She gave a little shake of her head and her heart hammered even harder. Before she could think or react Evan closed the distance between them. His fingers closed around her wrist like a vice and the phone skittered across the floor. She yelped in surprise and pain.
With an open hand, he hit her full in the face so hard that she fell to the floor, striking her head on the edge of a desk as she went down. The force of the blow was shocking. She pushed herself up on her hands and saw him leisurely pick her phone up off the floor. He looked at the display and slipped the phone into his pocket.
Aranda scrambled to her feet and ran for the door, shouting for help. Evan was right behind her. His hands closed around her upper arms. She struggled, but he easily lifted her off her feet and her legs bicycled in the air. She tried to kick him.
“How delightful. You’re going to fight.” He threw her against the door like a rag doll and Aranda crumpled to the floor. She sat there stupidly, momentarily stunned, and Evan’s eyes traveled greedily up and down her body.
“That is a beautiful outfit,” Evan said in that silky voice that made her skin crawl. “I admire the fact that you dress up, even to visit a construction site. Those breasts and those long legs probably get you further with the men than anything.”
“You’re disgusting.” She propped herself up on her hands, although her movements were hesitant. “Don’t come near me or I’ll scream.”
“Why do you always warn me that you’re going to scream? Why don’t you do it?”
“What?” That didn’t make any sense.
“I tell you what. I’ll give you a head start. I’ll count to three. One, two—”
She scrambled to her feet and managed to open the door of the trailer. But the stairs were made out of a metal grating and one of her narrow heels slipped through. She fell awkwardly and helplessly onto the rough metal surface, letting out a cry of frustration and terror.
Evan watched her try to yank her foot free. “Those shoes are very sexy, but apparently they’re a safety hazard at a construction site.”
“Roger will destroy you.”
“I doubt that.” Evan yanked her arms behind her back and she felt the terrifying pinch of handcuffs. “I think you should keep the shoes on. They’re lovely, if treacherous.”
He pressed her face-down into the metal stairs. T
ears streaked her cheeks and her knees were bloody. Still, she screamed and tried to kick him with her free leg.
“Really, Aranda, this is becoming quite tedious.” He held her down with one hand and reached under her dress with the other. He felt the thong underneath and pulled it aside.
“Leave me alone. Roger will find out. He’s on his way here now.” Aranda practically choked on her fear.
“Is he? Even though you said he never comes up here. But it would be delightful for him to find you. You’re the present, Aranda, in case you haven’t already figured that out. You’re so smart.” Evan cupped her pubic bone with his right hand.
“Roger betrayed me, Aranda. That was wrong. He coveted my wife. Coveting another man’s wife is a sin.”
“You killed that man, didn’t you?”
“I’m disappointed that you have such a low opinion of me.” He yanked her roughly to her feet.
“Let me go!”
“Of course, my dear.” Evan threw her down the stairs. Her right foot was still stuck and her hands were locked behind her. She couldn’t defend against the fall. Aranda splayed face-first and full force onto the metal stairs. Her ankle twisted, sending a sharp burst of agony up her leg. For a minute she didn’t move. Aranda had never been beaten. No man had ever laid a hand on her. This couldn’t be happening.
Evan watched her. “Why do you always have to make things so hard?”
“Make what hard? What are you doing? They’ll catch you. You won’t get away with it.” Aranda told herself to stay angry, not to be weak, not to cry.
“Detective Jack can’t help you now. I always do exactly what I want. Always have and always will. And the police will never be able to stop me.”
“What do you mean?” A million thoughts raced through Aranda’s mind, things she’d heard about rape, about how to survive. Maybe if she could keep him talking. But what do you say to a madman?
“I’d hoped to use your mouth, but you’re screaming so much I’m going to have to gag you.”
“No. I’ll do what you want. I–I’m good at blow jobs. Let me show you.”
Evan stared at her for a few seconds and then he shook his head, amused. “Oh, Aranda.”
“No one has to know.” Her voice sounded hoarse. She had to try. “I’ll do anything. I like it rough.”
She fought the gag. Just like she fought being arranged spread-eagled on her back on the cold, rough stairs. She begged. She bargained. She made the most obscene offers she could think of.
Evan finally had enough. He grabbed a handful of her hair and banged her head against the edge of a step. The gag went in and Aranda nearly blacked out from panic. What happened if you hyperventilated while you were gagged? Would you die?
“You’ll wear yourself out.” Evan spoke gently now, softly. “It’s going to be fun. You’ll see. You may not believe me now, but you’ll see.”
He undressed and she saw his erection. Aranda tried to fight but she could barely move, scarcely breathe. The metal stairs were so cold. Perforations on the steps formed small stars with sharp edges. She flinched and strained and rubbed her skin raw.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Evan’s voice was thick. He dragged a fingertip through the shiny streak on her cheek. And then he took her roughly, quickly, without preamble.
It happened so fast Aranda barely had time to process the pain. When he was finished he carried his clothes to his car. Aranda thought, that was it? Maybe it was just rape. Maybe he was done. Maybe—but then she saw he was getting something out of his car. He came right back to her, and when she saw what he had in his hand, she wished she was already dead.
Chapter 56
Corie couldn’t tell if Jack was home. Murphy was on a leash so he wouldn’t go chasing anything, like the two baby squirrels who spiraled up the trunk of an elm tree in Jack’s front yard.
It still didn’t feel right letting herself in. She rang the bell but he didn’t answer so she used her key. He was coming out of the bathroom and she started to blurt out her story, but the words died on her lips. He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweats and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises. His skin was waxy and he was sweating.
“Jack, what’s wrong? Is it the radiation?”
“I’ll be okay. Give me a minute.” Jack didn’t sit so much as fall onto the couch. He reached for his phone on the end table and looked at it with bloodshot eyes. “Crap.”
“Two of them are from me. You can ignore those.” She sat down next to him. “What do you need? Can I get you something?”
“I have to get up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Too much going on.” Jack struggled to his feet, almost immediately veered right, and disappeared back into the bathroom muttering, “Goddamn it.”
To distract herself from the sound of puking, Corie went into the kitchen, found a bowl, and gave Murphy some water. She left the water in the sink running until Jack, looking even grayer, came out of the bathroom again.
“I need to head back to work.” He swayed in the kitchen doorway.
“That sounds like a swell idea.” She took him by the arm and helped him back to the couch, then picked up the TV remote from the floor where he’d dropped it. She wanted to cry. He couldn’t be sick. Not now. Not when she had so much to tell him. She thought of Evan’s secret office, and the binders, and the tax records she’d found. Jack needed to know.
But not five minutes passed before he was lurching toward the bathroom again. When he came back she noticed his hair was plastered to his forehead. She got a damp washcloth and started wiping his face and neck.
“That feels nice, Mom.” Jack tipped his head back so it rested against the couch.
Corie swallowed her feelings of desperation. Damn it. She needed Jack. “Don’t they give you something for the nausea?”
“The drugs make me sleepy. I can’t work.”
“As opposed to projectile vomiting, which is conducive to accomplishment.”
“Don’t be mean to me.”
“Where are your pills?”
“Never filled the prescription.” He sounded reluctant to admit that.
“That’s really smart. Do you still have it?”
“What’re you gonna do?”
“What do you think I’m going to do? Go to the pharmacy. You’re no good to anyone this way. You’d be more effective asleep. Or at least less offensive.”
He fell over onto his side with a moan. “You’re a real humanitarian, Corie.”
Chapter 57
Evan reminisced as he worked. Each time it was as if he was making love to all of them. It wasn’t weakness that brought him here. This was his calling.
“This one is similar to a scalpel.” There was a glint of silver in the fading light. “Very sharp. It will cut through your skin like butter.” He touched the top of her breast, above the dress, and was gratified when she flinched and shied away. “Do you want to feel it now?” She shook her head desperately back and forth.
“I agree.” Evan smiled at her. “No need to hurry.”
He held the tools up one by one. There were a lot of them: curved blades, angled blades, a straight blade like a razor. Each one served a specific purpose. Over the years Evan had learned a lot, and he took his time patiently explaining everything so that she understood. Evan never minded the moment when a woman’s face changed, the moment when she realized who he was and what he was about to do. In fact he relished it. That was the only time Evan ever felt seen, the only time he could be himself.
As he talked she fought with renewed vigor, and he worried that she was going to make herself sick. He had to watch out for that. With the gag in place she could die from choking on her own vomit. That would be terrible.
The temperature plunged as the sun disappeared and snow began to fall, but Evan was oblivious. For him this was the delicious part. He loved the moment of anticipation, when he knew it was going to happen but hadn’t started yet. He smiled at her, like a little b
oy anticipating a thrill, and pressed his hands together in front of him. “Now we’re going to play.”
He began by cutting her clothes off, working in sections, taking his time. As he did so, the blades scored lightly into the gooseflesh underneath. Evan felt a bit sad as he cut through the cashmere sweater. It was so soft and it fit her so well. He checked the label as he tossed it aside and suppressed a sigh; Evan appreciated couture.
Once she was naked he stood back and looked at her. Where would he begin this work of art?
Gagged so she couldn’t scream, he knew from her reactions that she felt everything all the same. She made sounds in her throat; sexy sounds that encouraged him. Steam rose from her wounds in the cold night air. She was warm inside, even warmer than the first time he took her. They needed to be opened up. They needed him to set them free.
He had been right about her. She made him work for it, she made him concentrate. He would revel in the memory. He loved her long, slim legs and the way they flexed and straightened. He loved her long, dark hair and her smooth skin, luminous in the fading light. It all came to him like inspiration, like music—the order in which to cut, the tools to use, the placement and timing of the wounds. He played a symphony with sharp metal and movement. The cutting was slow and purposeful, and the blood was luscious—all the more striking against the powdery, white snow. He loved the second orgasm, the glimpse of eternity that came so slowly, gradually gathered momentum, and left him shuddering and helpless in the vast silence of the night. Most of all, in that moment, he loved her.
As soon as he could Evan stood. The body that had been D’Ambrose’s assistant lay a lifeless shell; her blood dripped through the open metal and soaked the ground below. Her head was turned to the right with her sightless eyes open. Snowflakes fell gently and caught on her still eyelashes. So lovely now. He’d already forgotten her name. It was of no use anymore and Evan never remembered useless information.