Chapter Twelve
“It’s very important you stay relaxed, Jack. Actually, it’s the most important thing. Whatever you see or experience is only memory. There’s no need to react, protect yourself, or lash out. You are safe here. Go back to that night. Bring to mind one of the dreams you have about it, hold onto it. That’s good, Jack. Now, look around. Where are you?”
“In the ballroom of that old hotel Henry bought.”
“Have you been here before?”
“Yes.”
“What is this place to you?”
“It’s where we bring the women.”
“Why do you bring them here?”
“To fuck them. To tie them up, to spank their asses, to snort cocaine off their thighs, to use them in the most degrading way.”
“Do these women consent to this kind of treatment?”
“Yes. We pay them sometimes. They consent. Some of them like it. Except for…”
“Is she there?”
“Yes. She’s wearing an eye mask made of black lace. Her hair is dyed a platinum blonde. I can hear her breathing. She seems terrified.”
“Take a deep breath, Jack. You’re holding tension in your shoulders. Remember, this is only memory. Are Henry and Joel there too?”
“Yes.”
“What are they doing?”
“Henry has a knife. He holds it to her throat and forces her to her knees. She’s trembling violently. Henry insists she’s consented to this, that she’s only role-playing. But I see her eyes flitting behind the mask. Her terror seems real.”
“Where is Joel?”
“He’s beside me, watching.”
“Is Joel troubled by the scene as well?”
“I don’t know. I want to ask him, but I’m too fucked up. Henry had told us he had something special for us, so I did more drugs than normal. When I try to talk, I slur my words. No one can understand me. My perception has slowed down. I feel like I’m sinking in quick sand.”
“Do you feel any urge to help the woman?”
“No. I know, intellectually, that she’s in pain. But I feel no emotion. My empathy is completely shut off. It’s like I’m watching a movie.”
“What’s happening now?”
“She’s on her knees. Henry’s holding her head back by the hair. The knife is against her throat. Joel is unzipping his pants and walking towards her.”
“And then what?”
“It’s black again. This is where the dream ends.”
“Try to push further, Jack. Try to see.”
“No. I can’t.”
“Please, sit down. We can’t continue unless you sit down. Take deep breaths, in and out. Get yourself under control. Good, now lie down. Feel your heart beat slow down. That’s it. Did you rape her… Jack?
“I don’t know. It’s all black. It’s an emptiness so thick I feel like I’m drowning.”
“Listen to my voice. Listen carefully. You’re starting to hyperventilate. I need you to calm down. I’m going to approach you, and place my hand on your arm. Okay? Here is my hand. Ten, nine, eight… Let go, Jack. Let go of me. Please. Seven, six, five… You’re hurting me. You’re holding me too hard. It’s okay, Jack. What you’re seeing isn’t real.”
“This is reality, this darkness, this nothingness. Everything else is just a dream.”
“That’s not true. You have a life, a real life. Please, my arm is going numb. Let me go. When I finish counting, you’ll wake up. Four, three, two, one.”
“What happened?”
“Could you please drop my arm?”
“Jesus. Did I leave that bruise?”
“You did. And I don’t think we’ll be trying memory work again.”
*
Amber walks to the coffee shop with the memories of her and Jack’s morning lovemaking session burning bright in her mind. He’d been particularly savage with her, throwing her down on the bed, ripping her clothes off her body, and fucking her with animalistic aggression. There’d been no tender kisses, just his deep groans as he pounded her, never slowing down, never stopping, until he shot cum all over her lower stomach. The memories cause a sparkling sensation to travel up Amber’s spine that makes her shiver.
She shakes her head, forcing herself to concentrate on more pressing matters. Detective Simon is going to do more research in the subbasement, combing through the trove of files in search of a connection between Larsen International and Golding and Holderman. Amber wishes she could be there to see the evidence for herself, but walking right into the NYPD is too big of a risk.
So, she has to wait for Detective Simon to call her. It’s Thursday, so she goes to the coffee shop just a few blocks away on a street that borders a small park. She orders her latte, then sits next to the window watching the small children play on the playground while their mothers concentrate on their smartphones.
“Hey there!”
The voice pricks into the base of her spine, infecting her bloodstream with panic. Amber chokes this down, and plasters a pleasant smile on her face before turning to Eva.
“Oh, hi,” Amber says. She grabs a newspaper that’s been left on the windowsill, and starts to rifle through the pages. Eva doesn’t take the hint. She sits at the table across from her.
“I read on the internet that this is best place to get coffee,” Eva says. She pulls the lid off of her drink and breathes in the aroma. “And look, they made a leaf design with the milk.”
Amber can’t bring herself to be rude, and tell Eva to leave her alone. She has small town politeness engrained in her DNA. “Once, someone made The Scream in my latte, you know, the Munch painting.”
“Wow,” Eva sighs. “Everyone in this city is so talented, even the baristas. Sometimes I wonder what I’m doing here. So, what brought you to the city?”
Amber takes a sip of her drink to stall. This is what she’s been afraid of, of someone asking too many questions. But Eva seems innocent enough. Maybe she can flub her way through this.
“My fiancé got a job in the financial district. I moved here with him.”
Eva’s eyes brighten. “Fiancé? Congratulations. Where’s your ring?”
Amber instinctively hides her hands in her lap. “We’re still saving up for that.” She clears her throat, hoping to steer the conversation away from herself. “What brings you to the big city?”
Eva’s bright smile fades for a moment, and she gets a faraway look her eye. “I came here to be a model. At least, that was the plan. It’s so difficult to even get an audition. I’ve had to take jobs that aren’t particularly respectable.”
A model, that explains why she’s so thin. Amber’s imagination runs wild with Eva’s words. She can see Eva in a seedy apartment taking her clothes off for a perv with a camera.
“It must be really hard to break into that industry,” Amber says, sympathy radiating from her eyes.
“Impossible, even, as I’m finding out,” Eva says. “Sometimes I feel like a fool for moving all the way out here.”
Amber squints at her. “How long have you lived here?”
“A few months.” Eva takes a quick sip of her drink, her eyes darting to the side.
“That’s all? Then don’t give up too soon. Keep trying.”
“Thanks. What about you, what do you do?”
“I want to be a writer. I’m working on a novel.”
“Really? I’ve never known a writer before. What’s your book about?”
“It’s hard for me to talk about,” Amber says. “I’m still in the planning stage.”
“Fascinating. I’d love to read it when you’re done. If that’s okay.”
Amber laughs. “Maybe one day you’ll buy it from a bookstore.”
Eva leans forward, making eye contact with Amber. “I’m sure I will.”
Eva’s voice is so sincere, Amber feels a bloom of happiness in her belly. She’s never shared her writing ambitions with her friends or family, and it feels good to have someone believe in her, even if it is a complete stranger. Amber allows herself to the relax. For the next half hour, she and Eva have a pleasant chat. They talk about their first impressions of the city. “I didn’t expect it to be so grimy,” Eva says. “It feels like a different country,” Amber muses.
It feels good to talk someone not involved with Jack’s case. During their conversation, Eva mentions that she doesn’t watch the news, or keep up with current events, so Amber feels some version of safe with her. Eva suggests they get together again sometime, and Amber agrees.
“And bring your fiancé,” Eva says. “I’d love to meet him. What did you say his name was?”
“Pete,” Amber says, hesitating for only a spit second. “But his schedule is crazy. He works with foreign markets, so his work hours are in the middle of the night.”
“Wow, that’s impressive,” Eva says. “Tell me more about him. Do you have a picture?”
Luckily, Amber’s burner phone begins to ring. It’s Detective Simon. Amber jumps up from her seat in a hurry.
“I have to take this,” Amber says. “It’s my dad. Good talking to you.”
Amber rushes out of the coffee shop while Eva waves goodbye. Once on the noisy, crowded street, she answers the phone.
“I found something,” Detective Simon says.
“Is it enough to nail him?”
“Not quite, but we’re close.”
“Good. Come over this evening as soon as you get off of work.”
*
Detective Simon comes to the apartment that evening with more photos of more documents. Amber sits hunched over the dining table, squinting to read the tiny print on each one. Her eyes are growing tired, and the pads of her fingers numb from swiping. There’s more evidence of Golding and Holderman’s underworld operations, including a case from two years ago involving the death of a Larsen Hotel worker in Bangladesh. The company was being sued for inhumane working conditions. It was a twelve year old boy that died of dehydration. He’d been working in the one hundred degree basement sorting laundry with no breaks.
“Come look at this, Jack,” Amber says.
Jack answers with silence. He’s staring out of the window at the darkened street below. Amber’s not sure if he didn’t hear her, or he doesn’t want to. Ever since their investigation has turned to Joel, something’s been eating at Jack. His moods are darker. He goes hours without saying a word. Amber turns back to the phone in her hand.
“That’s it,” Detective Simon says. “That’s the connection.”
“That’s nothing,” Jack says. The reflection of his icy cold eyes stares back at him in the window. “It’s all circumstantial. It’s no smoking gun.”
“It’s only a matter of time,” Detective Simon grumbles. “Don’t you think it’s plausible that your father grew a conscious, and was threatening to blow the whistle? A child died. The family received no compensation, not even for funeral costs.”
“My father, a conscious?” Jack says. “The moral center was bred out of my family line generations ago. Any conscious we have is dead.”
“What we do know, Jack, is that Golding and Holderman are capable of horrible things, of hurting people.” Amber keeps her voice even.
Jack snarls. “Do you think that’s so rare? Anyone with any power has done horrible things.”
Amber lays the phone gently on the table, then walks over to Jack. He takes a sharp breath in when she touches his back. He leans his forehead against the window pane, closing his eyes.
“It’s just difficult to imagine that Joel-“ he starts. His is voice low. He’s speaking only to her.
“Maybe Joel was looking out for you. That’s why he told you to run. Maybe they were going to kill you too.”
“Maybe they still are.”
Amber realizes instantly that Jack’s right. If someone was out to get him then, they would still be out to get him now. They could both be in danger. Amber steps closer to Jack, the heat coming off of him comforting her. Jack clutches her waist, staring at her with hungry eyes. Detective Simon is standing awkwardly in the kitchen. Jack turns his attention to him.
“You can leave now,” Jack says. “And come back when you actually have something.”
Detective Simon knows not to hesitate. He fumbles to grab his phone, then makes his way out of the door without a goodbye. The door slams, echoing heavily in the still air. Jack traps Amber in his gaze.
“I want to talk to Joel,” Jack says. “See what he has to say.”
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Amber says. She grazes her fingertips over the deep indentations in his chest. “If Joel, or someone else at Golding, knows you’re on to them, they could come after you.”
Jack presses his lips into a flat line, considering this. “Then, I can talk to Henry.”
Amber hurriedly shakes her head. “No, not him either. We don’t know how deep this goes. Henry could be in on it too.”
Jack tears away from her and marches into the living room. He doesn’t make a noise, doesn’t scream or yell. He just calmly grabs the flatscreen television and hurls it onto the floor. Pieces of plastic and glass scatter everywhere. Amber backs up against the wall, her breath caught in her chest. Jack looks her way, but he doesn’t seem to be looking at her.
“Friendship is an illusion,” he says, his voice thick and gravelly, as if possessed. “Trust doesn’t exist. This is all a dream. None of this is real.” He collapses on the couch, burying his face in his hands.
Amber presses through her own fear and approaches him. She lays her palms on his broad shoulders, and strokes down his arms. “No, Jack. You’re wrong. This is real. As real as it gets.” She slides her hand down his chest to feel the beating of his heart. She feels his core tighten. “And you know it. You feel it.” She slides her hand further down. She wants to connect to him on a visceral, primal level. “You kidnapped me, held me hostage, you gave me a chance to leave and I didn’t. I’m still here, and I’m not going anywhere. I hope you know that.”
Amber presses her hand into his lap. His cock responds, rising up into a hard bulge. Jack’s eyes focus on her. He seems to snapping out of whatever trance he was in. Amber walks around in front of him, sidestepping the shattered television screen. Jack hurls his arms out, wrapping them around her waist and pulling her into his lap. With his hand on both of her hips, he grinds her against his raging erection.
“I know, Amber.” The timbre of his voice rumbles through her core. He nibbles at her neck, clutching the flesh of her ass. “All I want is you. All I need is you. I don’t give of fuck if everyone else in the world dies.” He stands up abruptly, lifting her at the same time. He throws her on the couch and lays on top of her. He pins her shoulders down. His thighs are tight against her hips. Amber can’t move at all. He hungrily kisses her neck while whispering in her ear. “If I find out Joel betrayed me, I will kill him. And Henry too.” He reaches down and unzips his pants. His cocks falls heavily against her. Even though he’s frightening her, Amber can’t help the wet warmth flooding between her legs, or that every cell in her body is reaching out for him, begging for him to take her.
Jack yanks her pants down, then hooks his finger into her panties. “What would you do if I killed them, Amber? Would you stay by my side, or would you run away?” He strokes up and down her slit, swirling her juices around.
Amber moans, trying to keep a clear head. “Would you really do that?”
Jack nibbles her earlobe, then whispers wetly, “Yes.” He’s shoved her panties to the side, and is tapping the head of his cock against her clit. Her sensitive flesh pulses against him in response. Amber cranes her head back, trying desperately to keep a clear head. Killing someone else wasn’t part of the deal. It wasn’t what she signed up for, and she certainly couldn’t include that in her book.
Would you stay by my side?
The questions rings in her head as Jack eases himself inside of her. “Would you, Amber,” Jack mumbles, sliding in further. “I can’t let them live if they betrayed me. Would you stay if you knew I was a murderer?”
Jack looks deeply into her eyes. Amber stutters, trying to find her voice. There’s a flash of anger in Jack’s eyes right before he thrust himself entirely inside. Amber’s pussy hugs his cock tightly as explosions of pleasure rack her body.
“Would you stay with me, Amber?” Jack groans.
Amber elevates her hips slightly to meet his. She gathers handfuls of his hair in her fingers, and trains her eyes on his. “Yes, Jack.”
Jack pauses for a moment, every muscle in his body flexed. His cock pulses hotly inside of her. The corners of his mouth curls with a smile, and his eyes take on a sickening gleam. He leans towards her, his breath hot and urgent, then kisses her. They clutch at each other while their tongues dance, each knowing that nothing else exists, nothing else matters beside the burning hot passion that they share.