Chapter Twelve

I didn’t see Michael for the rest of the day. I tossed and turned until late in the night, unable to fall asleep. I was confused and sexually frustrated. I wanted him, and I was angry with him at the same time. He was totally shutting me out. I finally fell asleep after the night was well progressed, only to be awoken the next morning by my phone ringing. I didn’t recognize the number.

“Hello?”

“Jennifer Hart?” It was a woman’s voice. Older, professional.

“Speaking,” I looked at the clock beside my bed—the red numbers spelled out 4:55.

“Hi, I’m calling from SUNY Downstate Medical Center,” the woman said. “Your sister, Julie, has been in a car accident. As next of kin, we will need you to come.”

“Oh my god. Is she okay? Is she awake? Is she asking for me?”

“No. She is in a medically-induced coma. She has some pretty severe injuries, but the ER doctors have stabilized her and sent her to the OR. The prognosis is yet unknown. She was in pretty bad condition when she came in.” My heart was racing. I got as much information as I could before I ended the call with the nurse, who promised to contact me if and when anything changed. I needed to tell Michael that it was an emergency situation. I got dressed and packed a bag, writing a note to Mary, and slipping it beneath her door. I scribbled my cell number on it so that she could call me.

I walked to Michael’s suite, knocking briskly on the door. I was greeted with silence. I knew that he was definitely inside; he never worked during the night. He was always in his room by five o’clock in the evening, and didn’t come out until seven o’clock in the morning. I sighed heavily. He was ignoring me, if anything, and I just didn’t have the time or the patience to play games. Julie needed me.

I tested the door knob. It was locked. I pulled out my wallet, sliding the credit card that Michael had given me out. I slid it in between the door and the lock, manipulating the card and the knob at just the right time—I had learned this trick through raising my siblings. Sometimes, in our overcrowded apartment, one of them would lock the rest of us out of the single bedroom, for “privacy,” while they spoke on the phone or journaled. When they overstayed their private time, I would sometimes have to jimmy the lock in order to break in so the rest of us could go to sleep.

The lock clicked open, making a chiming sound, and I walked in. The room was dark, and I could make out a messy tangle of sheets on the massive, four poster bed…but there was no one asleep in it. I frowned and turned the light on. The room was empty. It was modern, sleek—a high tech bachelor pad.

“Michael?” I asked, then paused as I realized that this was the first time that I had referred to my employer on a first name basis. I was greeted by silence. This was ridiculous. I crossed the room to what I assumed was the closet, turning the knob and opening the door.

It was a large, walk-in closet, with bare racks and empty shelves. Taking up most of the space was an enormous, rebar cage that had been battered severely. Inside of the cage, Michael Thompson, my stern employer, was curled up on the floor, asleep…and naked. Wounds covered his flesh, some were fresh, and others were scars several years old, yet massive and twisted. I gasped, my hand flying to my mouth in shock.

Michael woke with a start. I began to back away as his eyes opened. He was shocked to see me, and he reached out a hand, as though to stop me.

“Wait,” he rasped, as though he had screamed for weeks. I ran, closing the door to both

the closet and the suite behind me. I ran to my room, packing everything. I had to leave. I had thought that he was strange, but now I knew too much—or did I? Was it a fetish? Was it…what?

I couldn’t desert Mary. I didn’t feel like she was in danger, but I also couldn’t let her be raised by someone so obviously…out of touch. As I finished packing my things, Michael, dressed (thankfully), in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, entered my room. He closed the door behind him, and I put out a hand.

“Leave that open.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“Then what is it?” I placed my hands on my hips. “Because I honestly don’t know what to think, and I honestly don’t have the time.”

“It’s—” He stopped, sighing.

“Look, my sister is in the hospital. She’s in critical condition, and I have to go be there with her. I can’t deal with your weird…whatever.” I picked up my bags. Michael stood there by the door, a concerned look on his face.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” his voice was soft.

“I can’t think about this right now.” I moved to pass him, but he stood in my way. He made as though to caress my face and I flinched.

“I…I won’t touch you. It has nothing to do with you,” he said. “But I need you. Mary needs you. Promise you will come back.” I looked at the floor, but I nodded. I believed him. And I would come back.

“I will come back. For Mary’s sake.” He nodded, and let me pass.