The Digital Media exam went as well as it could with everything that’s turning in my head. I’ll pass, but it won’t be the A Toby wants. At least it was the last exam for the year. I can’t stop thinking about Jane. I can’t stop wanting or needing her. I can’t focus on anything other than what she must be feeling and thinking. Life is a time bomb about to detonate. I’m doing a mental countdown, waiting for the cops to knock on my door and question me about Abby. That’s all I can do. Wait. My hands are chopped off.

Life doesn’t pause to give me time to deal with my shit. It goes on, and I do what must be done. After my exam, I pick up Sam from school. It’s holiday. She’s in high spirits, but I only feel despair. I make her a salad for lunch before driving her to her friend’s house near the Hartebeespoort Dam with her new party clothes. They’re going to do a dress rehearsal for tomorrow night’s party to try out their hair and make-up. The drive to the dam takes a good hour. I’m not back in Pretoria until four o’clock. It’s already peak hour traffic due to the people who leave work early on a Friday, but I’m planning on putting in some extra time at the office to get my mind off my problems. I can’t even think about my love life for the fear of going ape shit crazy.

It’s wrong to take the chair behind Jane’s desk. It’s wrong to sit in her space. It’s wrong that Abby accused me. How I met Jane is wrong. The why is the biggest wrong of all. I knew I was going to steal her from the moment I saw her photo. Everything is wrong, except that we’re made for each other. We fit together so perfectly, I feel I’ve grown into the man I became just for her, for the moment we met. We were born for each other at the wrong time, two planets in an orbit we can’t break. I’m out of solutions. There’s no choice but to take the coming blow and wait it out until Jane is once more free. I’ll wait however long it takes. Into forever and hell, no time or place is too long or far.

My head is swimming with dark thoughts and how to survive like a living dead man for the next ten years when my door opens, and a woman I’ve never seen before enters. She has a stylish hairdo, and her dress looks expensive. A yellow ostrich leather handbag matches her shoes. I judge her to be in her sixties, but she may be older. She’s one of those well-preserved women whose age is hard to guess.

“Brian Michaels?”

Out of habit, I get to my feet. “That’s right.”

“Dorothy James. I’m a friend of Jane’s.”

The James stops me even before she gets to the friend part. “As in Evan James?”

She takes a seat without being invited. This woman has presence, and she’s not afraid to call the shots. “I’m Evan’s mother, yes, but I’m here to talk about Benjamin.”

My gut turns inside-out. Not moving my gaze from hers lest I miss an important clue, something that’ll tell me what the hell this is about, I lower myself into Jane’s chair. I’m not saying anything. There’s no need to implicate myself until I know exactly how much she knows.

“I gather you care for Jane,” she says. “At least, that’s the impression she gave me.”

Care is putting it lightly. I’d give my life for her. “You discussed me.” It sounds angry, but I’m pleased I was important enough to Jane to have made me a topic of conversation with her friend.

“We spoke about you, yes. She loves you very much.”

“I know.” It’s the one certainty that keeps me sane.

“If you care for her as much as the impression she gave me, you’ll tell me if Benjamin bribed you to sleep with her.”

I shoot like a rocket from my chair. “What?” How the fuck did she find out? I can’t imagine the dandy confiding in his mother. And if she knows… My blood freezes. My voice is chilling to my own ears. “Does Jane know?”

Her expression turns pained, as if I’m a child who’s greatly disappointed her. She reaches inside her bag and pushes an envelope toward me. “I found these today.”

Picking up the envelope, I pray it’s not what I think it is. I lift the flap and peer inside.

Fuck. Jesus, no. Christ.

The strength leaves my body. I sink back into the chair, taking the pack of glossy images out. “I assume you looked at these?” I flip through them with mounting fury.

“Not everything,” she says modestly. “You need to tell me how much Benjamin paid you for those,” she motions at the pictures in my hands, “and how you orchestrated the scam.”

“Nothing,” I grit out. “He paid me nothing, and there is no scam. What I feel for Jane is real.”

“Tell me how you met Benjamin.”

“I don’t have to tell you anything.” I’m not giving her ammunition to shoot me down before I’ve spoken to Jane.

“I don’t think you realize what’s at stake, Mr. Michaels.”

“Enlighten me,” I say, crumpling a photo of me fucking Jane from behind in my fist.

“I’m going to tell you a story about Jane, and I need you to hear me out to the end. From the moment Evan brought her home, she was like a daughter to me, only better. Daughter and friend. Evan met Jane via Benjamin, who was in Jane’s class. Only a mother will know that both her sons were head over heels in love with the same girl. Benjamin never said it, but it showed in the subtle ways he hurt Evan from the time Evan started dating Jane. He felt Evan stole her from him. Their engagement made Benjamin crazy. He was enraged. On the day Evan announced it, Benjamin smashed every glass in the kitchen. Jane and Evan weren’t there to witness the violent display, and I didn’t want to spoil the little of the relationship left between my sons, so I cleaned it up and said nothing.”

This is news. I reel as an insight hits me. Benjamin’s revenge was born from jealousy, not from concern for his brother.

“On my husband’s sixtieth birthday,” she continues, “we had a party at the house. Evan got called out to an emergency plumbing job, and Jane decided to wait for him. I didn’t want her to go back to the dorm where she stayed on campus so late at night, so I told her to sleep over. I was occupied with our guests, and Jane hung out with Benjamin. He offered her a drink, only…” She looks toward the window with the view, staring at it for a couple of seconds as if she’s searching for something, maybe her courage, before she faces me again. “It was drugged.”

My veins ice over. I can’t speak for the fear of breaking the confession, and I’ve got to hear what happened. I need to know if I’m going to murder Benjamin in cold blood.

“Evan got back in the early morning hours. We’d all gone to bed, already. I presumed Jane had retired to the guest bedroom.”

Premonition fills my gut. I will her not to say it, but I know what’s coming.

“Evan found Jane in Benjamin’s bed. To say he was furious is an understatement. The argument woke up the whole house. When my husband and I got to Benjamin’s room, Evan was punching him so hard I thought he was going to kill him. My husband had to drag him off his brother. Evan didn’t stop until Benjamin admitted the truth. He’d drugged Jane and slept with her in a jealous fit.”

I feel Evan’s rage. It’s coursing through my body, defrosting the ice in my veins and turning my blood to boiling. I’ll finish what Evan didn’t, breaking that coward’s neck.

She gives a sad shake of her head. “I don’t know if Benjamin did it to spite Evan or because he didn’t want Evan to have her if he couldn’t. Maybe he thought in his warped state of mind he’d convince her there was an attraction between them. Whatever the case, the damage was done. Evan said he needed to get out of there to clear his head, or he’d kill Benjamin. We were all so focused on the fight between Evan and Benjamin, we forgot about the real victim. Jane. I’ll never forget that picture, how she sat motionless in bed, clutching a sheet to her naked chest. She said she couldn’t remember anything.”

My hands shake under the desk. I have to wring them together not to punch something.

“My husband took Benjamin to clean up the blood and bruises while I took care of Jane. Evan and Jane had been dating for a while. She was on birth control, so I wasn’t worried about pregnancy. I…” She blinks several times. “I begged her not to lay charges. The implications… I said the beating Benjamin had taken had been enough of a punishment. Jane was more preoccupied with Evan than justice. We waited for hours for him to return, but it was a police officer who knocked on the door.” Her expression is haunted. “The rest you can guess. I had lost one son. I wasn’t prepared to lose both. I asked Jane not to go to the police. Instead, she took the blame. She said they had a fight before Evan left in a fury, and the media jumped on the opportunity to brand her as the scapegoat for getting her fiancé killed. She loved Evan too much to let Benjamin’s sins soil his name. She loved me enough to let me keep a son who did something unspeakable to her and his brother. Not a day goes by that I don’t feel the weight of that guilt on my shoulders.”

“If you feel so guilty,” I snarl, “why didn’t you tell the truth?”

“Jane was devastated when we got the awful news. The doctor had to give her tranquilizers to calm her. I was busy with the funeral arrangements. My husband and I didn’t want to drag it out, we just wanted it over. Jane went back to the dorm. Francois was a student at the same university Jane attended. When she was at her most vulnerable, he took advantage. Four weeks later, Jane discovered she was pregnant.”

My breath slams into my ribs as the meaning penetrates my mind.

“The doctor said the tranquilizers probably interfered with the oral birth control. In cases of severe emotional shock, it’s also not unknown for oral contraceptives to be ineffective. It was the last thing we expected. She decided to keep the baby, and Francois married her. She dropped out of university to have Abby, and to pay the bills when Francois was still studying. Babies are expensive, and she was too proud to accept my help. She said it would’ve felt like a bribe.”

My tongue is tied. I can’t wrap my head around the facts that are spinning around my brain faster than a spindle. Swallowing to wet my dry throat, I force out the question burning foremost in my mind. “Who’s Abby’s father?”

“It’s not Francois. He did a test and got the results this morning.”

Comprehension dawns. “It’s Evan or Benjamin.”

“When Abby made accusations about you, Francois wanted to sue for full custody. Jane will always fight tooth and nail for her daughter. No sacrifice is big enough. That’s why she insisted Francois took a paternity test. I was with her when she confronted him. Abby overheard the conversation and demanded to know who her biological father is. Jane came to the house to ask Benjamin for a paternity test. By law, she can’t force him to take one, unless she tells the truth about what happened.”

“He’s using the photos to blackmail her into keeping her mouth shut.”

“He’s trying to protect his family and career.”

My anger escalates again. I’m on the verge of exploding. “Are you protecting him?”

“Not any longer. Not when I found these.” She points at the damnable photos. “I was making tea, and when I got back, Jane was gone. It’s not like her to pick up and leave like that. I knew something was wrong. I threatened Benjamin with telling the truth myself until he showed me the photos and told me what he’d done. My son knows me. I don’t make threats lightly. That’s why I’m going to ask you one last time what Benjamin paid you to get these photos. I’ll double the offer, and then I need you to destroy each and every one, or I swear to God I’ll destroy you.”

Jesus Christ. Jane thinks I betrayed her. In a way, I did, but not like she thinks. “I told you. He paid me nothing. He made an offer, but I didn’t accept. Meeting Jane was a consequence of that offer, but that’s where it ended.”

“Then how do you explain the photos?”

“I can’t, but I will. I’ll find out, if it’s the last thing I do.” I jump up and push the envelope into the back of my waistband. “Where’s Jane? I need to speak to her. I need to explain.” Urgency runs through my blood. I need to get to Jane.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you would.”

“I’ll find her,” I say as I rush past her.

She grips my arm. “She’s in a fragile state. You have no idea how much Jane has lost in the short span of a few months. Her husband, her home, her daughter, her job, her best friend…”

“Loretta?”

“With the charges Francois wants to lay against you, Loretta and Ralph decided they couldn’t be associated with Jane.”

Those fuckers. The jealous bastards weren’t Jane’s friends, anyway. No loss there, if you ask me.

“Do you have feelings for her?” Dorothy asks. “And you better not lie to me.”

“Yes.” The word is heavy. Final.

Slowly, she releases her hold. “I don’t know why, but I believe you. Maybe it’s because you erased the pain Evan left. Will you call me when you find her?”

“Give me your number.”

I program her number in my phone and call my mom to ask if Jane had gone looking for me at the house. From how I know her, she’d want answers, and then she’d kick my balls in.

There’s no time to waste. I’ll find Jane. I’ll explain. I’ll beg. Then I’ll deal with Benjamin James. I made him a promise, and I don’t break my promises.

Debbie’s expression is shocked when she opens the door. I don’t know if it’s my face or how I push past her into the house without waiting to be invited, but she backs away, her eyes huge.

“Abby fell asleep in front of the television.”

“I’m not here for Abby. Not yet.” I walk down the hallway to the master bedroom.

She runs after me. “Where are you going?”

I jerk open the door and assess the space.

“Francois’ playing golf,” she says, her voice alarmed.

“I’m not looking for Francois.”

From the angle of the photos, they were taken facing the bed. I scan the wall. There’s a painting, a dresser with a vase, and an air vent. Dragging the chair from the dresser against the wall, I climb on top for a better view. Sure as hell, there’s a red light in the ventilation hole. Son of a bitch. The security equipment. Brian installed it all. He had keys to the house. He knew the code to the alarm. I let the hurt convert to anger. Right now, anger will get me farther, or I’ll curl up in a ball of agony.

“Jane, what are you doing?”

“I’ll be back for Abby later.”

I walk out of the house and get back into my car. The keys rattle in my hand when I turn the ignition. My phone rings. I glance at the screen.

Brian.

Rejecting the call, I drive to his house. I hope he isn’t there.

Jasmine opens the door, clearly surprised to see me.

“Where’s Sam?” I ask cautiously. I don’t want her to witness this.

“At a friend’s house.”

“Is Brian in the cellar?”

“He’s at work.”

I hold out my palm. “Give me the keys to the cellar.”

“What do you–?”

“You heard me. The keys. Now.”

I practically bulldoze her to the kitchen. Too flabbergasted to protest, she takes a set of keys from a hook on the wall and hands them to me.

“Thank you.”

Leaving through the back door, I half-run, half-stumble to the cellar. I lift the heavy trap door and let it fall open with a thud. Unlocking the grid, I flick on the light and let myself down the stairs. I’m shivering with cold rage. I start with the books neatly stacked on the shelf, knocking them all down. I feel under the shelf and behind the flat screen mounted on the wall. I rip the cushions from the sofa and turn the sofa upside-down. I scatter the electronic equipment organized in boxes over the floor. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but if there’s evidence that Brian did something too unspeakable to voice, I’ll find it.

I grab the remote and push on every button, switching on the television and flipping only the legal cable stations. I open Brian’s laptop, but it’s locked with a password. I try everything from Sam’s name to his birthdate, and finally my own, but nothing works. He’s got a camera feed on me. I know it. I feel it in my gut.

Gritting my teeth in frustration, I give up on the electronics and start looking for photos. I pick up every fallen book and fan the pages. Nothing. My gaze falls on the book on the coffee table, the one he last used for studying. Expecting to find the same–nothing–I stretch the spine and shake it upside-down. Something falls from the back, fluttering to the floor. Dropping the book, I snatch up the picture, and then I freeze.

My stomach drops. My shoulders shake. I clamp a hand over my mouth. It’s a photo of me at a product launch. I know, because I’ve only worn that dress for that one event and never after. I know, because I’m standing outside the exhibition hall we rented. It was exactly one month before I met Brian.

The photo trembles in my hand as I stare at it, willing it not to be, but it’s real. The evidence is incriminating. It’s devastating.

“Jane!”

I jerk my head up toward the door. Brian’s face hovers over the hole. His gaze flitters over the destruction around me, and then zones in on my face. His expression is guarded, which tells me everything the photo has already told me.

Slowly, he descends, as if he’s stalking a bird that can fly away at any moment. He doesn’t speak. He stops in front of me, every muscle locked tight, and waits. No apology. No admittance. He’s waiting for me to make the first move.

I fist my hands at my sides. I don’t want to show him how much he’s hurt me, but I can’t keep the agony from sounding in my voice. “You lied to me.”

The familiarity of his intense gaze as it bores into mine kills me.

“I never lied to you, princess.”

“Don’t you dare call me that.”

“I never lied to you, Jane.”

“No? Then answer my question. Tell me the truth. I don’t want explanations, only yes or no. Did you plant cameras in my house?”

“Only for security.”

“I said yes or no,” I grit out. I don’t want excuses or justifications. I just want the naked truth, cut down to the bone.

He clenches his jaw. “Yes.”

I let the truth slice me, allow the pain to sink in and burn. I need this if I’m to sever him from my life. It’s like cutting off my arm, but I’d rather live without him than with lies.

Steeling myself, I ask on a whisper, “Did you film me?”

His jaw moves from side to side. A muscle ticks above the joint. “Yes.”

“Show me.”

“Jane–”

“Show me.”

I want the full lash of the betrayal. I don’t want him to spare me. It needs to ache enough to set me free from him.

With a slump in his shoulders, he types a password on his keyboard, letting me see it. An image of me cooking in the kitchen flicks to life on the screen. It’s from not so long ago, when I was preparing the cottage pie. He pushes a button on the television remote and the same image fills the big screen. There’s no sound, only the sickening clear color movie of stolen moments.

“Was swimming in my pool by accident?”

“No,” he says, his face tight.

Damn, it hurts hearing him admit it was a set-up all along. I take the envelope from my bag and empty it on the coffee table. “Did you give Benjamin these?”

His nostrils flare. “No.”

“Do you work for Benjamin?”

“No, dammit.”

I push the photo I found in the book in his face. “Then explain this.”

“He gave it to me.”

“Did he offer you money?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“I didn’t take it.”

“How much, Brian?”

He remains stubbornly silent.

“Why, Brian? Why you? Are you a gigolo?” My laugh is wry. “Boy, you sure had me fooled.”

“It’s real, Jane. Every second of it.”

“Everything is a lie! Us is a lie.”

“We’re real.”

“Don’t you dare lie to me.”

He reaches for me. “I know it’s hard for you to trust me right now, but you have to let me explain.”

I backtrack before he can touch me. “I don’t have to listen to anything. Did you know he was going to blackmail me?”

“He told me it was revenge.”

“For what?”

A pained look filters into his eyes. “For cheating on his brother.”

“God.” I let the soft laugh of hysteria escape. What a work of art. Revenging my cheating with him on Evan. “Is that what your scam was all about? Revenge? I suppose you had it all planned–the raunchy sex, the cottage in the middle of snake valley, my job, my daughter?”

“Don’t.” His eyes turn hard. “I know you’re hurting, but don’t accuse me of things I’d never do to you.”

“I’m done.” I pick up my bag and throw the strap over my shoulder.

He grabs my wrist as I pass. “We’re going to talk about this. We have an agreement, Jane. We said we’d always talk.”

“There’s nothing left to talk about.”

“I’m not giving you a choice.”

“I do have a choice. It’s walking out that door.”

His phone rings with the ringtone he uses for Sam.

“Fuck.”

I’m trying to twist out of his grip, but he doesn’t release me as he fishes his phone from his pocket and answers. He listens in strained silence, uttering a string of swear words before saying, “Stay where you are. I’m coming for you.”

I jerk on his hold. “Let me go.”

“So that you can walk away?”

“I don’t ever want to see you again. When I walk through that door, we’re done. Do you hear me? You don’t come near me again. I’ll get the restraining order Francois wanted.”

Something like desperation filters into his eyes. Where the brown-amber hue always seemed warm, it now glitters cold. “I’m sorry.” Regret infuses his tone. “There’s too much at stake to simply let you go. I love you too much.”

“Don’t you dare say that to me!”

Not letting go, he uses one hand to flip the sofa upright.

“What are you doing?” I shriek when he pushes me down on the sofa, restraining me with the weight of his body.

Locking his fingers around my wrists, he lifts my arms above my head and slams something around them. It locks with a soft click. I jerk my face up. I’m restrained in broad leather cuffs that are fixed to the wall.

“I had something more kinky in mind when I installed these.” He plucks on the cuffs, testing their hold, and runs a finger along the inside of one. “Not too tight, but you won’t be able to pull your hands free, so don’t try. I don’t want you to chafe your skin.”

“You’re insane.” I try to knee him, but his weight is as effective a constraint as the cuffs.

“Where you’re concerned, I guess I am.”

Running his palms down my arms, he pushes to his feet, easily avoiding the kick I’m aiming at his knee.

“Release me, Brian.”

“I’m going to get Sam.” He picks up the throw from the floor and drapes it over my legs. “I’ll be back in two hours.”

“You can’t leave me like this.”

He’s already backing up to the stairs. “I’m not letting you go before we’ve talked.”

“Brian, please.” He won’t don’t it. It’s a sick joke.

“Try to relax,” he instructs sternly. “If it gets too claustrophobic, focus on your breathing. You’re going to be fine.”

“I beg you, don’t.”

“Sorry, princess.”

“Brian,” I scream in anger.

“I’ll leave the hatch open for air.”

“Brian, come back,” I yell as he climbs up the stairs.

My begging is to no avail. He drops the security gate in place and locks it.

It seems as if his voice comes from far, as if I’m Alice in the rabbit hole and he’s already light-years away. “I’m locking you in so no one can get to you. You’ll be safe.”

“If you’re locking me in you can free my hands.” I’m close to sobbing, but keeping it in. I won’t show him how scared I am. What he’s doing is only making matters worse. Being held against my will adds to my humiliation and pain.

“I can’t risk you calling someone, and I don’t have time to remove every electronic device down there. I’ll be back before dark.”

His face disappears from my vision.

He did it.

He’s keeping me against my will.

Shit. Shit.

Of all the days in the year, Sam’s so-called friends had to pull a stunt on her today. I’ll wring those little bitches’ necks when I get there. I set the phone on hands-free and dial Sam’s number. She’s still crying.

“How are you holding up, piglet?”

“I–I just want to come home.” She hiccups.

“I’m on my way. Put Lynette’s mom on the phone.”

“Hold on.”

There’s a lot of sniffling going on before a woman replies.

“Mr. Michaels? I’m so sorry. I had no idea what Lynette and her friends were up to. Rest assured, they’re all grounded, and the party is off.”

I should fucking hope so. “How bad is it?”

“I’m afraid Sam’s clothes and hair are ruined. My husband and I are washing the paint off her legs and arms with turpentine now, but I’m afraid…” Her voice is small. “I’m afraid she’ll have to cut her hair. It’s a strong oil-based paint we used for the exterior of the house. I called my doctor, just in case, but he said unless she has a skin reaction there’s nothing to be worried about. We’ll pay for the hairdresser and to replace the clothes, of course.”

“Money is the least of your problems,” I grit out. I dodge a truck that skips lanes. “Where were you when it happened? Why weren’t you supervising them?”

“It happened outside, in the shed. I can’t apologize enough.”

“Try apologizing to Sam. This party meant the world to her.”

“I know,” she says softly. “Again, I’m sorry. I wish I could make it up to her.”

“Just tell her I’ll be there in an hour, and don’t take your eyes off my sister. I don’t trust your daughter.”

“Of course,” she whispers.

I end the call and grip the wheel hard. All I can do for Sam is give her a lecture about true friends and the nasty people of this world. It won’t be the last time. Like bullies, nasty people are everywhere, no matter how old you get. There will always be the Benjamins and the friends like Loretta who turn their back on you in your hour of need.

As I approach the tunnel just before the dam, a drop of water explodes on my windscreen. I glance up at the sky. Thick clouds are milling overhead. Darker ones are threatening in the distance.

“Shit.”

It looks like heavy rain is on the way. I’m already in a long line of cars in the single, one-way lane, waiting at the traffic light to traverse the tunnel. As there’s only one lane, it’s interchanging. We have to wait for the traffic from the other side to cross and the light to go green before it’s our turn. More drops splash on the windscreen and windows. I switch on the wipers and turn on a local radio station that broadcasts weather and traffic updates.

In the space of three seconds, the heavens open up, and the water comes down in torrents. The sun is gone, and the day turns dark. Lightning flashes menacingly. A spectacular electric storm erupts across the sky. Flashes of light run vertically, horizontally, and in every other direction while the lashes of sound follow a moment later.

It looks like the storm is moving toward the west. Jesus, fuck. I go colder than a hail storm. If the storm hits Pretoria West, the cellar is bound to be flooded. I need to get through this tunnel and find a place on the other end of the narrow mountain road where I can make a U-turn, but I’m helplessly stuck in traffic.

The light switches just as the announcement comes over the radio. Cloud-burst and it’s heading west.

My heart kicks into over-drive. “Come on. Come on.”

I will the cars to move faster, but we’re driving at a snail’s pace.

Please, God.

Another few hundred meters and we come to a complete stop. At this pace, I’ll never make it. Yanking my phone from the console, I check the screen. No bars. There’s no reception in the tunnel.

Drumming my fingers and tapping my foot, I wait it out for another few minutes. It’s taking too long. We’re not moving. I pull onto the shoulder of the road, leaving enough space for cars to pass, cut the engine, and pocket the key. There are too many car thieves around to leave it in the ignition. Running along the side for the exit, I go forward instead of backward, as there’s no way to turn around. If I’m going to go back where I came from, I need to catch a lift from the opposite side of the tunnel.

The air inside is excruciating hot due to poor ventilation. It smells of coal and smoke. The sounds from the outside are muffled, but I can hear the assault of the rain like a distant drumming. The tunnel is long. Despite the storm, my skin and lungs are on fire. I exit at full speed, sweat dripping down my face. Rain pelts my face and arms. It stings. Water washes down my back and soak my shoes. I’m drenched in a second flat.

I tap on a car window. The driver wounds it down a fraction.

“What’s going on?” I ask, blinking drops of water from my eyes.

“A truck jackknifed in front of the zoo entrance,” the man says. “It’s the rain. The road is flooded. The tires can’t grip in this much water. Traffic report says it’s going to take a while to clear.”

Mumbling thanks, I rush farther up the road, combatting the full force of the storm.

God help me, if I don’t get to Jane, she’s dead. The cellar will be under water in no time. With all the gutters and ditches running to the hole that sits in the lowest point of the lawn, I give it no more than an hour. I’ll be lucky if I make it back in time.

Adrenalin bursts through my body, compelling me forward. I’m like a wild animal. A short way up ahead, there’s a kiosk with a covered picnic area. I run for my life. For Jane’s life. Under the protection of the roof, I yank my phone from my pocket and dial Eugene, praying he’s at home. The phone goes straight onto voicemail. Shit. I dial Albert. No connection. We have a bad network service out west, and whenever it’s raining it’s almost non-existent.

Uttering curse after curse, I try Clive as a last resort. At least he answers.

“Where are you?” I shout over the rain.

“Fishing with my uncle at the Vaal River. Where the fuck are you?”

Shit. Shit. I cut the call. There’s no time to explain. I scroll to Dorothy’s name and hit enter.

“Did you find Jane?” she asks.

“Where are you?”

“Germiston.”

“Germiston?”

“I’m just about to go into court.”

“Court?”

“I’m a graphology expert witness for a fraud case.”

She won’t make it, either. It’ll take her more than an hour to drive to Pretoria, and who knows how long she’ll be in court?

“I need a favor. My sister, can you pick her up from the Hartebeespoort Dam? It’ll take a while. The road’s blocked due to an accident. You may have to follow the traffic broadcasts to know when it’s been cleared.”

“I heard about the storm on the radio. It’s pissing down cats and dogs here, too. What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later. I’m going to get Jane. Just tell me if you can pick up my sister. I wouldn’t have asked if it weren’t important.”

“All right.”

“I’ll send you the address and a telephone number. She’s with friends. Tell the mother I had an emergency, and I’ll speak to her later.”

My fingers shake on the screen as I send Dorothy Sam’s number and the address where she is. Then I dial my mother.

“What’s going on, Brian? Jane was in a state this afternoon. She took the keys to the cellar.”

“Mom, listen to me. Jane’s in the cellar.”

“What?”

“Jane’s in the cellar. The hatch is open. It’s going to flood. You have to go outside and close it.” At least Jane will have enough air to breathe until I get back.

“No, no, no. Brian, no. Why doesn’t she just come out?”

“The security gate is locked, and she’s handcuffed to the wall. I’ve got the only keys.”

“Brian.” Her voice starts to tremble. “What have you done?”

“Mom, please. I need you. I’ve never asked you for anything. I just need this one thing from you. Please.”

“Brian, I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

“She’s going to die in there.” My own voice quakes with tears. “It’s easy. Close your eyes. Visualize it. You’re going to pull on your raincoat and walk outside. See it in your mind, how effortless it is. You’re going to walk down the steps, cross the yard, and close the hatch. That’s it. There’s nothing to it.”

“I don’t know,” she keens.

“For me. I’ll never ask anything of you again.”

“I can’t.”

“Of course, you can. You’re a strong woman. You can do anything you set your mind to.”

She starts crying harder. “Please, Brian.”

“Don’t cry, Mom. Come on. Show me how strong you are. Please don’t let Jane die. You can stop it.”

“All right.” She drags in a shaky breath. “All right. I can do it.”

“That’s better. Of course, you can.”

“All right. I can do it.”

“Go, Mom. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

I cut the call, hoping and praying and dying with every breath of air I take, knowing Jane may not have the luxury of breathing for long.

Having taken care of the phone calls, I scan the area. A group of bikers are sheltered under the roof, waiting for the storm to pass. I rush over to the first guy.

“I need to borrow your bike.”

He looks me up and down and laughs. “Yeah, right.” Turning his back on me, he continues his conversation with his friend.

I look around. There’s a curio shop on the opposite side of the road with a bank teller sign in the window.

“I’ll give you ten thousand.” That’s my Christmas bonus and Sam’s private school fees. It’s everything I’ve got.

Slowly, he faces me again. “Are you fooling with me?”

“It’s an emergency.” I point at the curio store. “There’s an ATM in the shop. We can withdraw the money now.”

“If this is some hoax to attack me when you’ve got me alone, you’ll die slowly and painfully.”

“It’s no hoax.”

He pulls away his leather jacket to show me a pistol in a body holster. “It better not be.”

We cross the street and enter the shop. At the cash dispenser, I insert my card, letting him see my secret code. My withdrawal limit is two thousand. I hand him the stack of bills as well as my card and the receipt with my balance.

“You’ve seen my code. You can withdraw two thousand every day. Give me your address and I’ll return your bike as soon as I can.”

He takes the cash and card. “You’re for fucking real?”

Taking out my phone, I hand it over. “Put your number in. I’ll call to get your address.”

“Okay, bro,” he says with a small shake of his head. “But that bike ain’t worth ten grand if you’re thinking of stealing it.”

“I’m not.”

“You can’t go out in this weather. Gotta wait it out. Roads are too slippery. The mountain road is dangerous on the descent.”

“I don’t have a choice.”

He pockets the money. “Your call, man.”

After he’s given me his number and the keys for the bike, I take off like a maniac. I go against the static traffic in the tunnel on the shoulder of the single road, racing home in the pouring rain and thunder for all I’m worth.

The sky is grumbling and dark. I yank on my constraints one time too many. My skin is raw where the leather has chaffed it. I’ve twisted my wrists in every direction, but it’s no use. The cuffs are a tight fit. My arms are aching from being bound above my head. My back cramps from the awkward position. I shift again. The throw drops to the floor. My legs break out in goose bumps from the cool air. The temperature has dropped since the clouds started building.

Images of me play over and over on the television screen. They come from the feeds on Brian’s laptop. Thankfully, there’s none from the bathroom, but enough of me stripping in the bedroom. As long as the evidence unrolls in front of me, anger keeps me afloat. I haven’t given in to my tears. I’m determined not to. I won’t show weakness.

According to the time on his laptop, it’s been almost an hour since Brian left. I’ve had a lot of time to think. I’ve been gullible, naïve, and foolish to fall for a man like Brian. I should’ve known. Still, how can something so perfect not be real? What we shared must have meant something. It has to. If our so-called relationship was nothing but acting, it will destroy the little that’s left of me. I’ll have nothing to take away with me. No true memories.

Something wet splashes on my cheek and knee. Raindrops. I look up just as the rain starts pouring. It’s like taking a bucket of icy water in the face. Gasping for breath, I try to shake the water from my eyes. I have an incredible urge to wipe my face. The helplessness of my situation only makes it worse. The best I can do is wipe my face on my arms.

In a matter of seconds, I’m soaked. Darn it. It’s a cloud-burst. These summer storms habitually last a couple of hours. If I’m lucky, it’ll be over soon, but the rate with which the floor fills with water alarms me. It must be at least a centimeter deep, already.

Without warning, a small waterfall gushes down the stairs. Another flow erupts from the other side of the trapdoor until a ring of water is pouring steadily and way too fast into the room. My breath hitches on a gasp. The water is running toward the lowest point, and I’m at the bottom of it.

The power. I don’t want to risk being electrocuted. The plug point is to the right of the sofa. I can just reach it with my foot if I stretch my arms and legs. I cry out in pain as the cuffs eat into my skin. Thank God I’m wearing flat heels. It takes several kicks before I finally manage to knock the plug out of the wall. The cellar goes dark. Only the deafening downpour and the lash of thunder remain.

Pens and notepads start drifting in the water. The books I’ve strewn over the floor rise to the surface, only to sink again as they absorb the water. Soon, the water is at the cushion level of the sofa. My shoes come off and float away. How fast can a small room like this fill up? A hysterical laugh bubbles from my throat. As soon as it’s out, it’s as if the cork on my panic pops.

I’m going to die in here.

“Help!”

I scream my throat raw, knowing damn well no one can hear me above the rain and this far out in the garden. When the water rises to my waist, I start crying shamefully. It’s not for my life that I’m mourning. It’s for Abby. I may never see her sweet face again.

The raindrops come down so hard now I have to close my eyes to the sting. It hurts my skin. I’m cold to my core. Shivers wrack my body. The water teases the collar of my dress. I’m kicking with my legs to say warm, but eventually I’m too exhausted. When the water reaches my chin, my lower body rises involuntarily. For a while I manage to float on my back, but then I rise above my arms and the water rushes into my nose. I kick down, choking and coughing. I want to look up and see something, anything, but there’s only water and more water. I tilt my head back, keeping my nose as high as I can, until my mouth is underwater. I’m not making it out. With all the fight left in me, I drag in one last breath.