Elsa winced. It was true, Patrick had done that, but still… “You hypocrite. What is it that you’re doing with me if not using me for your own ruthless pleasure?”
Now it was Mr. Black’s turn to wince. “I’m not using you,” he puffed his chest out. “I’m helping you.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Did he really believe that? “Say what?”
“You heard me. I’m helping to make you a stronger person.”
“No, you’re making me learn to hate you, VICTOR,” she gave emphasis to his real name.
Suddenly the bad-ass Mr. Black shrank in his seat. “Hate is a strong word,” his eyes reflected hurt.
“Yes, it is; the strongest. And I don’t use it frivolously.”
Recovering quickly, he waved his hand in dismissal. “Hate me if you want, but you’ll be a better person because of me when this game is over.”
Him and his damned game. There was no getting through to him and Elsa was too tired to try. “You know nothing, only stupid, useless facts,” she turned her face away.
“I know your precious Patrick likes to fuck his sexual partners in the ass,” he shot back.
His cruelty knew no bounds and she rose to her feet, ready for another fight.
“I have some footage of that, too, if you’d like me to show you,” one side of his mouth curled upward revealing his amusement in her annoyance.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she blared at him.
“Did he fuck you in the ass?” he plunged on, his voice low and composed.
Feeling the blood rise to her cheeks, she seated herself and fidgeted with the hem of her robe. “No,” she whispered, trying to avoid eye contact.
Sitting on the edge of his seat, Mr. Black gave her a pointed stare. “I’ve already told you once that if you’re going to lie to me, then make it convincing.”
“You want me to lie to you?” she asked with incredulity. What person in their right mind wanted to be lied to?
“No, but if you’re going to play my game and continue to do it, then put some fucking effort into it and make me believe what you’re saying,” he snapped. “Here’s another little fact for you, Ms. Cassidy: despite what everyone says about the merits of truth and honesty, lying can be an extremely useful skill to master. It can get you out of a helluva lot of shitty situations and it may even save your life someday.”
There truly was no talking to this man logically or otherwise and she sat slack-jawed staring at his ridiculousness. Is this what they trained him to be in the FBI? An egomaniac who touted the virtues of dishonesty?
“Now shall we try this again? Did Patrick fuck you in the ass?”
She wasn’t going to play his game. Not this time. “Yes,” she answered without blinking an eye.
His blazing eyes seethed with fury at her honesty. “Did you like it?” he continued to badger her.
Pushing her chin out, she answered truthfully again. “Yes.”
Seemingly resigned, Mr. Black sank back into the chair and folded his arms back over his chest. Elsa felt pride in having won this round against the inscrutable Mr. Black until she saw the light in his eyes return as if he was ready for the next go round.
“I’ll have to keep that little fact in mind.”
She gave up. It wasn’t even noon and she was ready for a nap. She curled into the chaise and turned away from Mr. Black. She couldn’t stand to look at him one more minute. The room darkened when the curtains were drawn on the bay window and without warning, the tears came again. But they weren’t for Patrick, they were for the loss of the last little bit of innocence she had retained over the years. Mr. Black had annihilated it and she felt used up.
“Peach,” she heard from above her.
She wasn’t anyone’s sweet anything. She was just plain old, used-up Elsa with a broken heart and a battered and bruised spirit.
The small chaise could barely hold her, but Mr. Black squeezed his body in behind her and crushed her with his arms.
“Don’t touch me,” she tried to shrug him away.
“Stop fighting me, Elsa,” he cooed into her ear.
She needed his warmth and grudgingly gave into his embrace. He tugged her closer yet until her body ached.
“I don’t want you to hate me,” he breathed against her neck. “That was never my intention. I just wanted…” he sighed. “Just let me hold you.”
*
Elsa woke hot and sweaty and with Mr. Black’s limbs wrapped around her. She freed herself from his grip and moved to the window. She had no idea what time it was, but she was guessing it was late afternoon. She peered over her shoulder to see him slumbering soundly.
She was still feeling the effects of his reprisal, both physically and emotionally. Would she ever forgive him for what he had done? Could she? She wanted to. The desperation heard in his voice as he held her close spoke more to his intentions than his actions.
Kneeling by his side, she pulled her fingers through his thick hair and he mumbled “Cambridge” before rolling onto his side. The skeleton key hanging on the long chain around his neck jangled and dipped off the edge of the chaise. Skimming her fingers over the old silver ridges of the key, she had an idea of what door it might open after looking it over closely – the door to the room she had been trying to gain access to during each of her visits to 2500 East Grace Street.
She fretfully chewed the corner of her lip, pondering what to do. She lifted the key to see if she could slip the chain over his head but when she tried, he stirred and nearly woke up. Instead, she slid the necklace around until the clasp presented itself. Slowly she opened it and released the chain from around his neck.
Quietly, she climbed the stairs and put the key into the opening. She took a deep breath and turned. The loud click of the door unlocking startled her and her eyes darted to the staircase, positive she had woken Mr. Black. When she was convinced she hadn’t, she tip-toed in. Flipping on the lights, she was faced with a wall of small televisions and a computer on a desk. She immediately knew what she was looking at. Surveillance monitors. Her stomach dropped. He had been watching her all along in the house. It was no wonder he knew that she had masturbated. But what was the purpose of watching her? What exactly was his agenda?
She glanced out the door one more time and listened carefully to make sure there were no signs of life from below before booting up the computer.
One by one, the monitors came on, revealing each of the rooms in the house except the surveillance room and the hall to the bedrooms. She could see clearly that Mr. Black was still in the same position she had left him. She punched several buttons randomly on the computer and was faced with a panel of options, one of which was to view recorded video. Undoubtedly her punishment had been recorded, but she couldn’t bear the thought of seeing that horrible fiasco played out and her reaction. Or Mr. Black’s.
Remembering the slap, she touched her cheek. She wasn’t going to make excuses for his heinous action against her, but he did warn her. She had no doubt that no matter how harsh his response had seemed at the time, he had most definitely held back and that he could’ve hurt her far worse than he did. Actually, her cheek wasn’t even sore and she suspected there was no trace of it. She shook her head of the thought. He hit her and she would never allow it again. Like she had been allowed one for free – so had he. She vowed at that moment to never raise her hand in anger against him again, but not out of fear of reprisal but out of respect, even if he didn’t deserve it.
Sitting on the floor next to the desk sat his briefcase. She opened it and reached a hand inside, pulling out the first thing her fingers clamped onto - a thick, leather-bound journal. When she opened it to the page that was bookmarked, her pulse skittered when she read the heading.
Chapter 8: Elsa, age 28. Profession: Biomedical engineer.