A Bedtime Story (6 page)

“Who broke it off?”

“It was mutual.”

“It’s never mutual. Who made the decision?”

She took a deep breath. “I did.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, we were growing apart… He was a really nice guy. I
just… we just grew apart.”

“And the other?”

“Eric?” Her jaw tensed.

He nodded.

“Eric too was a nice guy,” she responded mechanically, her eyes
darting about the room.

“So you like nice guys,” he remarked unconvinced, barely
restraining a smirk.

“Well… yes… that’s pretty normal,” she replied defensively.

“You’d be surprised…” he purred, his eyes dark, his voice silky,
then added in a commanding tone, “Go on, and what happened with
Eric
?”

“I met him in college. We were together for three years. It didn’t
work out.” She stuck to the facts, steering clear of the painful emotions associated
with his memory.

“Why didn’t it work out?” he asked, intrigued by the
distress in her eyes, and strangely, aggravated that another was the cause.

She took a long breath, closing her eyes, as if prepping herself.
“He proposed.”

His brows shut up in surprise. “And so you broke up with him? Maybe
she doesn’t like the nice guys so much after all…” he teased.

“No. It wasn’t like that… I didn’t want to break up,” she
confessed, fiddling nervously with her fingers.

His silent stare made it clear further information was
required.

“He wanted children.” Her voice cracked.

“And you didn’t?”

“No… I couldn’t… I can’t… have children.” She finally looked up at
him, her shoulders slumped in defeat.

She expected him to badger her further, to laugh, to be cruel, but
he remained silent, staring at her intently.

No one ever knew, not even Eric. She had wanted to tell him, but a
voice inside of her warned her against it. He would have stayed. And she would have
hated herself for making him give up his dream, and he would have resented her just
as much for it. So she remained quiet when he called her cold and heartless, held
back her tears as he threw the ring to the floor, and stormed off, slamming the door
on his way out. She watched him leave, crying by herself in the one-bedroom studio.
She picked up the gold band containing the tiniest diamond possible and wept. It had
taken him months to save up for it. It had taken her one word to break its
magic.

Only Peter ever knew. Always, Peter. It was him who made the
appointment and sat by her side at the doctor’s office. She was only fifteen, and
her periods had failed to start. Blurry memories of that day, long tucked away in
the recesses of her mind, resurfaced by pieces. A faceless white coat, white hair,
white walls. Words like primary amenorrhea, congenital defect, failure of the ovary
to receive or maintain eggs… They didn’t mean anything
to her then.
If anything, she remembered feeling relieved at never having to go through painful
menstrual cramps as so many of the girls her age did.

She recalled Peter’s shattered face. His voice wanting to be
comforting barely masked the pain. “Oh, Laura, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry...” he kept
repeating, as if he was the cause of it.

She couldn’t understand his sorrow. It would be years later,
clutching at an engagement ring from the man who had just walked out of her life,
that she understood the magnitude of it.

Kayne was looking at her. She seemed far away, as if she had
forgotten about him. Usually, it would have aggravated him, and yet he felt like a
privileged insider, looking in through the hourglass.

“You never told anyone?” he asked, a softness creeping in his
voice.

She slowly shook her head in response.

For an instant, he felt for her, wanted to comfort her. Watching
her head bent sideways, the errand strand of hair covering her face, he almost
reached over.

“Have you been with anyone else since?” he inquired, seemingly
unaffected.

She looked up, peeking through heavy lids. “What do you mean?”
“Casual dates, one-night stands… a fuck friend maybe?” he asked, playful wickedness
back in his eyes.

“No.” She shook her head vehemently.

“Such a good girl.”

She blushed. “Do you… have a girlfriend?” she asked tentatively,
trying to divert the attention away from herself.

He responded with a sardonic laugh, “No, Laura. In case you missed
it, I’m not really the relationship type.”

“Oh… I just thought… with the bedroom you set me in… and the
clothes and all…”

“The clothes were bought for you. The room was my
mother’s. Does that satisfy your little curiosity?” he huffed impatiently.

It wasn’t fair. He badgered her into answering all these personal
questions, forcing her to scratch old wounds, not yet fully healed. Yet she noticed
his mood change coincided with the mention of his mother. She would try to steer
clear of that topic, though she knew her curiosity would eventually get the best of
her. But then another thought came to her mind, and her face fell. He bought the
clothes for her… That could only mean he had never meant to let her go. Her fate was
sealed before she even went into that room, no matter what she would have said.

He noticed immediately, still in his tempestuous mood, and asked,
“What’s wrong?”

Her voice was strangled. She swallowed before she finally looked up
to meet his gaze. “You knew all along… from the first night, even before you brought
me in that room… you knew you would bring me back here, you even had clothes
brought… You said if I cooperated I could leave… You… lied.”

His eyes narrowed in quiet fury; his voice was calm, dripping with
venom. “And you’ve come to this conclusion because… I was kind enough to make sure
you’d be comfortable? If I remember correctly, what I promised was that you would
get out alive, which you have. The
clothes
were brought to your room
after
I made the call. Don’t you think I have the resources to get you a
few pieces of clothing? I have contacts everywhere, Laura. And that’s not a lie
either. Maybe you should remember that in case you get other brilliant ideas,” he
hissed. “Never. Call me. A liar.”

She was shaking with fear by the time he finished speaking. Before
he even knew it, she dropped to his feet, her hands grabbing his jeans at the knees,
sobbing erratically.

“Please, please, forgive me, I made a mistake… I didn’t think you
had it done the same morning. Stores are closed at this time… and there was just so
much stuff… Please forgive me… I don’t want to go to the cage again. Please…”

He felt confused, conflicted. Part of him still
seethed with anger, wanted to leave her on the floor, drag her by her hair, and
punish her for her careless words. The other part, even stronger than before, wanted
to comfort and reassure her. Carry her in his arms and hold her until he could feel
her tears fade away against his chest, and know he was the cause of it all, her
tears and their death.

He was thrown off by his own reaction, by the emotion she stirred
in him. His comfort always came as a reward well earned. Even then, given only so he
could further savor the fruits of his victory and bask in the euphoria reached
through absolute control. Genuine compassion was a foreign concept to him, and most
likely, a major factor in his success in the Organization. It was not a desired
trait in his world. He ground his teeth irritated at his passing weakness and
quickly collected himself. He grabbed her chin between his fingers and raised her
head to face his. When he spoke to her, his voice reflected the iciness in his
stare. She could have never suspected the thoughts that ran through his mind.

“You will mind what you say and how you say it. Anything you do or
say has consequences. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes… sir…” she sniffled.

His eyes gleamed with an indiscernible emotion, between annoyance
and excitement at the sound of the word, which came to her lips more naturally this
time. He nodded his head. “Go to your room… before I change my mind.”

***

He watched her as she made her exit, much like the first night,
rushing to leave his side. He brought his hands up and rubbed his face, letting out
a long sigh. He thought back to that first night.
What had he gotten himself
into?
The girl was a mystery. He wanted to know so much more about her, he’d
gotten some information tonight. Most, he could have guessed. So she was infertile,
that he did not expect. He wondered if it was that fact alone that troubled her so
or the loss of
Eric
because of it. Well, she wouldn’t have to worry about
that with him, he thought with an ironic smile. The
situation suited
him just fine. He’d never wanted children… or a wife for that matter. What he wanted
from her, he wouldn’t get by offering her a ring. She had no idea what he had in
store for her, he thought, closing his eyes with devilish delight.

Clearly, she wasn’t very experienced. He wasn’t surprised she’d
only been with the two boyfriends she mentioned. He wondered if she’d ever had an
orgasm in her life, probably not with the nice guys she thought she liked so much.
She definitely had a submissive streak, calling him “sir” twice, without his asking
her to. The last time, in a manipulative effort to pacify him, which slightly
annoyed him, but worked. Didn’t it only speak to her submissive nature that she
instinctively knew what to say to appease him? How she literally fell to his feet,
appealing to his mercy? She craved the kind of power and control that didn’t come
from nice guys. It was written all over her. He sensed it in her from that first
night at the club as she clumsily tried to flirt with him. It was quite endearing
really.

She was a submissive, but she wasn’t aware of it yet. He reveled in
all the promises that came with this particular combination. A self-proclaimed
submissive lost her appeal to him. He’d usually leave his whores, bored to tears, by
the time they were all but too eager to please.
How delicious was the path to
depravity, how he would love to show her
.

But there were other things that intrigued him about her, for one,
her terror with the
cage
, as she called it. He guessed she was abused, but
how? By whom? Clearly not by her boyfriends, or her brother. Was it her father
perhaps? He had to know. He’d have to learn everything, from her deepest fears to
her darkest desires, and only then, he could use them to his advantage.

I
t was barely one in the afternoon when
Olga rapped at Laura’s door. Laura had decided to stay in her room after the
previous night’s incident.

“Sorry to disturb you, Miss Spencer, Master Kayne would like you to
meet him in the living room.”

Laura’s heart skipped a beat, then pounded frantically in her
chest. She had hoped against hope the incident would be forgotten.

“Oh? Did he say why?”

“No, he simply asked me to fetch you. He’s waiting for you.”

“Like now?…
NOW
now?” Her tone raised a few octaves, as
panic slowly crept throughout her entire being.

“Yes, Miss Spencer.”

“Okay…”

Laura obediently followed Olga into the living room to find Kayne
sitting on the couch she had fallen asleep on, his legs open wide, and his head
thrown back. He was smoking a cigarette. His expression was impervious as he
motioned for her to sit down, his hand pointing somewhere between the available
space on the couch and the adjacent La-Z-Boy. She chose the La-Z-Boy. He didn’t
speak to her right away as she sat nervously at the edge of her seat, playing with a
loose strand in her jeans. He took his time, slowly inhaling and exhaling his last
few puffs, before putting out his cigarette. Only then did he venture to speak to
her.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

She cleared her throat. Her mouth was dry from her faltering
nerves. “A glass of water?”

He nodded, getting up to get it for her, and grabbed himself a
beer.

He sighed, his expression grave. He didn’t beat
around the bush. “Laura, I have to ask you something.”

“Okay…” She had initially feared he changed his mind regarding the
consequences to last night’s incident, but now she understood; it was about Peter.
For how much longer did she hope to dodge further interrogation?

“Were you ever abused?”

“
What?
” Of all directions this conversation could have
taken, she did not expect this.

“Answer me.” His voice was quiet, his muscles tense.

“I don’t understand… like…
sexually
?” She hated having to
say the word, any word containing those three letters, in front of him. “Have
you?”

“No!” Her answer was unequivocal.

He closed his eyes as relief washed over him. He hadn’t realized
his hands were in fists so tight the blood had drained from them and wondered what
made him feel so strongly about the issue. Granted, sex victims weren’t ideal lovers
considering his peculiar taste,
too many triggers
. He had neither the
patience nor the mildest inclination to even hope to make it work if that had been
the case. But it was more than that. Sheer rage blinded him at the thought of her
being abused. The emotion was too strong to be explained away by his hope for sexual
compatibility. Had she said yes, had she given a name, that name would have been
carved on a tombstone not long after. He was surprised at how fast he had already
claimed her as his. He was the possessive type, had never shared his whores with
other men. However, even more than bare possessiveness, he recognized a strange
feeling, one he hadn’t often felt: protectiveness. This girl had strange effects on
him indeed. He pressed on.

“Were you ever abused any other way?”

“What do you mean?” she stuttered, utterly confused with his line
of questioning. She couldn’t understand his reasons for asking such questions. Did
he intend to sexually abuse her himself?

“Mistreated… Physically? Emotionally? Perhaps…
locked in a
cage
?” He put emphasis on the last word. As expected, her face
instantly paled.

“Yes.” Her lips thinned, her face down, she breathed the word.

“Your father?” he guessed.

Her eyes shot up, round with surprise.

It wasn’t such a difficult assumption to make from what she had
told him. “Did he ever lay his hands on you?”

“Why are you asking me all this?” she asked, distraught, her voice
barely above a whisper.

“Answer my question, Laura,” he warned.

“I just don’t understand—”

“I didn’t ask you to understand,” he interrupted her sharply.

She was beginning to know his moods, know how far she could push
before he would push back, and this was it. “No, he never laid his hands on me.”

He nodded. “But he locked you… in a cage?”

“Yes.”

“How long did this go on for?”

“The cage?” Her face twisted with repulsion as she uttered the
word. “I don’t know, years… Since I was a child. I don’t remember exactly when… for
as long as I can remember.” Her voice was detached, robotic.

He could feel her retreat somewhere deep within herself. “What
about your mother?”

“She wasn’t around.”

“Tell me about it.”

She let out a long sigh. “My father was a drunk, my mother too I
suspect, but she left when I was still a baby. We lived in a dump. Peter…” Her voice
wavered at his name. She glanced back at Kayne uncertainly, as if the enunciation of
his name alone would suddenly remind him of why she was there, that he would
jump on her at the realization and begin torturing her for further
information.

When he didn’t react, she continued. “Peter said that Dad wasn’t so
bad when my mother was around. He was still a drunk then… but I don’t think he put
me in the cage when she was there. I mean, she wouldn’t have let him put her baby in
the cage…” she said uncertainly, as if trying to convince herself. She looked up at
him for approval, for reassurance in her shaky faith.

He didn’t nod. Instead, he slid the cigarette pack over to her end
of the table. Laura gladly took one. She hadn’t had any since she got to the house.
She hadn’t even thought about it, but in this moment she wanted nothing more in the
world. He held up the lighter but didn’t hand it to her, forcing her to lean in
close to reach the flame, closing her hand right above his to catch it, feeling his
warmth.

“Go on,” he said finally, after giving her the time to enjoy a few
puffs.

“Not much to say. Dad would get drunk every day almost, but if you
caught him sober, he was actually sweet. He used to buy me this chocolate cake I
liked that they only sold in a shop at the other side of town. We didn’t have a car,
so he’d walk all the way there just to get it for me.” She smiled tenderly at the
memory, then quickly shook it off. “But most of the time, he was just upset with me.
The worst time was when I got suspended.” She smiled grimly. “I got in a fight with
this girl at school who kept picking on me. I think it was the longest time I spent
in the cage. He had to miss work and everything to stay home with me.” She let out a
bitter laugh. “It was just a stupid dog crate, you know? One of those big plastic
ones for large-size breeds…” Her voice broke, the wound still fresh, her eyes
gleaming with raw hurt.

“He had a lock on it, and he always kept the key on him. Peter
would always find a way though. I just had to wait. I’d count up as high as I could,
and then Peter would come and sneak me out when Dad passed out. It was the only time
he’d get in trouble, because of me,
for
me. Dad always beat him afterward.
You know, it’s funny, we never once thought of sneaking me back in before
he’d wake up… We were just kids I guess…” She shrugged her
shoulders.

He watched her, fascinated, studying her every move. She was
reliving every moment as she told it, tensing up at some memories, her eyes
softening at others. She had no poker face.

“When I was ten, I don’t remember why, but my father got really,
like really mad at me. I think he saw me holding hands with the neighbor’s kid or
something like that? Anyway, he reached for his belt. He had never hit me before… I
was
terrified
. Peter freaked out, he jumped in. Got the beating of his life.
He left that same day. For three whole days he didn’t come home. Longest days of my
life. He was sixteen then. I just couldn’t believe he’d leave me like that, you
know? But he came back for me. In the middle of the night. Had packed my bags and
everything. He snuck me out. I was still half asleep. He had gone out and bought a
car. This old beat-up Tercel, you should’ve seen it…”

She broke into laughter, tears rolling down her cheeks. “It made
this horrible sound every time you started it…” She wiped her tears away
dismissively with the back of her hand as she chuckled some more. “And that was it,
I never saw my father again after that.” Her chuckle died down, her eyes dried up,
her emotions settling, slowly returning to the present.

He had lit another cigarette and, for the first time, offered her a
kind, sincere smile. He put out his cigarette and went over to the bar again without
saying anything. He came back holding a glass of whiskey in each hand. He put one
down in front of her before reclaiming his seat. He raised his own glass to her, a
shadow of compassion softening his stare. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.”

In that moment, she almost forgot he was her captor. She had shared
things with him she never had with anyone else, not even with her boyfriends. But
then again, they had never locked her in a cage and forced her to open up about it.
They hadn’t even suspected what lay buried deep underneath. She had made it a point
to play
normal
girl, for once not to be the victim, to act
playful and carefree, to be
that
girl, and they all fell for it, even Eric.
He never called her out once. Not when her stories were off or her responses
suspiciously evasive, especially when it came to her family, or fear of closed
spaces. He didn’t want to scratch the surface; even he didn’t want to expose the
ugliness underneath. He loved
Playful Laura
.

Some part of her resented him for it, but with her pride came the
burden of silence. No one besides Peter ever knew her, ever fully knew her, until
now. She didn’t feel vulnerable and exposed as she would have expected. She just
felt relieved, like a huge weight was lifted off her shoulders. She was almost
thankful for the coerced confession.

She looked at her unlikely confident and considered this fragile
bubble of intimacy they had just created. Maybe because of it, she found the courage
to voice the question that had been tormenting her. She cleared her throat, her
fingers tracing the rim of the glass. She hesitated a few seconds.

“Can I ask you something?”

He nodded, his expression somber.

“Did they find Peter?” She rushed the words in a breath, her eyes
fixing a spot on the floor.

He remained quiet for a while before answering her. “No.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding in. She couldn’t help
smiling at him, half expecting him to smile back, sharing in her joy. He didn’t.

“They did trace him back to Boston.”

She mouthed
Oh
. Her relief was short-lived.

He leaned forward in his seat as if to tell her a secret, and she
unconsciously mirrored his movement. In a conspiring tone, he added, “Want to know
what I think, Laura? I don’t think he’s in Boston. I think he’s already far, far
away…” He leaned back in his seat, spreading his arms over the couch, a dark twinkle
in his eyes. “But don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Instant dread invaded her. She remained as still as
a deer in headlights, powerlessly waiting for the blow to strike. It didn’t. He
leisurely took another sip from his drink and smiled knowingly at her panicked,
questioning stare.

She blinked a few times, shifting uncomfortably in her seat, unsure
of what to respond. “I didn’t lie to you.”

“I know.”

She breathed a little easier. How she regretted ever bringing it
up. “Are you going to kill me?” she blurted out, surprised at her own bluntness.

He stared her right in the eye, his voice betraying no emotion.
“Only if you make me… But don’t worry, I won’t let you.”

Her eyes watered, with sheer terror, with the relief and conviction
that he was telling her the truth. She felt exhausted. Though the sun was still
shining bright in the sky, she just wanted her bed. “May I be excused?” she asked,
depleted.

He nodded. She got up, her movements slow and pained, and left his
side.

***

He spent the day thinking of her. Time was running out. He’d
received a call that night from Dimitri. The big boss himself wanted an update on
the progress. Peter had betrayed them. He was seen talking with the police, but the
worst offense was that he stole the file with all the information, damning
information. He thought he’d use it as protection. How wrong he was. This act alone
had cost him a high priority on Dimitri’s hit list. Dimitri would not rest until he
had his head. It was more than getting the file back; it was a matter of principle.
He had to die. Traitors could not be allowed to live. Kayne knew Dimitri could wait,
as long as it took. He would spend all the resources necessary, but he would hunt
him down. He would never forget, never move on until justice was obtained.

The Peter that Kayne had met was very different from the one Laura
described. Did she even know what her brother had become, or did she blind herself
willfully?

She was a special girl, far beyond her years. He
sometimes forgot she was only twenty-three. He never liked girls much younger than
he was; he’d be turning thirty this year. He had learned a lot about her today. They
had more similarities than he cared to admit. Both motherless. Although he’d never
been abused, his father had a creative idea or two when it came to disciplining him
as well. His father was a peculiar man. He made him the man he was. From his father,
he had learned the value of words and the importance to choose them carefully. That
any man worth his salt
commanded
respect, never demanded it. Lev Malkin
laughed at clowns in flashy cars making ruckus whenever possible, to be heard and
impress, and in the process, reassure their fragile egos.
Know who you are, and
they will too
was Lev’s golden motto. As a true disciple, Kayne steered
clear of red convertibles and extravagant clothes. He appreciated beauty in its
simplest form, always opting for understated elegance.