“That’s blackmail. You don’t have to blackmail me. I told you. Let him go and—”
“I’m not blackmailing you. I want nothing more from you than your participation in the progress of making your life better. Break a rule. Be punished. That’s a promise. Ineverbreak a promise,” he repeats. “And, Mia, anyone you tell about this becomes a liability. You’re about to find out what happens to those I see as a liability to your future and my own.” He pockets Kevin’s phone and squats next to him. I gasp in horror as he slices his throat.
Just slices his throat, as if he were performing a menial task such as turning off a light switch rather than extinguishing a life.
For a moment, maybe longer, panic, shock, and fear collide, throwing me into the eye of a hurricane, where I am trapped, where the ground I am standing on might collapse under me at any time. I can’t move. I am standing in the quicksand of blood and death, slowly sinking to my own—that is, until Adam disappears, out of sight, and my heart jackknifes at the idea that he’s coming for me. “Move,” I whisper. “Run.Run!”
Sticking my phone in my purse, I think about anything that might prove that I was here. The cards. I kneel and gather the cards; then somehow I gather the brainpower to snag a napkin and wipe the ground where I’ve touched. Once the cards are in my purse, I snap up the wine bottle and the glass that I also touched. My bag is small, and I can’t fit these items inside it, but I start to run with everything in hand, halting as I remember the twist top to the bottle. I turn back and scoop it up carefully, cautious not to touch the table. On second thought, I use the second napkin I find left behind and wipe down the table. When I’m done, I carry it with me. Now I’m off to a run again, and once I exit to the hallway, I scramble toward the stairwell. I need to avoid cameras, and while it’s likely too late to avoid them anyway, I have to do what I can do right now to save myself. Because Adam’s right. I can’t call the police for too many reasons to process right now. I’m Adam’s prisoner. I’m his captive in ways beyond anything I ever imagined possible. Once I’m at the exit door, I use the napkin to turn the knob. I have no idea if fingerprints transfer from cloth to steel. Logically they do not, but there is no logic in anything happening to me right now. I run down the steel steps, my heart jumping against my breastbone, trying to escape the confines of my body the way I am trying to escape the confines of a man named Adam.
Once I’m in the lobby, thank God almighty above, I discover a side door, and exit to an alleyway. I ignore the dumpster that tempts me todispose of the items in my possession. This area is too close to the location of the murder to be a safe dump site. I’m not a killer, but I might be called one, assumed to be one. Truly, I don’t even know what a safe dump site looks like at this point. Without any coherent thought that tells me to do so, I find myself walking toward the police station, well beyond my loft, and onto Broadway, where there are people en masse. I stand across the street from the station, where officers come and go, tears streaming down my cheeks. Adam’s words play in my mind:Break a rule. Be punished. That’s a promise. I never break a promise.Who will he hurt to punish me for breaking his rules? I dump the wine and glass in a trash can right there, across from the station, and then hurry away. The cards stay with me, as they are proof of the “game” Adam is playing with me.
I’ve walked half a block when a tall man with dark eyes catches my arm and stares down at me, mascara no doubt drizzling down my face like thick black icing on All Hallows’ Eve. “You okay, miss?”
Now I’m noticed? Now some stranger worries for my health and well-being?
Isn’t that what Adam wanted?
Now this stranger is here, this man who isn’t Adam. And he is a random stranger. I sense this. I feel his genuine concern. Some part of me wants to throw myself in his arms and beg for help, but I will doom him to nothing but pain. And blood. And death.
“I’m fine. Thank you.” I dislodge myself from his grip and hurry down the street, cautiously watching for Adam but never finding him.
Once I’m inside my loft, I lock the door and lean on the wooden surface, slowly sinking to the ground, my legs two snakes of different minds, landing in different positions on the ground. I was angry with Kevin. I was hurt by Kevin. But I was not destroyed by Kevin. No one can do that to me but me. But now Kevin is dead. He’sreally deadand it’s my fault. I should have never talked about him to Adam, a virtual stranger. I should never have ignored all the uneasy feelings I had about Adam.
If only I could turn back time and revel in being invisible.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Thou shalt not kill.
—Exodus 20:13
My Christian upbringing is singing in my mind. I glance down at the dress I’m wearing, the dress Adam gifted me, and that I oh so obediently wore at his bidding. It’s red, so obviously, bright red, like the apple, the forbidden fruit from the tree of knowledge of all that is good and evil, that God forbade Adam and Eve from tasting. As my Bible teachings tell me, a serpent tempted them, Eve first, to taste the apple. Eve then convinced Adam to join her, to take just one bite. But the only serpent here is Adam.
He is evil personified.
Anger burns in my belly and my legs find strength. I push to my feet, my legs no longer tangled, but hands and fingers are tangling in the dress—grabbing at it, struggling as I reach for the zipper, fighting with the silk until I’ve kicked away the offending garment, thrown it across the room. Did he choose it and the color to represent blood? My bra and panties are red, too—my own sickening choice—as if he guided me to the sinful place of blood and lust. As silly as it might seem to another, I can’t bear any of it touching my skin, and I wrestle with my garments all over again, tossing them all to the floor. I stand there, naked in mysin by association, hugging myself, trying to disassociate myself from all things Adam, all things sinful and evil.
I’m shivering when my mind starts thinking about the cameras, so many cameras that might have captured my image on this sultry, sordid night. Everywhere, every place has a camera nowadays. They are literally as common as cellphones. Me in that dress equals bad news. I rush upstairs and pull on a sweatsuit and sneakers, with a baseball cap over my hair. I hurry downstairs and shove all the clothes in a grocery-store bag. I’m now on the floor, staring at the bag as if it carries the plague. It has to go. But go where?
An idea hits me, and it’s not long before that bag is in my oversize purse, and I’m walking down the street.Act normal,I tell myself. He’ll be following me, watching me, and so I go to a place I go often. In this case Jessie’s Diner, a joint only a few blocks from my loft. I find my favorite table and force myself to smile at Diana, the fiftysomething waitress, who I swear lives at this place the way I do the library.
“No hot date tonight, hon?”
“I’ve had it with dating for a while. Me, books, and my favorite beef potpie will do me right.”
“You read too many romance novels,” she accuses. “You expect too much of men.”
Or, I think, too little. Adam overperformed. But what I say is, “Guilty as charged, I’m sure. I’m craving one of those famous potpies.”
“I’ll get that pie coming. Diet Sprite?”
“You know me so well.”
She walks away, and I exhale air I didn’t even know I’d been holding, my fingers fiddling with a knife on the table, eyes watching the door, expecting Adam to enter, but he never shows up. I burn to call Jess. She will know what to do, but my eyes squeeze shut with the image of blood spurting from Kevin’s throat.
“Surprise.”
I blink my eyes open to find the pie sitting in front of me, the crust flaky, the gravy bubbling around the edges.
