“Don’teversay that name in my house,” he warned, jabbing a finger in Amelia’s face. She stood frozen like a hare, her bottom lip quivering. To Thomas, he said, “You’re fired.”
“Don’t bother,” said Thomas. “I quit.”
Philip’s laugh came out cold. “You think you’re so honorable. Don’t forget—you signed an airtight NDA. You talk to anyone—the police, your family, your friends—and I’ll drag you to court. You have an hour to pack. And then I want you out of my house.”
With that said, Philip stalked out of the office. The door shut with a slam. Thomas and Amelia Farrow were left alone. On the floor, the scattered teeth gleamed like little white opals.
“Philip isn’t a monster,” said Amelia, in a voice nearly too soft to hear. “I know he seems like it, but he cares a great deal about Vivienne. More than her biological father ever did.”
Thomas didn’t know what to say to that, and so he opted to say nothing at all. The silence expanded between them like a balloon.
“He was a lawyer, too,” she went on softly, once the lull became uncomfortable. “They were managing partners, actually. It sounds like the makings of a soap opera, to talk about it now. But the truth was, Philip stepped up when Vivienne’s father refused. He’s agoodman.”
Again, Thomas said nothing. His anger was as sharp as a barb. It hurt to breathe. Vivienne’s mother flashed him a watery smile.
“You’re just a boy. That’s what I told Philip, when he first wanted to hire you. I said, ‘He’s only a boy, and he’s not equipped to deal with what’s happening here.’”
“And what is happening, exactly?”
Her eyes darted to the door. She wrung her hands, diamonds winking on every ring but one. On that one sat a pale-milk stone, slightly uneven. He didn’t know anything about jewelry. If anyone had asked before today, he’d have guessed the stone was a pearl. Now he could plainly see that it was the polished crown of a molar.
A child’s milk tooth, neatly set in white-gold prongs.
His stomach turned over.
“You heard my husband,” said Amelia, tucking the ring quickly out of sight. “We no longer require your services. I’m sorry it happened this way, but you should leave. Now, before things get worse.”
•••
The moment Thomas was alone in the guest room, he took out Shaw’s recorder and set it on the desk. It took him several minutes to garner the courage to listen to it. He took a shower in the interim, wincing at the icy spit of water against his injuries. When it was done, he toweled himself dry and pulled on a pair of shorts, contemplating the recorder as if it were a ticking bomb.
If he was going to go after Vivienne, he had to know what he was dealing with.
He pressed the button. The first several seconds were static.
Then, Shaw:“Miss Farrow, before we begin, I’d like to start by saying how sincerely sorry I am—”
Thomas fumbled with the settings, fast-forwarding until he heard his own voice, distant and tight:“What are you, the police?”
Tugging on a T-shirt, he let the recording play. He heard himself and Vivienne leave the room. A long stretch of silence followed, interspersed with the sound of a turning page, the scratch of a pencil against paper. He pulled on his sneakers and listened, waiting for Vivienne to return alone.
“I think this will be easier,”said Shaw just as Thomas finished knotting his laces. “You can use my notepad to jot down your responses, how about that?”
Fabric rustled. Something dropped to the floor. And then—in a voice nearly too quiet to discern—there was Vivienne:“I don’t want to hurt you. It’s important to me that you know that.”
Thomas snatched the recorder off the desk and held it to his ear just as Shaw let out a startled,“Excuse me?”
“It’s just that I don’t have a choice,”said Vivienne. She sounded desperate. Entreating. Afraid. In the background, something heavy thudded against the floor. A body, collapsing.“I have to do what I’m told, or else it hurts all over.”
Thomas’s insides went cold. On the recorder, Shaw made a sound like a wounded calf.
“Do you feel it, too?”asked Vivienne.“It’s unbearable, isn’t it?”
“Please,”begged Shaw.“Whatever you’re doing, please stop.”
“But I can’t,”said Vivienne.“That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
The recording crackled just as Shaw began to scream. It was followed by a thud—the same sound that had first drawn Thomas into the room. Stomach sick, he clicked it off and dropped the device to the floor, crushing it under the heel of his shoe until he felt it snap.
