Page 80 of He Hate Me

“Deja.” I sit next to him. The way he looks at me I know my expression is too intense, but I can’t control it. “I found out Devin’s a pervert, man. I’ve got to get her out of that house.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” he says, “but you’re drunk AF. You can’t go over there. He kicked you out yesterday. They’d probably call the cops this time.”

“Fuck!”

“Do you want to tell me what he did? Do you think he’s going to hurt her?”

I shake my head and bury my face in my hands. Even as drunk as I am, I know that I can’t tell him. If I do, then he’ll know what was done to Deja and I can’t do that to her. I don’t even think I should tell her. From what I can tell she doesn’t remember it. I wondered at the time why my mom mentioned being in Deja’s family’s basement and how Deja had no idea what she was talking about. But my mom said it was a dream. Shit, I can’t think straight right now.

“Hello,” I say into the receiver. Rourke watches me warily over the top of his screen.

“I saw the first video,” Anton says. “I recognize the other man.”

“Can you help me now?” I ask, his words not really registering. “I need to get her away from him.”

I hold my breath for several seconds as I wait for him to respond. “Are you drunk?” Anton asks.

“What would you do if you had to watch that shit with your own mother on it?” My words are slurred, I guess. I didn’t notice till he pointed it out.

“Hang on,” he says. “I’ll send a driver to get you.”

Twenty-Seven

Brandon

Anton’s house overlooks a manmade lake where Mallard ducks float gracefully across the water in tight groups. I take a sip from my coffee cup. My stomach is still a bit unsettled, but a pill took care of the pain from last night’s alcohol binge. Still, my reflection looks pale in the floor to ceiling windows facing the water. Devin’s wife is sitting perpendicular to me, her eyes locked on the screen where a video shows her husband’s hand on her daughter’s leg while he speaks soothingly to her. I don’t look at it, and from the expression of horror on Tanisha’s bloodless face, she wishes she didn’t have to either. The video plays on for entirely too long. I stand up halfway through, using the excuse of needing to pee to get out of there. I have only glanced at the screen throughout, but the sounds are disturbing enough, especially the ones announcing Devin’s enjoyment. They make me want to scrub myself with bleach. I can’t stand to see Deja’s vacant little face, reduced by the drug to nothing more than a flesh doll for that monster’s use.

I splash water on my face and remind myself why I’m here. It’s for Deja. I only have to hear what was done to her. She had to live through it.

My surroundings are lavish. The powder room is large and brightly lit, the gray slate floor and marble counters creating a cool and spacious feel. I dry my face, trying to ignore the dark circles under my eyes. Yesterday I was dressed like a knock off Rourke; today I’m wearing a black long-sleeved button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves and gray wool slacks. I look like one of Anton’s “associates.” All I’m missing is the shoulder holster, but that’s fine because the gun he’s given me is safely stowed in my duffle bag in the guest room. Getting in this deep was never my plan, but what do they say about best laid plans and good intentions?

When I hear the video stop, I return to the living room. Tanisha looks like she’s been hit by a truck. She turns her head towards me as she hears me approach and flinches when she sees my face. She doesn’t ask if this is real like she did when the video started. I guess there were details you can’t fake. She moves her focus to Anton, who’s sitting in the other armchair, lips pursed, an imposing sight in his impeccably tailored suit.

“No, I didn’t know,” Tanisha says, quietly. She squeezes her eyes shut. Maybe she’s feeling the same skin crawling disgust I do, finally knowing who she’s connected to.

“But you knew about my mother,” I accuse, the words bursting out of me before I can stop them.

She doesn’t look at me, but she gives a slight nod.

“I knew they roofied her, obviously,” she confesses, “but I never knew positively what they did with her after I left the room. That first night, when David took her upstairs to clean her up and she came back with the front of her dress wet, I got an inkling of where it was going so I left.”

“You didn’t try to stop them?”

“I disliked your mother, but that’s not an excuse. I just tried not to think about it, and over time Devin convinced me that they didn’t do anything too awful that night and they had only drugged her one other time. He told me David never actually touched her. Devin told me he and your mother had been sleeping together, so when she came onto him, he didn’t resist.”

They hadn’t, though. My mother had never viewed Devin as anything but her employer. I want to challenge Tanisha. I don’t believe she really thinks that someone who acts the way my mom acted when Tanisha was in the room could turn around and become a seductress once she left. Or that they could have raped my mother in Tanisha’s basement repeatedly without her knowing. But then, she was blind to what happened to her own daughter.

I want to ask her why they did those things to my mother, why she cackled like a witch while my mother was being tortured and humiliated, but that’s not why we’re here.

“Do you know why we’re showing you this?” Anton asks.

“To make me hate him?”

“As rewarding as that outcome would be, my goals are much more concrete. Your husband has been holding on to an item that has great personal value to me and using it as leverage to make me finance his lifestyle.”

Tanisha looks at Anton askance.

“Why would my husband need to do that? He makes a lot of money.”