Текст книги "Grace Street"

Автор книги: Ella Dominguez

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Shoving her down in front of the journal, he growled deeply, “You wanted to know everything, so fucking read!”

Elsa sucked back her tears and wiped her eyes. How the hell could’ve she have allowed this to happen? Fear of what Mr. Black was capable of held her immobile and with a shaky voice, she steadied her hands the best she could and continued.

I had the pleasure of meeting Ms. Greenwood during a basic interrogation of several suspects. I hesitate to use the term ‘suspect’ so frivolously with this high-profile case. Perhaps a more appropriate term is ‘person of interest.’ She answered all questions without hesitation and appeared to be comfortable in her surroundings, despite the intense line of questioning. She was linked to Mr. Gonzalez by association only. She is a late, fourth-year student majoring in Law.

Elsa read until her throat was dry, but kept her eyes trained to the journal. She had no idea why she was reading the mundane writings of Special Agent Victor Laurenzo. On the occasion that she would take her eyes away from the journal to look up, Mr. Black was seated on the duchess chair looking out the window pensively with a pained expression on his face. Surely he could sense the loss of the optimistic and bright-eyed, young man he once was. Elsa didn’t know him then, but even she missed him.

As she read on, his writings were becoming increasingly more focused on the one time ‘person of interest’ Scarlett Greenwood. He would find excuses to keep going back and questioning her even though there was nothing to link her definitively to any of the cases. He was obviously attracted to her.

Two more murders popped up during the course of his writings, one who was linked again, to Scarlett through six degrees of separation. No one found it odd because Virginia Beach is a fairly small community and most individuals could be linked through less than six degrees of separation.

Scarlett – a lovely name for a woman whose name matches the color of her lips. I have taken a particular interest in her. More than work related. We have discussed many things, our pasts, what we want for our futures, etc. I find my thoughts becoming clouded when I’m in her presence. Perhaps it’s the cheap musky perfume she wears. She is struggling financially. She hasn’t admitted as much, but I can see it in the way she dresses, the car she drives, and the less than desirable neighborhood she lives in. Although my pay grade is still on the low-end, I want to help her.

The last words leapt off the page. He had always had the kind of personality where he wanted to help people. Like herself. She even sensed he may have been a romantic at heart. It was a lovely thought…

The snap of the leather brought her back to reality. The icy coldness in her heart did nothing to quench the fire on her back, and she hunched over as her fingers gripped the journal. She shrieked and hid her face as hot tears streamed down her face. Her throat tightened painfully and her body began to sweat profusely as the warmth of her back spread over her body.

She wanted the old Victor. The one whose writings she was reading. Where was he? Was he gone forever? Her physical pain was acute, but didn’t compare to the misery she was feeling in her heart.

“I want the real Victor,” she howled when he lashed her across her shoulder blades once more.

“Read,” he ground out between gritted teeth.

Terrible regrets assailed her. Had she been wrong about Victor? She refused to believe that… “Victor, please…” she begged.

“Ten… nine…”

The snap of leather again.

Her anguish almost overcame her control, but she forced herself to straighten up and go into auto-mode as she sobbed out the dreadful words written on the stark white pages.

Another murder. Scarlett… he was falling for her. He had fallen for her. He was in love. She loved him. She understood him. He understood her. She rushed the words, wanting the torment to be over with.

Elsa’s tears gradually diminished and her words slowed when she read that he wanted to scream from the rooftops of his love for Scarlett. Victor had light in his life then and it was beautiful to read.

But no one could know of their love.

One more body was found, but it was the first of the five; the first murder, not the fifth. It had been hidden better than the others, but the murderer was sloppy then and inexperienced.

Her words came out hurried again as she could feel the climax to the horrible story building.

Scarlett Greenwood was arrested when not only the red fiber is linked to a scarf she purchased, but a partial print on the tape that was used to bind the first victim’s mouth is identified as hers.

Elsa realized why the name had seemed familiar. She remembered hearing in the news when she was arrested. It was a big deal. She was Virginia’s first convicted female serial killer. Scarlett, the love of Victor’s life, was a serial killer.

Elsa kept reading in dumbfounded shock when his world fell apart. He denied his affair with her, but there were always suspicions. His work was scrutinized and second-guessed, and he was ridiculed for not having seen what was staring him right in the face. Scarlett had used him to find out about the details of the investigation and he was so blinded by love that he gave her exactly what she wanted.

Trying to push Scarlett out of his mind, he filled his life with night-after-night of meaningless sex. He tried new business ventures and invested in real estate to build up his wealth to keep his mind busy. He attempted anything and everything to forget about the biggest mistake of his life, but nothing worked. With his writings becoming darker with each following passage, Elsa could see his light diminishing until there was seemingly none left.

He chastised himself endlessly. He blamed himself for the last two victim’s deaths. Everyone had considered him an intelligent and brilliant man, but why then hadn’t he seen the lies and deceit in her eyes? He tore himself down time-after-time, never giving himself an ounce of forgiveness. He was a failure like his mother had said all along. It went on and on and Elsa began to sob uncontrollably when she remembered the harsh words she had spoken to him.

The last chapter rocked her to her core.

I am a man who has lived a life of lies. I not only involuntarily assisted a serial killer, but I am the son of one. My fucked-up circle of life is complete. Why did I seek him out? I could’ve moved on from Scarlett. I could’ve learned to forgive myself, but now this changes everything. I understood her because I am her. The same insanity that runs through her veins, courses through mine. I am black inside, but I now have a new purpose. To study the human psyche on a deeper, darker level by using any means I deem necessary, ethical or otherwise. Fuck the rules. Fuck love. There is no going back to the man I once was. I am Mr. Black.

There were no more words on the pages, but the belt struck her raw flesh again with the same ferocity and Elsa screamed until her voice cracked. She curled up into a ball and rocked herself until her body and brain went numb.

“Why?” she wailed.

“Because I want you to understand who I am, like Scarlett understood. I want you to see that there is no light, Elsa, only darkness. Do you see now that being with me will only hurt you?” his voice trembled.

He spoke her name and not her number. When she looked up, it was Victor looking down at her and there was light, hidden far, far back behind his beautifully tortured and tear-filled eyes.

“I refuse to believe that,” she gasped out.

He brought the cow-hide up again and stepped back to allow himself room to wield the ghastly tool of torture. Elsa straightened up, her body now shaking uncontrollably from the pain and adrenaline surging through her veins, but she pushed her chin out to accept his will.

“Do it, Victor. Do it if it makes you feel better. Keep lying to yourself about who you think you are and do it.”

Victor winced. “Stop fucking calling me that!” The belt fell to the floor with a thud and he fisted his hair as he fell to his knees. “Why are you so God damned stubborn?” he whispered as he pulled her close.

His voice was foreign, sad and tormented, but when he touched her skin, the searing pain overwhelmed her and she let out a blood-curdling scream. She wanted to stay lucid and to hold him, but the burning heat traveled from her spine to her brain, and dizziness overcame her. Spots suddenly filled her vision and then, darkness.

22: Resilience

Heat... Unbelievable hotness and pain, scorching, searing, agonizing pain… Green sparkling eyes, soft lips, large hands caressing her face… whispered words… I’m wrong for you, Peach.

It was all a haze. Or was it a nightmare?

Elsa woke in a sweat, crying. She was in the master suite, alone and lying on her stomach. The soothing and somber sounds of Oblivion by Bastille were playing on her cell phone that lay next to her. Cool, wet washcloths were draped across her back and a ceiling fan above her was set to high, but the pain was still present. When she tried to sit up, a wave of nausea crashed against her body like waves against the ocean floor. She stilled her body until it passed.

She had never felt such an intense ache and she didn’t know how to cope with it except to try and pretend like it wasn’t there. She inhaled slowly through her nose and blew it out her mouth. There was no pretending. The pain was there and lingering like an unwanted lover.

Wobbling to the bathroom, she peeled the damp linen from her back and dry heaved from the flash of heat that traveled down the back of her legs. Her back was glistening with salve, but the sight of the raised and welted lashings across her pale skin was so shocking, her brain immediately shut down and refused to accept what it was seeing. How could Victor have done this to her?

She kneeled in front of the toilet and dry heaved and when she did, she grunted loudly. The movement from arching her back nearly sent her into the darkness again. She gripped the sides of the toilet seat and slowed her breathing as she tried to envision a young and hopeful Victor in love. It made no difference to her who the woman was, just that he had loved.

It took her nearly fifteen minutes to find the nerve to stand, but she did. Descending the stairs gingerly, she found a note on the table.

We’re finished. Gather all of your things. You’re free to leave.

Elsa sank into the chair and hid her face in her hands. It couldn’t be over. Not after what he had done to her. She accepted his punishment and now he was just going to dismiss her? Hadn’t she done everything he had asked of her? Hadn’t she played his game by his rules?

She glanced out the window to see the sun still up and looked at the clock on the far back wall of the kitchen. It wasn’t even 2:00 p.m. yet and it felt like an entire day had passed.

Moving slowly throughout the house, she packed the few items she had brought into the same box that had been hidden on a top shelf in the bedroom closet. As physically painful as it was, she dressed and waited. She had to see Victor one last time to plead her case before she allowed him to send her away.

Nearly two hours passed when she heard the click of the lock and felt the warm, damp air rush in along with the scent of cigarette and bergamot. Her body ached for Victor’s gentle touch and she dreamed of being crushed in his embrace. She kept her eyes forward and her hands in her lap, waiting until he showed himself in front of her.

“I told you that you were free to leave,” she heard from behind her.

“I wanted to hear you say it, not read it on a note,” she peeked over her shoulder.

His brows drew together and his voice was hoarse with frustration, “Then listen closely: you’re free to leave.”

She shifted uncomfortably on the lounger, disappointed, but undeterred. She sat motionless until he finally seated himself at the table, leaned back and stretched his legs out in front of him.

His dark eyebrows slanted in a frown. “What are you waiting for?”

She could see that he was trying to distance himself by acting unaffected. When she noticed the newly developed dark circles under his eyes and realized he had already grieved her loss, a sudden sense of urgency drove her.

“I once told you that it takes a special kind of man to guide and lead a woman. Do you remember that?”

He nodded but remained stoic.

She rose from the chaise and moved directly in front of him. “You have it within you to do that, Victor. Can’t you see that?” she stared at him longingly, trying to convey her need for him. “You’re not your mother or your father. What happened with Chapter One was sad and beautiful, but you are your own man; strong and admirable and fucked up like the rest of us.”

His gaze traveled over her face and searched her eyes. “You’re not fucked-up, Elsa.”

“I am. We all are, in our own ways. I love all the fucked-up sides of you. Even Mr. Black…”

He abruptly pushed his chair back with a disgusted look on his face. “Don’t you dare tell me that you love me.”

“Please, let me love you. Let me help you, Victor.”

She reached for him but he batted her hand away. “That’s Mr. Black, remember? I’m MR. BLACK.”

“No, you’re not just that blackened soul of a person you think you are. You’re both and I can accept both.”

He jumped up and glared down at her. “Shut the hell up! What do you know about me? You only know what I’ve allowed you to know. You think those journals and case studies told you everything there is to know about me? They don’t! You think you love me because I’ve manipulated you into believing that you do. That’s what I do, Elsa. I bend and manipulate people’s will, mind and bodies into what I want them to be. I do it at work and I do it for fun. You’re my plaything, Elsa, nothing more!”

She could feel the tears building and her back throbbed with each subtle movement, but she held her composure and kept her eyes riveted on him. “Another lie in your game, only this time, you’re lying to yourself. I know who you are. You can push me away, Victor, but I’ll never stop loving you.”

“I don’t want to be the man you want. Not like that. And I’ll never be the man you need me to be.” The steely, cold edge to his voice softened and he sank back into the chair.

“Only you believe that. People can change. I’ve seen it. I’ve experienced it.”

His voice dropped an octave and his brows drew together. “No one ever changes.”

Refusing to make eye contact, he looked past her and out the window. At that moment she saw all his emotion pool at his feet as he began to let her go, bit-by-bit.

As she stood waiting for what seemed like an eternity for him to acknowledge her, he only stared blankly out that damned window. She let out a pitiful sob when the realization and truth of his words slowly took a hold of her. There was no getting through to him. She had allowed him to beat, use and abuse her, and still… there was no breaking down his walls. He had once said that this wasn’t going to end well and he really meant it.

How could this be? How could she have been so wrong about him? She had been wrong about Patrick and so many others, and now Victor. She was a damned fool. No, she was an ignorant fucking bitch. At that moment, she hated herself for having allowed Mr. Black to do the things he did to her.

Her body ached, her legs began to weaken, and a pain like no other she had ever felt, clutched her heart. He was really finished with her. All of a sudden she felt empathy for all the other Chapters who came before her, knowing this is how they must have felt when he callously dismissed them, too.

Unhurriedly, she walked away and reached behind the chaise, picking up the box of her things he had demanded she remove from the house. On top were the keys to both his house and the brownstone. She placed them inside the music box that had been on the nightstand and set it on the table in front of him.

“This used to bring me peace when I was a child. I hope you find peace, too, someday, Victor. You deserve it…” she touched the warm flesh of his arm. “I’m sorry I hit you.”

His eyes turned glassy but he still looked past her, ignoring her statement.

Clutching her box of mementos, she turned to walk out the door. When she reached the entryway, Victor’s words came out strained. “I decide when this is over, Elsa. My house, my rules, remember? This isn’t over until I say otherwise.”

Confused, she shook her head. He had just told her to leave. “You said we were finished. You just told me I was free to leave.”

A look of tired sadness passed over his features. “I changed my mind. I’m allowed to do that. My house. My rules,” he repeated for the umpteenth time.

Since he couldn’t make up his mind, she would make it up for him because she was never going to allow him to treat her the way he had, not ever again. Trying to swallow the lump that lingered in her throat, she forced herself to speak.

“You keep telling yourself that, but I can’t do this anymore. I can’t perpetually play your game with no end or promise in sight. My heart isn’t in it anymore, and is that what you really want? An unwilling player?”

“I want you…” he croaked out, the torn look on his face the most heartrending thing she had ever seen.

Her hand touched the knob and she leaned against the door for a moment as she tried to gather strength. “We’ll always have each other, just not the way we want.”

“Stay and play my game a little longer, Peach. Just a little longer…” His voice sounded distant.

What was the point in prolonging the inevitable? He didn’t want her love and she knew he would never love her in return. Not the way she deserved to be loved. Her body swayed, rife with indecision. Part of her wanted to stay and see it through…

Another flash of heat and pain suddenly shook her and she winced as tears welled up within her eyes. It was as if her own body was reminding her of Mr. Black’s cruelty. She wasn’t going to ignore her inner voice this time.

Even though she didn’t know the reasons why she loved him, she did… but she loved her sanity more. She shook her head, not only to clear her thoughts, but to signal to Victor that there was no turning back. Gripping the door knob, she turned it.

“What do you want to hear from me to get you to play again? Tell me and I’ll say it…” he demanded as he pounded a fist on the table.

The door swung open and she gave him one last poignant glance over her shoulder. He was so beautiful… so sad and so beautiful… but so tortured. “There’s nothing more you can say. I’m done playing your game. I need to love and to be loved…”

He stood but his body froze. “If this is because I used the belt on you, I won’t do that again. I promise… I know it was wrong…”

“It’s not because of that,” she choked out, knowing that he would never address her statement. “It’s because I know what we are and what we’re not.”

“I can’t change who I am…”

She heard his whispered voice over her shoulder as she stepped into warm, bright day. He could love. He could change. She knew he could do both, he just wasn’t willing to. Someday someone would come into his life that would make him want those things, but it wasn’t her. A gust of wind blew past her, drying the tears that bordered on her lashes and drowning out the sound of his agonized voice.

Victor… she whispered his name one last time before closing the door behind her.

Ten…

Nine…

Eight…

She mouthed the numbers silently, counting down in Mr. Black fashion as she lingered on the stoop, conflicted by her rapidly shifting emotions. She knew what had to be done, but still she hoped and prayed that he would come barreling through the door and sweep her up into his arms like he had so many times before.

Seven...

Six… Please come for me...

Five…

Four… Please change for me…

Three…

She touched the door knob again and almost gave in.

Two… Please change for yourself…

One.

He wasn’t coming to her and he was never going to change. She would never know all of his secrets or the pain of his childhood, or even why he loved her tears. Bereft and desolate but determined, she squared her shoulders back, pushed her chin out and walked away, staring into the sun defiantly.

Game. Over.