Текст книги "Revealed to Him"

Автор книги: Jen Frederick

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

NATALIE

Dr. Isaiah Crist is one of the most imposing men I’ve ever met. I fight not to cower under his dark stare. He doesn’t intend to be intimidating, but he’s got a command, a presence. Jake has something similar, but he wears it more casually—only occasionally trotting it out in the bedroom, to my eternal dirty-girl delight.

Crist’s demeanor is familiar in the way he holds himself, slightly erect, slightly alert. It doesn’t remind me of Dr. Terrance, though. I agreed to meet him at Jake’s request. After all, Jake met with him, and frankly, I’m at the point where I’m willing to do most anything to be better. I do believe that Jake accepts me as is. The other night when he allowed me to help him off with the prosthetic, I felt like the tectonic plates had shifted and I was right where I needed to be.

But it isn’t enough. I want to be able to go out with Jake, meet his friends, make new friends. I want to eat at a new restaurant and see a Broadway show.

So I said yes to Dr. Crist. I’d say yes to anything at this point.

As he greets me, I try hard to concentrate on the fact that I’m safe, that no one is going to hurt me, that no one would even be allowed into this house without Jake’s say-so. I can’t hide from the good doctor, and when he hands me a white paper bag, I take it gratefully.

Shoving it up to my mouth, I take one gulp and then two.

“Easy now,” he says and I concentrate on slowing down and taking more measured breaths. He settles into the sofa across from me and sets his overcoat to the side. “I thought it might rain today,” he says, tilting his head toward the coat. “I’m not a fan of umbrellas.”

When I’m in control enough to set the bag aside, I share, “I saw this invention for a hover umbrella. It displaces water through air, so it’s like holding a big hair dryer over your head, pointing to the sky.”

He stares. “I think I’d rather get wet.”

“You probably would if you used it on a windy day.” When I go to fold the bag I notice it bears the words Dr. Isaiah Crist’s Breathing Bags. “You have personalized barf bags?” I gawk.

He smiles, a big giant smile. His perfect teeth set against the dark skin are almost blindingly beautiful. I blink at the full force of his charm. “One of my men gave me that.”

“Oh?” Then I realize that the familiarity stems from Jake. There’s something vaguely soldierish about their bearing, I think. It’s in the way they walk with precision and the watchfulness in their eyes. “Did you serve with Jake?”

“No, I predate him by a decade, but bless you for thinking I’m so young.” He leans back and undoes another button on his vest. “Jake’s a very special man. Have you talked about his service?”

I shake my head. “No, he’s never seemed particularly interested in talking about it. I didn’t want to press if there were bad memories.”

“That sounds like Jake. He was a Ranger.”

“A forest ranger?” I ask dumbly.

“No, an Army Ranger. An elite soldier. Only the very best are Rangers. He is one of those people who is deadly by just existing. You could not ask for a better protector. He is fierce with the ones he cares about.”

The implication that I am one of those he cares about is not lost on me, and I feel a tingle of happiness that Jake’s letting people know I’m important to him.

“He’s pretty terrific,” I answer with a bright smile, but my lips kind of sag when Dr. Isaiah doesn’t return it.

“His business is very successful,” Dr. Isaiah continues. “In fact, he’s turning away business. He says he doesn’t want to grow so big that he can’t spend time with his family.”

I can see that by saying that Jake is terrific, I’ve somehow misled Dr. Isaiah into believing that my feelings toward Jake are tepid, changeable things.

“I love Jake,” I tell Dr. Isaiah. “I love him and I want to get better for him.”

Dr. Isaiah shakes his head slowly. “Oh no, you cannot get better for him. You can only get better for yourself.”

I rush to cover my mistake. “Obviously for me too.”

“Jake will never make you happy if you’re not already in that mental space. I’ve spoken with Dr. Terrance and he’s explained many things to me, things I should have considered before agreeing to see you as a patient. Jake brought you from one cage to another. Dr. Terrance and I think you should return to your apartment. Restart your aversion therapy and then come back here. When you’re ready to be a partner to Jake.”

He cuts to the core of my fear with ease. Distressed, I drop my gaze to my lap. “Is this marriage therapy?”

“It can be. Do you know what your greatest fear is, Natalie?”

I swallow hard. I hate answering these questions. At least with Dr. Terrance I don’t have to repeat these weaknesses. He already knows what a mess I am. Having to repeat that to a new person, even a therapist, makes me feel small and unworthy. “That I won’t be better. That I will always be afraid of everything.”

“But you aren’t afraid of everything. You are afraid of some things. New people, new experiences, new places. All things you can’t control, including love of another person, require the largest measure of trust, because you can never fully control another person, particularly not what they love or who.”

His words are like stabbing knives and my breath catches and I can’t swallow. I remember Laura coming to the door. I wonder about all the times Jake will be out on the town alone, or all the nights he will be forced to stay inside with me. I begin to choke on air. Dr. Isaiah grabs the barf bag and presses it against my mouth, commanding me to breathe. He counts as I gasp into the bag. His large hand slaps against his leg with each beat. My breaths come in short pants and I feel lightheaded.

“Stay with me, Natalie. In one, out two. In one, out two,” he chants. “Listen to me.”

I concentrate on the rhythm of his voice, the thud of his palm striking his thigh until my breathing regulates and I no longer feel like I’m either going to throw up or pass out or both. Even as he is counting, he reaches into his jacket pocket and hands me a large white handkerchief. I wipe my face, not even realizing I was crying. The tears come with big giant gulps. Dr. Isaiah moves next to me and places a comforting hand on my back as I sob out the grief over the loss of my parents, over the loss of my friends, over the loss of my career. I mourn it all and for a while, for a long while I fear I will never stop crying and that the ache of those losses will tear me apart.

I don’t hear him come in and I don’t feel the displacement of Dr. Isaiah’s body, but when Jake’s arms close around mine, I begin to feel that hollow place inside me knit together.

“Shhh, Natalie, I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’m here for you,” he whispers into my hair. I feel the reassuring touch of his prosthetic, sturdy and capable against my cheek and then my head. I turn my face into it, so I can feel how Jake has made his losses into triumphs.

The door closes with a quiet click and then it is just Jake and me and my endless tears. He rocks me tenderly, his mouth finds mine, and the sweetness of his kiss fills me up.

Dr. Crist is right. My fear isn’t of falling apart in public or being attacked. My fear is loss. And when my world spiraled out of control last year, I felt that all I’d achieved—my status, my friends, my freedom—had been taken from me and it was one loss too many.

And I know, oh God I know, that I can’t depend on Jake to make me better, but I don’t turn away from his caress. I drink it in. I allow him to press me against the cushions of the sofa or maybe I drag him down. I can’t remember later. I only know that our clothes fall away and soon he’s inside me, thick and long and full.

“Sweet darling, my sweetest darling,” he whispers, smoothing my hair away from the sticky residue of tears on my face. He kisses my stained cheeks with exquisite care, all the while moving inside me in a slow and measured taking. He cherishes me with every touch and caress.

“Jake, oh Jake. I love you.” I strain for him, rising to meet his downward thrusts, matching his rhythm with an ease that I’ve never felt before and I fear I’ll never feel again. He digs his knee into the cushion and twists into me, striking me hard and making me gasp in need.

“Love you too.” He shudders against me. He wraps me in his arms and this cone of protectiveness drops around me. In his arms, there’s safety. I lace my fingers through his hair as he makes love to my mouth with his firm lips and his strong tongue. There’s not a part of my body he’s not touched with those lips or licked with that tongue.

These memories I’ve made with him will keep me warm for months to come. I’ll get better, for myself and for Jake—if he’ll still have me. But while I’m gone, I’ll at least have this.

I curl into him. Wrapping my arms and legs around him, I ride the wave with him until we’re both coming, a long, languorous orgasm that sweeps over us in wave after wave of pleasure. We hold fast while it buffets us and we’re still together when breathless, it throws us ashore.

I love you, I whisper silently. Love you. Love you. Always.

I pretend to fall asleep and Jake quietly gets up. He goes to the bathroom and cleans himself and then readies a cloth for me. He’s always taking care of me, Sabrina, his family. He loves us all so much. He gives of himself selflessly. And he deserves someone who can help him each day instead of add to his burden.

He slides the warm washcloth between my legs and wipes away his come. I want to cup his seed to my opening so that the sperm takes root in an egg. Then I wouldn’t have to leave him. He wouldn’t let me, and we’d be bound together forever. But that’s so wrong that I only allow it to torment me for a moment before banishing the thought.

He leans over and kisses my temple and whispers something that I can’t quite make out. I try to memorize every sensation so that later I can replay it, later when I’m back in my apartment retracing my steps from the door, to the elevator, to the lobby, to the subway. Until I can get on that train, I know I can’t be with Jake. I won’t be good enough for him and he’ll realize that and it’ll be one loss too many for me again.

After I break down with Dr. Crist, Jake doesn’t bring up any more visits with therapists, and I hide myself in my office, pouring out all the emotion inside me onto the page. I’m nearly done, only a chapter or maybe two to go.

There’s a small knock on the open door. My heart rate spikes, but I remind myself that there is no harm here. The security cameras are up on the monitor and I notice one that says “office door.” I click on it and it shows Sabrina.

The length that Jake has gone to ease the anxiety of moving into a new place is so enormous it is hard for me to wrap my head around it. And it just reminds me of how many sacrifices he’s already made and how many he’s going to have to continue to make and it makes me both angry and sad.

“Come in,” I call. I rise out of my chair to greet her.

Her head pokes around the corner. “I hope you don’t mind my bothering you. It’s almost lunchtime. I was going to make some soup. Would you be interested?”

At the mention of food my stomach conveniently growls.

I point to my stomach. “My stomach says, ‘Yes please.’”

“I can bring it up here if you’d like.”

“You definitely are not waiting on me. I’m coming downstairs.”

We walk down the hall and I stop. Sabrina is halfway down the stairs before she realizes I’m not right behind her. She turns around with one hand on the balustrade. “Everything okay?”

“There’s not anyone downstairs, right?”

“It’s just you and me today. I think Jake had a meeting.”

I concentrate on my breathing and count the steps. When I get to the second landing, I pause before turning toward the kitchen. Sabrina says nothing, but I know she’s wondering what I’m doing. “Just having a moment,” I laugh weakly.

“It really isn’t a problem to bring you food,” she assures me.

I give her a grateful smile. “A lot of my anxiety has to do with fear of the unknown. It’s not rational, of course, but no phobias are, right? But I’m going to be fine. Let’s go.”

“I get you on the phobia thing. It’s not like snakes and spiders are going to kill me, but I can’t stand the idea of them around.” She shrugs as if my anxiety keeping me housebound for over three years is no big deal. Either enlightenment runs in her family or I’ve been making too big a deal out of my own issues. Maybe it’s both.

“Tell me what to do.” I rub my hands against the cool marble counter. “I want to help.”

“We’re making potato soup, so if you want to cut up the carrots and potatoes, I’ll get the rest of the stuff ready.”

As I chop, she busies herself with broth and herbs and onions and ham. I nod my head toward the soup she’s creating. “Have you thought about opening your own restaurant? You love to cook, and everything you make is delicious.”

She hesitates. “No. I mean, I do love cooking, but this is a hobby. I want to DJ.”

At first her words don’t register. Is that even an actual job? Fortunately I don’t say the words out loud. “Interesting. Have you done that?”

“I’ve been doing some clubs, mostly small ones and underground ones for raves that don’t have licenses and stuff like that. I’ve done frat parties and other kinds of small house parties at college, but I’ve never done anything on the big stage.”

“And you think that your parents won’t be supportive?”

“I’m the youngest, so I don’t know that they expect much out of me. But the last thing I want to do is disappoint anyone.”

“Your family loves you, though, and they would want to see you happy.”

“I guess.”

Her solemn and unhappy response makes me wonder if there’s more to the story. But I don’t know her that well and I don’t feel comfortable prying.

“Do you have a brother?” she asks.

“No, I have a cousin. Oliver. My parents died when I was five and his mother took me in and I was raised with him. He’s two years older than me.”

“Jake wasn’t really around when I started dating and Megan says that he wasn’t a jerk to her boyfriends. But ever since he’s been out of the army, it’s like because he doesn’t have citizens to protect, he has to stand guard over me.”

“He just loves you,” I try to console her.

“Maybe, but I wish he would love me from farther away. Maybe I should move. You know the most popular DJ is from the Netherlands.”

I shake my head; I did not know that. I don’t know anything about DJs other than they play music and people dance to it.

“One of Jake’s friends is Tadashubu Kaga. His family owns a big beverage company in Japan, but Kaga opens nightclubs all over the world. He owns the Aquarium and 69. When the Aquarium opened, there were so many people you couldn’t even see your own hand.”

“Sounds interesting.” Sounds horrible. I would never want to do that—go out to a club with a bunch of people where it’s so crowded you can’t even see your own hand. Sounds like my very worst nightmare. I have to clench my hands to keep from shuddering. “Tell me about DJing. I don’t know much about it.”

“It’s not just about mixing music or even mixing beats. A good DJ understands her crowd and keeps the energy up until the last song is played. The DJ Kaga brought from Germany was amazing. This guy held the crowd in the palm of his hand. When he said jump, they all jumped. When he said get down, the whole crowd writhed on the floor. Celebrities, models, actresses, they all listened to him. A good DJ makes the crowd move their bodies, but also moves the heart. With every song he played, every beat he ground out, it was like a spell. They were his. For like five hours.”

She sighs in memory of this amazing artist. Whatever she had seen had made a big impact on her. I didn’t point out that she sounded a little Napoleonesque in her desire to rule everybody in her vicinity.

Before I can ask her any more questions, the doorbell rings. At the discordant sound, my hand jerks and I knock over a box of broth. Fortunately it wasn’t open yet. I look at Sabrina with panicked eyes. Could I tell her not to answer the door?

“Why don’t you go upstairs,” she suggests.

I don’t exactly run up the stairs, but I don’t walk either. When I’m in the office I collapse on the sofa. Dr. Crist’s magic bag is on the table and I grab it and start puffing into it.

There’s a knock. “Hey, it’s just me, Sabrina.”

She waits for a response, but I can’t give her one. I’m frozen in my chair staring at the door. My hands are clenched together between my thighs in an effort to stop the shaking.

“The package is for you.”

“Sabrina, I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m sorry I am so fucked up.”

“Don’t apologize,” she says, her soft voice soothing through the door. “Do you want me to leave the box out here?”

I nod even though she can’t see me, and I keep nodding and start counting. By the time I get to one hundred my heart rate has slowed. I’m able to open my eyes.

“Sabrina, are you still there?” It’s been a while since I had a panic attack. I was settling in and my sudden outburst surprises me.

“Yes,” she says brightly, apparently not at all concerned that I made her wait for a response for five minutes. I open the door to find her sitting on the floor with the box, a medium-sized one, beside her. I wonder if my old doorman forwarded this to me. She rises, easily and elegantly, to her feet and hands me the box. I carry it into the office and lay it on the coffee table in front of the sofa. The exterior of the box has my name on it and Jake’s address.

“I wonder what it is?”

“You didn’t order anything?”

“No. It’s probably some gag gift from my cousin Oliver.”

She makes a face. “What’s he like?”

“Overprotective.” We both laugh. “He’s very sweet. But he’s pretty focused on his career right now and that takes priority in his life.”

I take a pair of scissors from my desk and cut open the top. It’s taped tightly shut. Inside is a Styrofoam container almost like a cooler.

“Ohhh, this looks like dessert from Milk Bar,” Sabrina coos. She bounces a little in her chair and I admit that I am excited. What a sweet, thoughtful gift.

When I pull off the top, a terrible stench rises. We both peer into the box and then scream. I shove the box away. Sabrina lunges for it.

“What is that?” she cries.

I don’t know what it is, but I know what it means. It means that there is no safe place for me. I can feel myself shutting down into a huddle at the corner of the sofa. Wave after wave of panic hits me. I gasp for air, but my lungs have tightened and seized and every breath I take is painful. I stare at the box, not seeing the cardboard or the white foam lining but the red mass that lays inside. The acid bile in my stomach gurgles and burns a scorching path up my throat. I clench my teeth and try to swallow it back. The tears come, but I can’t stop everything.

Distantly I can hear Sabrina talking, but I don’t know if she’s addressing me or someone else. It’s too much. The sound of her voice, the scream, the stench of rotted flesh, and my own putrid fear.

I draw down into myself trying to make myself small and unseen. I tuck my head to my chest and roll my knees up and let the panic drown me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

JAKE

“Tell me what happened,” I demand. Sabrina is shaking in anger and fear while Natalie is rocking in a near catatonic state in a corner of the couch. I raced up here, having heard the screams even downstairs in my office.

“A package was delivered,” Sabrina repeats for the third time. She points to a cardboard box no bigger than a foot square. “Some guy in a white truck delivered this. She thought it might be a gift from Oliver. Who would do this?”

I pick up a pair of scissors discarded in the table and drag the flaps of the box downward. Inside is the body of a very small animal. Because it is so damaged it’s difficult for me to discern exactly what kind. Dog, cat, a rabbit? It is vivisected, and some of the internal organs are pushed out. Sabrina is weeping and Kaga, who was in my office at the time discussing the background checks of his new employees, leads her away. I let them go. I don’t have time now to be worried about the Kaga situation, because someone sent a dead animal to Natalie.

I approach her slowly. She doesn’t move. She’s somewhere lost in her own headspace. Bending down, I pick her up. Her limbs are clenched together and she doesn’t loosen them even as I carry her to the bedroom. Holding her with my right hand so that I don’t drop her, I grapple with the blankets, shoving them down awkwardly. I lower her gently and pull the covers over her. She doesn’t move or speak. I only know that she’s alive by the small rise and fall of her chest. Her skin feels cold and clammy to the touch.

I wonder about taking her upstairs to my room, but decide against it. When she wakes up she will want to be somewhere familiar. I’m not leaving her, so I text Kaga. He appears at the doorway about five minutes later. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s annoyed at being dragged away from Sabrina.

“I left the office door open. Can you shut that for me? I don’t want to leave her.” I motion toward the bed.

“No problem.”

“And send Mike up here. He’s the tall blond. Looks like a Viking.”

Kaga leaves and a few minutes later I hear Mike thundering up the stairs. Ordinarily I wouldn’t have anyone in Natalie’s space, but we need to be on this right away.

“This way,” I tell him, intercepting him at the top of the stairs. In the office, I show him the box. “Someone delivered this today. I want you to find out who the deliverer was, where the carcass came from, who paid for it. I want this information within the hour. I don’t care how many people you have to pull off existing jobs. This needs to be done now.”

“Want me to call the police?”

“No, not until we know what we’re going to find. Sometimes it’s best if we take care of it ourselves.”

He nods. The police knowing about this could be a hassle if I need to teach someone a lesson about messing with me and mine.

I dismiss him and return to the bedroom. The huddled shape underneath the covers has not changed. In the back of my head, I hear Oliver barking at me to call Natalie’s therapist. I’m not doing it. She doesn’t need sedation or therapy at this moment. She needs answers. I’m going to provide those to her. While we wait, though, I’m going to address her physical needs. Her body is going to be cramped and sore if she doesn’t loosen her muscles. I start by pulling gently on her legs drawn tight to her chest. After a few tugs, they give way.

I start rubbing them to get the circulation going. Everything is tight; even her feet are curled. I press my thumbs into the soles of her feet until her toes straighten, and then move up to her calves and the muscular thighs. Beneath my hands, I can feel her relaxing, inch by slow inch. It’s no hardship to touch her, but it breaks my heart that she’s nearly comatose because her safe place—my safe place for her—has been desecrated.

Whoever did this is going to pay for a very long time.

I roll her onto her stomach and stroke my hands down her lovely skin. She sighs, a hiccupy, sad sound.

“Shh, I’m here. No one can hurt you now.”

She seems to understand and better, even believe, as her body sinks into the mattress under my massage.

Mike comes up a half hour later, coughing slightly at the door. I cover her and walk out, shutting the door behind me.

“The delivery truck is from a private delivery service based out of Newark. Our security cameras picked up the license plate and had the background information already available. I talked to the driver, one Kelly Pierce. He is forty-two and has a drunk-and-disorderly charge from three years ago. Zachs is pulling the police report on that along with all his financials.”

“What’s the name of the delivery service?”

“The delivery service is Here Today, Gone Tomorrow. It delivers packages locally. This one was a fax order with a Western Union payment. They were directed to pick up a box from a pizzeria in the Financial District and then deliver it here.”

“What does Western Union want from us in order to get their videotapes?” Western Union, like most cash exchange places, records every transaction.

“The manager said nothing without a warrant.”

I rub my forehead. I do not want to get the police involved yet. “Is there anything that you have on the manager that you could use to leverage the information out of him?” Mike shakes his head. “We got nothing yet. Maybe in a day or two?”

I think quickly. Oliver would help even if it meant leaking the secret of his connection with Natalie. “Is he a Cobras fan?”

“Who isn’t?” Mike says quizzically.

“Go to the pizzeria and see why they are in the business of dealing with dead pets. In the meantime, I’ll go to Western Union. Which one?”

Mike gives me the address of one in Midtown on the East Side before he leaves. I find Kaga and Sabrina in the kitchen, looking slightly mussed and guilty, but I can’t summon a give-a-damn.

I dump some milk in a pan. My mom made warm milk for me when I was a kid, and it always made me feel better. I’m at a loss as to what to do for Natalie. Sabrina comes over with a small bottle in her hand.

“Put a little almond extract in it.”

I give her a tight smile, and she shakes two small drops into the pan.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“Yes. I don’t know when or how, but I do know that she is strong. She’s gone through a lot and made tremendous progress. Coming here, away from her home, was a lot to ask of her.” My fist tightens around the handle of the pan, but there’s no pain there. I turn to Kaga. He sees what I need immediately. I turn off the burner and pour the mixture into a mug, which I hand to Sabrina.

“Sabrina, why don’t you go upstairs and sit with Natalie,” he says.

“What are you two going to do?” she asks skeptically.

“I have some information that might be helpful to your brother.”

We don’t exchange a word as we walk into the cellar.

“Do you want to change?”

I look down at my jeans and T-shirt and shake my head.

“Very well, let’s go.”

In the cellar we enter a padded room the staff and I use to train. Kaga shrugs off his thousand-dollar suit coat and his expensive shirt. He slips off his shoes and crouches. It’s not a fair fight. It wouldn’t have been even if I had two regular legs and arms, because Kaga has been fighting since he could stand. I’m faster with a gun and probably better with a knife, but in hand-to-hand combat, there are few people who could ever beat him. Because of that, he is the perfect person for me to spar with. And I need pain and punishment before I can go back up and face Natalie. These are blows she should be landing; this is pain that she should inflict. Kaga does it for her. For forty-five minutes, he spins, strikes, and jabs.

And I take it because it’s only a fraction of the suffering I deserve. Kaga calls a halt.

“We’re not done yet,” I snarl and spring forward.

He glides away. “Yes, we are. I have no intention of receiving another blow.”

I notice with some grim satisfaction that I managed to land a punch on his upper cheek, which is bruising.

“Your sister will think that we’ve had yet another disagreement about her.”

I pull my shirt off and wipe my sweaty face with it. “You know, Kaga, you’re so hell-bent on having her. I’m not gonna stand in your way. But if you think for one minute she’s going to accept the life that you can give her, then you’re not as smart as I think you are.” I shrug the shirt back on. “And if you hurt her, we’re done. I will always choose my sister over you.”

He nods his head, almost a bow, to acknowledge the rightness of my statement. Family honor means everything to Kaga, which is why he’s in the bind he’s in now.

“I vacillate back and forth,” he admits, “between wanting everything and wanting just one thing.”

“Make up your mind before you go ruining people’s lives.”

He takes the hit, absorbs it like none of the physical blows I was able to land. And I’m almost regretful, but this is my sister. And I fear that whatever future she might have with Kaga will be too painful for her big heart to endure.

Back in my office I exchange my sweaty clothes for clean ones and ask for another report, ready to go to Western Union.

“I offered a signed Cobras jersey and the owner coughed the information up immediately. One of the frequent customers of the pizzeria is Daphne Marshall. She’s an editor at Brook Myles. There was a dog that ran out into the street and got hit by a car. It lay in the street for some time, so finally someone from the restaurant went and picked it up. They were going to throw it away, but Daphne objected. She said that the dog should have a funeral and that she would pay for it. She asked them to box it up in some dry ice and said that she would send a driver for it.”

“Daphne Marshall?” I repeat dumbly.

“That’s what they said. I ran some preliminary information. No criminal record, but she’s in debt up to her earlobes. Credit cards maxed out and one month behind in her rent. She lives in a complex downtown.”

“Shit, I thought for sure it was a dude,” Zachs says.

“Thanks. I’ll take it from here.” I’m not sure how I’m going to break it to Natalie that the person who has been tormenting her for the last few weeks, who has been instrumental in destroying the progress that she’s made in conquering her anxiety, is her closest friend and editor. I can’t even fathom why.

Natalie has the answers, and she deserves to know what I’ve discovered. I don’t even think she’s ready to hear it. Knowing who the perpetrator is, though, makes it easy enough to shadow her to make sure no other harm comes to Natalie. “I want a tail on her twenty-four/seven. She doesn’t take a shit without us knowing.”

Mike nods and Zachs trails behind. “Are you sure it’s not a guy?” he asks in disbelief. He had been so convinced it was a man. His notion of females as the weaker, milder gender is taking a blow.

I’d laugh if the situation weren’t so fucking tragic.

With a heavy heart, I climb the stairs. In the bedroom, I find Natalie packing. Sabrina is gone and the almond milk lies untouched on the end table.