“Sit,” Tolyan says again. “Let’s talk. It’s more comfortable here than the parking lot. And my home has better amenities.”
Since he seems a tad more willing to engage, I park my butt on the edge of the sectional. If I’d known he likes to be comfortable while talking, I would’ve taken him to a Starbucks next to his office.
But first things first. “What happened to my clothes?”
“Ah. I’m keeping them. Insurance.”
“For what?”
“To prevent you from running to the police and telling them you saw me at the house of the man you claimed I ‘suicided.’” He makes air quotes with his fingers.
I look down, my mouth going dry. “I only said that because you were being difficult.” In retrospect, it was a seriously dumb move. We were alone in the lot. He’s strong and skilled enough to kill a man. He could’ve killed me easily and disposed of my body.
Another thing occurs to me, chilling for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold air blowing from the vents. Don’t killers prefer to tie up their loose ends, like witnesses?
And I just blurted out what I saw. I even threatened to report him.
Cold sweat slickens my palms. I steal a glance at Tolyan. He’s quietly puffing his cigar, his eyes narrowed. Maybe he does intend to kill me. He’s just taking his time, trying to figure out how to make it look like a suicide. He probably doesn’t want to use the same method he used back at that house again. It might look too suspicious.
“But I’m not really going to tell anybody,” I add, licking my lips. I’m so jittery, I think even my tongue’s trembling. “It isn’t like I have friends or anything.”
“You didn’t say you were telling your friends.” There’s a short, heavy-looking spring on the table beside him. He picks it up and starts squeezing it like one of those grip-builder things. “You did mention the police.”
“I don’t have any cop friends, either.” I force a smile, but my facial muscles are twitching.
“I do.” He smiles. “Lots of them.”
“Good for you…?” Shit. Maybe he’s like that serial killer character I read about in a novel. That Dexter guy. He only kills other criminals, ones who deserve to die. And unlike in the story, maybe cops in real life actually like that. It prevents tax dollars from being wasted on feeding and jailing criminals.
For all I know, the man who died last night was a serial killer or rapist. Not that that makes me feel much better…
“Look, I’m not going to tell anybody. Can I please have my clothes back? It’s really awkward to be…you know…naked.” Especially in front of him. This man who is leisurely studying me like a tiger that can’t seem to decide if it’s hungry enough to get off its butt and pounce or not.
He shrugs. “I could strip, too.”
And talk to him while he’s sitting there naked? Given how shameless and open he is about sex, I doubt he’d cover himself. No. He’d sit there, one ankle over the other knee, and smoke his cigar and sip his water, like he has the world at his feet.
“That’s…okay,” I say finally.
“If you’re certain. Just let me know if you change your mind. I wouldn’t want a guest feeling uncomfortable.”
If you wanted me to feel comfortable, you’d give me my clothes back! But the words stay trapped in my mouth. Right now, that isn’t the point.
The point is, I’m in his home. Under his control. I could put up the best fight of my life, but it would be about as effective as a mouse fighting a panther. I really wish I’d been able to snag a knife from the kitchen.
He transfers the spring to the other hand and starts squeezing it. The spring compresses, expands, compresses, expands. “So. Now that you can’t just run off to the authorities when you hear answers you don’t like, talk. Tell me why you came to me.”
I eye him warily. He could do anything to me here, and nobody would be able to help. For all I know, he might just chop me up and feed me to his dogs, which are watching us with keen interest.
On the other hand, he is signaling that he’s willing and ready to listen. So if I don’t tell him what I need him for, I’m a moron. Life is a risk, and I’m going to have to roll the dice.
Tolyan’s waiting, his eyes unblinking and cool. The man doesn’t seem like the sentimental type. Just because he gave me a sandwich last night because he noticed I was hungry doesn’t mean he’s Mr. Sympathy.
Stick to the facts and the outcome you want. Nothing else.
“I have a stepbrother. His name is Roy Wilks. He’s been harassing me since I was eighteen, and I’m tired of it. I’m wondering if you can make him stop.”
“Why is he harassing you?”
Why? Is he wondering if I deserve it? Or is it just lurid curiosity? Whichever, it’s probably a good sign he wants to know more. “I don’t know. He’s just crazy. He’d come into my room and…do things.”
Tolyan’s gaze sharpens, and my heart starts racing. It’s the first time he’s shown any real reaction to something I said.
“What kind of things?” The words come out gravelly and acrid.
“You know.” I swallow a hot lump in my throat. I haven’t done anything wrong. I know I’m a victim. But that doesn’t mean I feel okay talking about it. There’s a small but persistent voice in my head that sounds awfully like the people who heard the story. And it whispers—firmly—that maybe it was my fault. I might’ve done something to provoke Roy. Or at least I should’ve fought harder instead of just watching mutely all those nights.
Because…how can terror make you mute? You should’ve been screaming your head off. That would’ve scared him, but instead, you stayed quiet. All you did was hyperventilate, a hand over your mouth, and shed silent tears. Like that was going to be enough to stop him.
You could’ve done more. You should’ve done more if you didn’t want him sneaking into your bedroom and—
“I don’t know,” Tolyan says.
“He…had sexual urges about me.” I force a smile, to pretend that what Roy did doesn’t affect me anymore. And fail. I can feel that my muscles aren’t moving correctly to form a pretty smile. They’re twitching and shaking. I’m sure the smile I’m trying doesn’t even look like one. I quit trying. “He… He—”
Tolyan raises a hand. “Have some of this. It’ll make you feel better.” He leans forward and passes me the water he’s been sipping.
I take it with trembling hands and take a big gulp. Just as the liquid pours onto my tongue, I realize it isn’t water.
A fireball explodes in my mouth, nose and throat. I sputter, then cough as some of the alcohol slides down into the wrong pipe. Tears drip from my eyes. Holy shit that hurts!
Tolyan gets up and sits next to me. He puts a hand on my back, then starts patting. I expect an almost violent pounding, but his hand is surprisingly gentle and comforting.
And for some reason, that makes me want to cry like a lost child who’s finally found somebody who cares about her. Instead, I stiffen my resolve. I’m asking for help with Roy, which is more than enough of a mess for Tolyan. He doesn’t need my emotional baggage.