The abrupt shyness and awkwardness when offered kindness—a sliver of reluctant sympathy. Because it shows that the world hasn’t been good to her.
The desperate attempt to hide her fear as she confronted me to help her at the garage and blackmailed me when all else seemed to fail—curiosity…mixed with a tinge of admiration at her determination…
I cut the train of thought and shift my attention to the document on my office desk. The list of reasons for my fascination with the little fawn is too long, and it isn’t like me to dwell on a subject like this. She’s contradictory. Even when she does things I expect her to do, she inspires something inside me that’s wholly unexpected, unfamiliar and raw.
But I can’t let any of this derail my plans. Even if it weren’t for Lyosha’s birthday wish—to punish the person responsible for killing his mother—Roy Wilks needs to go, and for the same reason Rick Owen had to go. He’s a malignant element in society, something that ought to be excised and disposed of.
Rhonda doesn’t understand what’s on my mind. Hence she comes over to my desk at exactly two thirty p.m.—she always starts our small office celebrations at three thirty, and always wants an hour to set things up—her eyes bright with excitement, and tells me to prep for the surprise office party for Angelika’s birthday.
She doesn’t expect much from me. She only wants me to keep my mouth shut about it—quite easy—and make sure Angelika doesn’t come anywhere near Rhonda for the next hour. Also doable.
What Rhonda will never find out is that I’m the one who ensured she knew about Angelika’s birthday, since the little fawn’s being very quiet about it for some reason. Out of all the people in the office, Rhonda’s the most maternal and loves to plan and execute things like birthday celebrations, baby showers and Christmas parties.
“One of these days, I’m going to plan one for you, too,” she says with a shake of her finger.
“Mm.” She never will because she will never know my birthday. The date on my government document is fake. And I don’t do birthday celebrations, like somehow making it through another three hundred and sixty-five days is some remarkable achievement.
At my age, and with no war and the medical technology now available, not making it through three hundred and sixty-five days would be as inexplicable as the Bermuda Triangle. Birthday celebrations belong in the Middle Ages.
Angelika comes over from a small meeting room. She looks fresh and eager, even at two forty-five p.m. on a Friday. There’s a small smile on her full lips, and her eyes are relaxed, not a hint of tension anywhere. She looks happy, and I find myself starting to smile.
I stop abruptly the second I realize I’m doing so. My reaction to her is no longer within the normal range. She’s bait, I remind myself. Too young and innocent for bait, but bait nonetheless. The plan is to let her go after I’m done with Roy.
“Have you seen Rhonda?” she asks, tapping the end of a ballpoint pen on the legal pad she’s holding.
“She’s in a meeting. What is it?”
“I’m done with the brainstorming she asked me to do for the new daycare center, but she didn’t tell me what she wanted help with after that.”
“Why don’t you sort her mail?” I gesture at the towering pile on Rhonda’s desk. “That would be a big help.” And will keep the little fawn occupied for at least an hour. Rhonda is lazy about her mail. Unless something is obviously urgent, she puts it off.
Angelika blinks. “You think it’s okay to look through her stuff?”
“None of it is private.”
“Okay.” She goes over to Rhonda’s desk.
A simple matter to direct her to a time-consuming task. I turn my attention to my own newly arrived emails.
A private courier delivery kid comes over, carrying a cardboard box tucked against his side. He takes the box in his hands, reads the label, then looks around at the desks. “Angelika Wilks… Angelika Wilks…” he mutters, scanning the area.
Finally.
Normally, I’d let him search for the recipient on his own, but this is Angelika. Only one person would be sending her a package. “Let me take that. She isn’t at her desk,” I say coolly.
He hesitates briefly. “Um. It has to be signed by her.”
“You don’t think I’m going to steal that package, do you?” I arch an eyebrow.
The kid flushes. He’s done deliveries to the foundation, and he’s seen me many times, since I generally sign for Lizochka’s packages.
“Well?”
“Sorry. No, I don’t… I mean, sure.” He licks his lips nervously and gives me a handheld gadget. “Just sign here.”
I make a straight line across the screen with my finger. He places the package on my desk and scurries off.
Two minutes later, my other phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out.
–Courtney: Happy birthday!
Isn’t it interesting she’s texting right after the package arrived? Are you fishing, snitch? For all I know, she’s currently snuggling with Roy Wilks. Michigan’s not that far from Philadelphia.
–Courtney: I hope you have an amazing celebration and everything is well.
–Me: I will. Thanks for asking.
–Courtney: Did you get anything nice? Especially from the guy you met?
–Me: I did. My office is going to host a small party for me. It’s so cool. I’m also going away with my boyfriend for the weekend to celebrate. It’s going to be super romantic! Anyway, I gotta get to a meeting. Later!
I tap the side of the phone a couple of times, then add a smiling emoji and a heart emoji.
That done, I put the phone away and look at the label on the box. The return address is the same PO box that was on her other package—the one with her underwear inside. Roy Wilks is surprisingly consistent in some ways. It’s another way he taunts her, displaying his superiority. So what if she knows his mailing address? What can she do to stop him?
I take the package into the supply room and pull out a box cutter from the small nook in one of the top cabinets where Patrice keeps it.
I run the blade along the tape and open the box. Lots of packing peanuts. A colorful card with balloons that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY on the top. I flip it over.
Angelika,
You think you’re safe, but you aren’t. I’ll be coming for you.
–Roy
As threats go, this is embarrassingly third-rate. I’ll be coming for you. Such a cliché. If he’s going to come to L.A., can’t he hurry up? Hasn’t Courtney told him how happy the little fawn is? How she’s met somebody?
Sexual dysfunction or no, Roy won’t tolerate that. Angelika isn’t supposed to meet anybody, she isn’t supposed to dream of a bright future and she most definitely isn’t supposed to feel safe or happy.
She’s supposed to be miserable. She’s supposed to despair so much that Roy will begin to seem like a good option for her. He wants to control and humiliate her, and he wants her to want that.
And he’s angry that she’s too strong for him to break.
I smile.
Then I reach inside and find a glass jar buried underneath the peanuts. There are holes poked into the metal lid.