Jane Sullivan was a young, pretty doctor. She had red straight hair and blue eyes. She was professional, and while she smiled at me and acted polite, I just never got the warm vibes from her. Like now, when I opened the door to her, she shot me that forced smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. It was like being here annoyed the shit out of her, which was fine. Whatever. Nixon may as well have had a gun dug into the back of her, the way she carried on.
We settled in the lounge room. I took a seat on the couch and waited. She didn’t ask me how I was. She simply got down to business, asking me how the birth control was going. I said Fine and Good when necessary. Then she administered the shot in my arm and went through the usual Doctor lingo, letting me know what to watch out for over the next few days.
I zoned out, thinking of yesterday. I swore my ears were still ringing from the sound of those gunshots. I rubbed at the inside of one of my ears, as if that would stop it from making that god-awful sound.
“Are you alright?” Sullivan asked, curiously.
“Yeah,” I answered, avoiding her eye. It wasn’t like I was going to say, Hey, I got shot at yesterday, someone wanted me dead, but don’t worry, the dude missed because he got tackled to the ground by a guy that ended up killing him.
A guy who, I had to add, hinted he could make me disappear.
“How’s Nixon been treating you?”
I instantly redirected my gaze to her, shocked by her question. She’d never asked that before. I wasn’t even aware she was allowed to discuss him with me.
Noticing my expression, she shrugged weakly. “I heard him lose it in the foyer. He’s in a foul mood. Everyone looked scared.”
“He treats me fine,” I told her, numbly.
She looked dubious. “As you know, I don’t work on the island. Nixon has me flown over.”
“Okay.” Why was she telling me this?
She looked at me long and hard. “So, you know, I’ve known Nixon a long time, but I’m not on his books or anything. It appears you’re pretty isolated and, well, if you ever wanted to talk, I’m here.”
It took several moments for my shock to ebb away. I stared at her, trying to gauge how trustworthy she was. It was hard not to be suspicious. I wasn’t going to just openly tell her my life story or anything, but…I also felt this desperate need to talk.
So, I asked safe questions first. “Do you see anyone else on the island?”
“Just you.”
“Nixon must make it worth your while.”
She smiled with ease. It looked real. “He does. He is very generous in the monetary sense. I work at a clinic in an unsavoury area. The extra money helps.”
“How’d he find you?”
“He was in rough shape when he came into the clinic. It was after hours. He’d broken in.”
“Hurt badly?”
She nodded, solemnly. “Very. He’d been stabbed. Was covered in blood. It was really messy.”
I blinked in surprise, envisioning Nixon in bad shape. I’d never seen more than a busted lip on him. “Then what happened?”
“He came to me again a few more times, and we treated him at the clinic the best we could.”
“Under the table?”
She laughed lightly, nodding. “Oh, yeah.”
I studied her, quietly asking, “Do you know his real name?”
She shook her head, her smile fading. She wouldn’t meet my eye when she answered, “No, I don’t.”
Damn.
It was one of those annoying mysteries about him. I hadn’t realized how relevant a name was until I met him. When you interacted with someone who hid their real name, it felt less personal. It drew the boundaries well and clear. As close as I could get to Nixon, I could never get too close.
And it wasn’t fair.
Because he knew everything about me.
He always had the advantage between us. Always.
Relaxing my shoulders, I asked, “How long have you known him?”
She clasped her hands together in her lap, looking thoughtful. “Around five years.”
I did the math in my head. He’d known her three years by the time we’d crossed paths. She’d come onto the scene straightaway, tending to me on the island. I’d sort of wondered if he’d just recruited her for the sake of me by how quiet and detached he’d been around her.
“So, he went to you when he needed to get treated?” I asked.
“No. Like now, I was treating a patient he knew.”
I went still, mulling that over. It suddenly occurred to me I might not have been the first girl he kidnapped. Of course. I was so dumb. With my heart climbing up my throat, I pressed, “Another girl?”
She nodded, swallowing hard as a flash of emotion flashed through her. “Yeah, it was more involved. More than just birth control. She needed medicine for health reasons.”
More than birth control.
For some reason, my body went tight and a strange pain – akin to betrayal – shot through my chest. I kept my lips from trembling, though admittedly, every part of me wanted to shake.
Did you think you were special? That all this time it was just you? Stupid girl.
Jesus, my body was acting funny. I cleared my throat to clear away the lump forming there. I wrapped my hand around my neck, aware tears were springing to my eyes. Oh, God, this was so embarrassing.
“Are you okay?” she suddenly asked, all bug-eyed.
“Yeah, I ate something bad last night,” I lied, standing up. “Thanks for the shot. I really appreciate it. I definitely don’t want a baby. Ever.”
“Are we finished?”
“I think we are.”
She gathered her things quickly and I shoo-ed her out of the apartment. She looked at me like I had two heads all the way to the door. I slammed the door on her face and then I collapsed to the ground, shaking everywhere.
“Of course, there were others,” I scolded myself. “Why the fuck are you surprised, Victoria?”
I shut my eyes, wincing when I said my name. I hadn’t heard it in so long. The tears I suppressed moments ago gave way. They fell down my face in fat drops.
“I just wanna go home,” I cried, hugging myself.
It’d been a long time since I’d broken down like this. The last time…God, the last time was in that fucking cabin he took me to. I’d pleaded for my life in that room, and he’d just stared at me the entire time, weighing over what to do with me.
There was no care in him then.
There was no care in him now.
It was all in my fucking head.
You don’t spill that much blood and have the capacity to feel.
I kept forgetting how violent he was. How little it mattered to him to take a life or dispose of a fucking body like he effortlessly did last night.
What happened to the last girl he was with? Had he broken her until there was nothing left to break?
I’d been right.
I was just a toy.
Just a toy.
And all toys break eventually.
14.
Nixon…
He was in a cunt of a mood.
He’d spent most of his morning trying to figure out how in the fuck that man found his way to the basement. It wasn’t on any of the footage. He’d seen the dead cunt meandering around the foyer, and then he’d disappeared from the cameras.