Black Sheep

Despite being physically exhausted from days of sleeplessness and punishing workouts, my mind is still wide awake. After I return home from Kaplan’s house, I toss and roll across the sheets. Even imagining the flakes of flesh peeling from Tristan’s body in the bleach and counting them as they drift toward the filtration unit doesn’t help.

At three thirty, I give up. My limbs feel heavy as I pull on a navy one-piece swimsuit and head to my favorite room in the house, the pool room. In this room, I was reborn. I remember the first days of Samuel teaching me how to swim, the newest marks on my back still bright red slashes beneath his steady palm as he told me to lean back and let my body drift away from my mind. My head was still shaved. I was gangly and weak. But the water gave me something to focus on, a way to channel my rage until I was ready to tackle someone other than myself. The water was where I became my own woman. It was a baptism into a new life.

I’m turning these bright memories over in my mind as I switch on the swim trainer and the current whirls into action, rippling the surface with licks of white water. I pull on my swim cap and goggles and then I slip into the water’s cool embrace, starting my strokes. My body sways with the motion of reaching into the current and the kicks of my legs. I fall into the steady, familiar rhythm. One. Two. Breathe. One. Two. Breathe. I let my thoughts drift away.

But they drift right to where I don’t want them to go.

Kaplan.

I see that image of the woman in black lingerie, her long blonde hair swept to one side as she starts the recording. Every second of it replays in my mind. The way Kaplan’s muscles coiled as he prowled up her body. The pace of his thrusts. The sound she made when she came the first time. His voice when she looked at the camera. You like the thought of me watching this over and over, don’t you, baby? And then his hands around her throat, and the way she tapped out within mere seconds. The tension that flooded every one of his motions that followed. His effort to hold back, and the way he didn’t want to.

I let myself glide on the current to the shallower end of the pool. I tear my goggles and swim cap off and throw them onto the pool deck. My fist smashes the surface of the water in a hit that feels woefully unsatisfying.

I wouldn’t have done what she did. I wouldn’t have tapped out.

I walk to the infinity edge of the pool and grip it as I look to the windows where the arboretum is blanketed in shadow. Peering into the darkness, it’s intriguing trying to imagine what it would feel like to put my trust in a man like that. I wonder what would happen if I let him wrap his hands around my neck and take me as far as he wanted.

Maybe it’s not him I don’t trust. It’s me. And he must have sensed it the first moment we met. His instinct told him that I would kill him if he tried.

I turn around and rest my back against the cool tiles, sliding down until my head lays on the edge. When I close my eyes, those images are still burned there. This time, however, I grab hold of them. I make them into something new. I imagine that it’s me starting the recording, me backing up on the bed with lust-filled eyes as Kaplan crawls up my body like a starving leopard, ready to devour me in his lair.

My hand drifts down my body, over my stomach, pressing on my pelvis in anticipation before my fingers slide beneath the elastic hem at my thigh. I rub my clit in a slow circle and lean my head back as I imagine Kaplan’s weight settling on my body as he pulls down my bra and sucks on my breast. He shifts to make room for his hand and he dips his fingers beneath my black panties, and he fingers the swollen bud with the same gentle pressure as I do now.

I imagine Kaplan sliding his fingers through my glistening folds. I push two fingers into my pussy as I hear his low voice, so rich and warm with approval. Wet and ready to take my cock. Do you want it? And in my fantasy I nod, pressing my palms into his muscled shoulders.

I work my clit in harder circles and pump my fingers into my sheath as I imagine Kaplan sliding his erection inside, gliding in steady strokes. But in my fantasy, he thrusts harder than he did in the version I saw. He rails into me in my dream. He fucks me raw. And I beg him to put his hands around my throat.

“Tap your hands on the mattress three times if it’s too much,” he says, just like in the video. But there’s no way. I won’t stop.

My fingers are thrusting into my pussy and bearing down on my clit and I’m so close. I imagine Kaplan squeezing. Praising. Thrusting. Good, Bria. Take it like a killer. I will fuck you exactly how you need me to. You’re so perfect, Bria. 

I drift away from the edge of the pool and take a deep breath and submerge myself. I rub and pump and circle and grind my fingers until my lungs burn. And I come hard. I come imagining Kaplan squeezing my throat until I’m desperate for air, until my vision darkens and pleasure coils in my belly as tight as a striking snake.

I burst from the water and suck in a heaving, cleansing breath of air. My heartbeat drums in my ears. I stand for a long moment in the water, waiting for my muscles to cool and my lungs to settle, hoping my mind will calm down too.

But it doesn’t.

By five o’clock I’ve slept only a fitful hour or so. When I open the random picker app on my phone, it picks number one.

Breakfast.

Goddammit.

I progress through my routine. Running. Yoga. Meditation. Shower. Feed cat. Breakfast.

I open the app again and it chooses the number five.

Oatmeal.

…Disgusting.

I sit in my robe and scowl through every bite.

When I’m done, I make my coffee and get dressed while it brews. It’s another sweater and jeans combo, and I top it off with minimal makeup. And then it’s off to Cedar Ridge to get my shit back on track.

Music flows from the common room, deft fingers dancing over the keys of a piano. I know the piece. I know the player. Samuel, and his favorite composition of his own creation. The beat is a little slower than it used to be to make up for the weakened left hand, the melody of those bass notes simplified from how I remember the piece from years past to compensate for the damage inflicted by his stroke. But Opus #139 is still as rich and haunting as the first time I heard it.

I wait behind Samuel as he finishes the last notes, then lay a hand on his shoulder. His glare softens a little when he realizes it’s me.

“What are you doing here? Don’t you have class?” Samuel asks as I wheel him to his preferred table near the window, the only one that’s empty. I wonder if he kills off any old folks who try to take it from him, and that’s why it’s always free. It would not surprise me. At all.

“No class today, Uncle,” I say, giving a kiss to each of his cheeks before positioning his wheelchair where he can watch the entrance behind me. “I’m going in later for a meeting, however.”

“Kaplan?”

“No.”

We fall into silence as I set up the backgammon board. I win the roll-off and start the game.

“You look unwell,” he says.Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

“Define unwell.”

Samuel shifts his gaze across my skin, gathering information, analyzing. “Like you haven’t slept properly. And your blood pressure is high,” he says.

I press the squiggly vein on the side of my forehead. I know that’s what he’s seen.

“What’s going on,” he says. It’s not a question, it’s a demand.

“Kaplan. He’s going on sabbatical at the end of the semester. It hasn’t been announced. My meeting today is with Kathryn Fletcher. She’s replacing him during his leave. I’ve met with her once already. She’s going to be my advisor.”

“Fletcher…the one from UCLA?”

“Yes. She presented that paper last year at the Contemporary Issues in Forensic Psychology Conference last year. The one on charismatic authorities expanding their membership base by using divisive topics to mobilize their followers as agents within online subcultural communities.”

Samuel nods and hums a tone of agreement. “I remember. It was a good paper. Her reputation is strong, her research that I’ve seen is solid. She should fit you well as an advisor.” His eyes narrow as he rolls his dice and moves his checkers across the felt. “But Kaplan’s sabbatical is not the only issue, is it. What else.”

“Kaplan is working as an expert witness for a certain federal organization and we don’t want to play in that sandbox. He has ex-Legio Agni followers lined up to interview. He’s going for my prize.”

Samuel’s gaze snaps to mine. I hold his unwavering stare and his expression darkens. “His time frame is slower than yours. His sabbatical doesn’t start until the semester is finished. If Kaplan’s conducting interviews and research now, they won’t move to final pursuit until early next year. You can capture your prize faster.”

“I know. But there will be more eyes on Legio Agni, including one who knows me now.”

“There were always going to be eyes on Legio Agni. You know how to camouflage. If you do what you do best, he will never know. And speaking of which, I found the information you were looking for on Praetorian. Log in and it will be there.”

I nod, adding it to my mental to-do list to access our shared, secured server and retrieve whatever coded information Samuel has sent later tonight.

I win the game and we set it up again, rolling our single die to establish the first player. Samuel starts the play and we roll dice and shift checkers in silence. His words repeat through my mind, a confirmation of my own thoughts.

“Are you having a crisis of confidence regarding your plan?” Samuel asks.

“No.”

“No,” he agrees. “Such a challenge normally excites you. So what is the problem? There’s something else.”

I press my molars together and glare at the board. If I don’t spill more, Samuel will probably find a way to sneak out of Cedar Ridge and break into the house. He’d happily dose me with amobarbital while I’m sleeping to wrench the truth out of me. When I look up, I can tell that’s exactly what he’s thinking.

“Kaplan. He was dismissive of my work. Of…me.”

“Why does that bother you so?”

I shoot a questioning glare at the old man. Why does it bother me? Partly because my work is superior. It’s the best. And Kaplan made it feel substandard. Made me feel substandard. I don’t accept anything substandard from myself. And neither does Samuel. He expects me to be recognized for the quality of everything I produce. Even the things which are only for his ears and the shelves of my trophy cabinet.

And it’s not just that. It’s what I saw in the video. Something about Kaplan’s hunger and the way it wasn’t satisfied. It called to me. I saw the same need in him, the deep chasm that can’t be filled. I thought somehow that his darkness would find its likeness in mine. But maybe Kaplan saw a glimpse of a beast in me whose claws are too jagged, whose teeth are too sharp. One whose needs are too deviant for his tastes. Maybe his beast wants a tamer creature. Or maybe I’m missing something that everyone can see but me.

“I wonder if he saw something that is lacking in me, something I’m blind to.”

“No, Bria,” Samuel says as he smacks the table with his palm. I don’t startle. I saw this coming. Maybe I wanted it to. Samuel leans forward and pins me with those cloudy blue eyes that veil so many shades of darkness. “Do not nurture the seeds of self-doubt. My legacy will not be corrupted by an inferior man and his shortsighted intellect and dysfunctional cock. Cut the dead weight. Stay focused on your prize. Your victory will be all the sweeter when your trophy is in your hand.”

We’re locked in a stare-off when I see a set of powder-blue scrubs moving toward us from the other side of the room. I lay my hand over Samuel’s and give him a gentle smile as I let go of some of the tension in my back and shoulders.

“Everything okay here, Samuel?” Nurse Tory asks with her no-nonsense warning tone. I’m convinced she would still use it even if she knew who he is and all the things he’s done. “Do I need to take you back to your room for a rest?”

Samuel grumbles something unintelligible, suddenly looking like a frail old man and not a competent killer.

“I’m so sorry. My uncle was just reminding me that a man who so callously dismisses me and my work is not worthy of my time. Uncle Sammy just gets a little passionate about his favorite niece sticking it to the patriarchy,” I say with a saccharine smile as I squeeze Samuel’s hand. He chews his lip as though he might be in trouble and gives the nurse a sheepish smile.

She melts.

“Oh my days, Sammy. What a good uncle you are, looking after your niece. Let me go get you some more tea. How about some of that chocolate cake to go with it? I think I can slide you an extra slice,” Nurse Tory says as she winks and lays a caring hand on his arm.

“That would be just lovely, dear. Thank you,” he replies in his most frail old man voice as he pats her hand with his. She doesn’t notice the steadiness in those fingers of his, how strong they still are. How capable. She just grins down at him and then heads off to the kitchen as Samuel’s gaze turns to me, his smoky blue eyes searing me like ice.

“What? I just got you extra cake. You’re welcome.”

Samuel huffs and jangles the dice in his cup, spilling them across the felt. A flash of a moment from childhood comes back to me, something that exists in the desert behind my memory palace. I feel the echo of pain in my gums, the phantom taste of blood. I remember spitting two of my bloody milk teeth into the dust when the back of Donald Soversky’s hand hit them free of my mouth. I feel Samuel watching, seeing.

“You know where you need to go, Bria,” he says. I nod. I need to go to my most sacred place. A place I love and fear. One that lives only in my mind. I need to return to the place that changed my life.

“Yes. I understand.”

“And you know I won’t always be here to counsel you. At some point, you will have to do this on your own. If you can’t, you will fail.”

I roll my dice. I push my checkers across the felt. “I know, Uncle. But even when you’re gone, your voice will live on in my head. I will not fail, because you will always be there to guide me.”

When I meet Samuel’s eyes, it’s with the flame of determination burning brightly through my veins, reflecting back at me in a milky sea, a subtle nod.

I will not fail.