“I know, from your point of view I’m the bad guy. You were new to the industry, you didn’t understand how things work. Perhaps, I expected too much too soon of you.”
I freeze. I can’t hear him talk about that day. It was both better and worse when I thought he didn’t recognize me at his house for the séance. Had he known all along?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t remember you? Say what you will about me, but I never forget a lover.”
He saysloverlike it was mutual. Like it wasn’t sexual abuse. My vision fuzzes at the edge from my rage. I can’t believe I’m standing here alone with him again and he’s telling me we were lovers. I can’t believe my mind is forced to replay events from his viewpoint. I must scoff because he looks up at me.
“Don’t act like you didn’t want it. Maggie, I cared about you. We shared a connection. Or so I thought. You came up to the room that day. To me, and most people, that means you wanted to take things to the next level.”
I swallow. They’re just words. They don’t mean anything. He’s playing me. I know this. And yet…
“You’re beautiful and clearly smart. I misunderstood the situation. You came to me and said those things. I thought you wanted it.”
I squeeze my eyes shut again. I want to scream. I want him to stop talking. That night I didn’t say anything—I hadn’t wanted it. But he’s making me question everything. Why is he saying this? I never said things. Had I?
“I know it’s easy to make me the enemy but I promise you I never wanted to hurt you. I want to clear the air. I thought we shared something special.”
My stomach feels carved out—sharp pains cramp me. Maybe I misunderstood. Maybe I repainted history to appease the guilt I felt about the whole situation. Maybe I’m not the victim I think I am.
My brain is a turbulent sea of rights and wrongs and blacks and whites until my thoughts gray out. I wish I could see things outside of my own thoughts. I wish I could see things rationally. I want to curl up in a ball and cover my head. I don’t like this. I don’t want to be this person.
No.
“No.” I said no. I said I wanted to stop. I never asked for any of this. I think of what Roe said. It’s not my fault. I don’t deserve this. I told Zebulund no. I wanted to leave. He’s doing this to me. He’s putting doubt in my head. He’s making think that it was my fault.
He’s watching me closely. Maybe he truly believes what he says. Maybe he really tells himself his victims want these things. His victims aren’t victims to him. They’re his lovers.
A slick, sour dread twists my gut.
There’s a gun in my hands. Heavy with power. Cold and serious. It would be so easy. It’s not the justice I hoped for but I can’t think of any reason not to kill him. I raise the gun and point it at him. I will kill him.
* * *
Zebulund’s headtilts to the side. He grins and then refocuses on his food, not at all intimidated by the deadly weapon pointed at his chest.
“Before we go on,” he chucks a piece of cheese in his mouth, “you should know that there’re three cameras pointed at you right now.” He slurps excess spit from the sides of his lips. “I like to make sure I have proper documentation.”
It clicks. That’s why he makes the comments about me wanting it. He’s got plausible deniability. I want to cry and scream and shoot all of these bullets into his body. But he’s not going down that easy. I think of his other victims. Of Viktor and how he was taken here. Forced to perform fellatio and the pictures of it. And then something else clicks.
“You should know that there are no backup computers here with files, so go ahead and dash that silly idea.”
I close my eyes against the betrayal. And my stupidity. It was Viktor who led me here. I walked right into this. My mind was too distracted to make the connection.
“Don’t be too mad at the poor kid,” he says, reading my thoughts. “He’s all mixed up. Poor, sweet boy has learned his lesson and wants back in my good graces. He gets now that my threats aren’t empty. He sees what I can do.” Zebulund smiles a sad smile that conveys a warm love and pity. It’s so genuine I get chills.
I lower the gun with tears burning in my eyes. I clench my jaw to steady against it. He holds the plate with one hand and adjusts his junk with the other.
“People constantly underestimate me. Do you think that I got to this position out of dumb luck and empty threats?”
He’s a sociopath. He can pretend emotions but feels nothing. Everybody around him serves a purpose and when they no longer do, he cuts them out. It’s clear that he genuinely believes he’s helping people. That he serves a role.
“You thought you could pass as his assistant.” He flops a hand out. “Uh, hello. I met her. And you. You’re two different people. I have to admit, it did make me laugh.”
“What. Do. You. Want.” It takes all my effort to speak.
“I want you to understand how the system works, okay? I work hard to provide a lot of people with their dreams. You bleeding hearts paint me as a bad guy but you know what most people say about me? What people who really know me say? That I’m a good guy. That I look out for the people I care about. Do you know what I provide people? Their dreams. I never get time off. I’m always working, planning, trying to make sure everything is perfect. It’s exhausting. But it’s a fair exchange. I get them what they want. I get what I want.” He swirls his finger around in leftover grease before licking his plate clean. “I only want to take what’s due to me.”
