SUNDAY

I wake up in the hotel, sun blazing in at me – I don’t recall falling asleep with the curtains open. It seems like an extremely silly thing to do if I'm actually being spied on. I'm sure I closed them.

Odd.

Probably fine though. I'm not on the ground floor.

I climb out of bed and shuffle to the kitchenette – Lionel and Jaq are both there, looking tired.

'Hello? I didn't know you were coming over so early.'

I didn't know that they would be visiting at all.

‘Feeling better today?’ Lionel asks.

‘Sort of.’

I rub my face.

‘You’re not going, are you?’

‘Huh? Oh. That.’

I rest my head on the marble counter.

‘I think I have to.’

‘Why?’

‘I have to protect Jaq's reputation.'

Neither of them seem to know how to respond.

I look up at them from the table. Jaq looks like he has no idea what to do or say. Lionel looks like he wants to punch something.

For Jaq, I say;

‘He has photos of Lionel and me together. They look vaguely like we’re on a date. And I don’t know what he found in my paperwork that he wants to tell Frances about. I already told her I'm poor, so she won't be surprised by that. But I'm sure he could twist something else in there to his benefit.'

My blood runs cold. There might actually be dangerous records in there.

I don't want to think about it.

‘He’s threatening to tell Mother?’

‘And… someone at some gossip magazine.’

I breathe a heavy sigh that feels like it completely empties my lungs. My ribs are crushing my organs.

‘I don’t know what’s in the documents that would count as gossip. I worked in fast food, sales, call centers… I don’t know.’

I don’t want to go into detail about what might be in there. I don’t want to have to just throw all the most private details of my life out for the two of them to pick through. I already did enough of that with the Executioner. For my own mental health, I need to maintain my privacy. I don't want to relive all my worst experiences. I don't want to be pitied.

‘Unlock your phone.’

I do so. Lionel takes it for a minute, then returns it.

‘I put a GPS kid-tracker app on your phone. I can follow at a distance.’

‘Thank you.’

It's not nothing. I just don't know how much help it could be. I close my eyes. I doubt I'm about to be murdered.

Murder isn't the worst thing he could do to me.

‘Should I pull a Nixon?’

‘Nixon?’

‘Secret recording devices.’

Lionel chuckles slightly.

‘I guess we could do something like that.’

He takes my phone again. I’m exhausted. I want to go back to sleep.

‘Here. When he picks you up, you can use this to stream the entire thing to a private channel. I can listen from my phone while I follow.’

I nod, my cheek sticking to the counter. If Charles tries to talk to me about that… They will hear. I don't want them to hear. I don't want to be with him alone. I don't want to be forced to talk to him about my personal experiences with predators who had authority over me. If they are there to hear it...

Would it be better just to say it now? Get it over with?

I don't think I can say it voluntarily.

‘That’s perfect.'

Jaq stammers;

‘I’d go in your place if I thought I’d look enough like you in a wig and a dress.’

I laugh.

----------------------------------------

After chasing those two out so I can get ready, I call the Executioner’s office. Surprisingly, she’s there to take my call. At first she tells me not to go. Then, she tells me it’s illegal to secretly record conversations unless the police give their authority.

‘So what can I do?’

‘Involve police.’

My head hurts.

‘I don’t want this to affect Jaq – Frances…’

‘Whether you go, involve police, or call his bluff… this affects Jaq.’

‘Bluff?’

‘The second he releases that information he has no more power over you, and there will be a paper trail I can use to destroy him in court. It’s the kind of scandal that wouldn’t usually make it before a judge – it’s better to settle. If he’s smart, he won’t release the information.’

I glance over the contents of the bathroom medicine cabinet – there are some complementary headache pills. Good. I need them.

‘And, from what you tell me, the information he’s likely to have isn’t particularly damning for you.’

I didn't tell her about the worst possibility. Maybe it would be easier to write it down and email it to her. Then I don't have to experience her response in real-time. She'll probably tell me it's not a big deal. Academic fraud happens all the time. I was just unlucky. Twice. Because the same academic sold me out, and nobody listens to students accused of cheating.

‘But it might make Frances bully Jaq into dumping me. She’s already bullied him into revealing my identity to her… and that’s how I met Pitch in the first place.’

The Executioner pauses.

‘I can’t tell you what to do. I can only advise you. You make your own choices.’

Left alone in the cold bathroom, I am wracked with indecision. She says she can destroy him if he releases the information… but if Frances cuts Jaq off… I can’t pay the Executioner to destroy Charles. And why would Jaq help me after that? I’d have ruined his chance to escape his mother’s cruelty. She would never accept me, and he'd be forced to find someone else to help him defraud them.

I’m already inferior quality goods to her. If she sees me as damaged as well?

‘Fuck.’

No one said I must go quietly into the jaws of the beast. I rummage through the boxes of clothes, searching for solutions.

He said to wear something fun.

He didn’t define ‘fun’.

----------------------------------------

Charles stands in the hotel lobby, watching the lifts. He hasn’t noticed me exiting the stairwell. I whisper to my phone;

‘He’s here.’

Then I put it back in my jacket. I’ve worn this jacket like armour a thousand times before. It’s made me feel safe walking home late at night.

There's more than one reason a jacket like this is colloquially known as a 'battle jacket'. Originating in the military, carrying through biker gang culture, finally arriving in the punk and metal scenes with little alteration beyond the change in insignia and the addition of decorative studs and spikes; these jackets are visually intimidating. This is something you wear so that the people on your side know you're one of theirs, and your enemies know you're not interested in hiding. They give the wearer an aura of barely controlled violence, though nowadays, people rarely actually get into fights in them. Painted with a broad brush; metalheads are about the sweetest bunch of people you could meet.

I'm not sporting a real gang's colours or a huge satanic band logo that would frighten the elderly - I don't have to. The suggestion of affiliation with violence is enough.

The back of this jacket just depicts crossed switchblades. I like to think it reads 'don't fuck with me.'

Today, the protection it offers me isn’t just aesthetic. Something eye-catching does mean more eyes on me - more witnesses, and that's nice, but the main line of defence is the phone in my pocket.

I stride across the lobby in my scruffy black steel caps, drawing odd looks from other guests.

‘Hey, arsehole.’

Charles turns to me, looking confused, then amused.

‘Ah, you’ve come in costume then? What's in the bag?’

‘How do you know this isn’t what I normally wear?’

‘Because I’ve never seen you in anything but that one brand you like so much, and I know you work for a theatre.’

He doesn’t know that I only wear the one brand because all my 'Jaq's fiancée' clothes came from the one store, on the one shopping trip.

He’s done research, but perhaps not that much.

‘For some reason, I’m beginning to doubt that you have anything to tell Frances.’

I turn to walk away. He catches my arm.

‘Now now, I have plenty of things to talk to her about. A whole green folder of things.’

He laughs and pulls me towards the exit… he’s flexing by confirming he has my documents, but he still hasn't referenced anything specific. I allow myself to hope that he doesn't have anything.

‘Come on then.’

I follow slowly, forcing him to pull me along. The more visibly reluctant, the better. If the police have to review the hotel’s security footage…

How is he being this much of a moron? Doesn't he know police can access security footage?

We reach his car – I don’t know much about cars, but it looks like it’s meant for speed. It’s small, with only two seats. There are vents on the bonnet and down the side. I'm not sure what use side vents are, or if they're purely decoration. At least the bonnet vents probably cool the engine somehow.

He opens the door.

‘Get in.’

I glare.

‘Where are we going?’

‘Somewhere nice. I promise. Just get in.’

I take my seat. He hops in on the driver’s side.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ he says, starting the car.

‘I’d have to be an amazing actor to pull off looking calm while being kidnapped by a blackmailer.’

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

He looks genuinely hurt.

‘Is that what you think this is?’

‘Prove it isn’t.’

We drive in silence for a while. I know I won’t see Lionel following, but I watch the rearview mirror anyway.

‘How’s Jack’s performance coming along?’

‘…fine.’

‘Frances giving him a hard time?’

‘Ask him yourself.’

‘I can’t. He won’t talk to me.’

Huh?

‘That’s his choice then.’

This time the silence is oppressive.

‘You know, you owe me an apology.’

I stare at him.

‘Excuse me?’

‘I’ve been trying to protect you. Yet, you told him not to spend time with me anymore.’

‘What?’

Protect me? He calls that 'protecting?'

‘You told him I was a creep.’

I don’t remember it exactly, but I’m pretty sure I told Jaq to go to Charles’ house to practice. I just said I wouldn’t be going with him. Would he listen if I explained it?

The monologue continues;

‘You don’t know him like I do, you know. You’re not important to him. He never talked about you. Not once. Wouldn’t answer questions about you. Wouldn’t introduce me to you. How many times has he even brought you to his concerts? But you had to tell him I scared you? You should be scared of him.’

I don’t know what Jaq said to Charles. I didn’t even realise that he’d confronted Charles about making me uncomfortable.

I thought it was a little weird he was staying home to practice…

I put my hand in my pocket, thinking about texting him to ask.

Charles looks over at me.

‘Put your phone in the glove box.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I’m taking you on a nice little outing, and I’d rather we not be disturbed. Put the phone in the glove box.’

I feel like I’m being disarmed.

‘Go on. You can have it back when we’re done. This will only take a few hours. I promise it’ll be fun. I’m not going to hurt you.’

‘I… I think you’ve misunderstood-‘

‘Misunderstood what?’ He snaps. ‘You’re the one with the incomplete picture. Phone. In glove box. Now.’

My hands shake as I gently place my phone into the compartment. I pray we’re not about to swap to a different vehicle.

I have to try to reason with him.

‘You probably don’t want to listen-‘

‘You’re damn right I don’t want to listen to you.’

‘Please. Let me speak.’ I feel like I'm being forced to beg.

‘Fine. Spout your bullshit.’

I should have taken more than just headache pills. Why didn't I take more than headache pills?

‘I didn’t tell Jaq to stop being your friend.’

Charles’ laugh sounds more like a snarl.

‘He wanted to go to your house. I told him it was a good idea.’

‘Don't lie to me.’

‘Let me call him.’

‘No.’

I shut my eyes. I have no idea where we are anyway.

‘Then call him yourself, to clarify exactly what I said.’

‘It doesn’t fucking matter exactly what you said! The result is what matters.’

But… none of this is real. Why do the consequences have to be so real when the relationship isn’t?

Charles pulls sharply into a busy carpark and I bump my head against the window.

He snaps at me;

'He doesn’t care about you, you idiot.'

I don’t understand.

‘He picked you to piss off his mummy.’

‘…I-’

‘Shut up. I know what you are.’

‘What?’

We swerve again, taking a ramp to a higher level.

‘Haven’t been home once since I met you — That’s weird. Nothing in your room at all to show that you care about him. Nothing. Just boxes of costumes and props.’

What? I didn't bring all my clothes to the hotel. Did he think the clothes I left behind were all just costumes?

‘Where do you really live? I don’t know. Can’t be the hotel. You don’t have the money for it. I've seen your 'official' work history. Unless you do something less legal on the side. That would explain a lot.’

He turns the engine off and we sit a moment.

'You don't seem to be a gold digger. Other than the ring, he hasn't given you anything, has he? No new car, no nice jewellery. No house. You haven't made any demands either, or he'd be whining to me about how much of a needy bitch you are. Surely you understand he'll have you sign a prenuptial agreement before the wedding. You're not stupid. You know if you leave him, you're back on your arse.'

I stare at him in disbelief.

‘If you're not a gold digger, that doesn't mean you're sincere. You want him to save you.’

I have no idea what he's saying. I try to interrupt;

‘This isn’t what you think it is. Please talk to Jaq. Please call him.’

‘Sure, and then you’ll just scream bloody murder, and I’ll be in even more shit for trying to help you.’

‘…If I was going to, I’d have told him you were blackmailing me already.’

‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Jack's nobody's knight in shining armour. He won't save you.’ Charles spits.

I rest my head against the glass. I can't take this. How did he come to this conclusion?

The automatic locks snap open as he removes the keys from the ignition.

‘Get out.'

‘…no…’

He gets out and circles around the car. I snatch my phone from the glove box and hide it in my pocket again, praying he doesn't see. He opens my door and takes my arm. He doesn't seem to have noticed.

'Come on. We have somewhere to be.'

I get out of the car. It's awkward. I make it awkward. As confused as I am, I still don't want it to be easy for him to explain any security footage.

'What's in the bag anyway? Some gigantic old-timey tape recorder? Think you're a spy? Leave it in the car.'

I don't want to surrender my bag, but I still have my phone. I reluctantly put the bag in the tiny boot next to his gym bag. I wince when he slams the lid shut.

'So what was it? Debts to gangsters? Drugs? Gambling? Prostitution? What were you hoping Jack would save you from?'

'What are you talking about?'

'You can't be a professional scam artist, or there's no way you'd still be working for peanuts at that same shitty theatre. You would have fleeced them for what little they had and fucked off.'

We're walking quickly towards the elevator back to ground level. There aren't any people around to see this.

'Honestly? I don't care why you're running. If you want a saviour, be smarter about it. Find one that knows you exist beyond when you're useful to him.'

We walk down a path beside a wall covered completely with posters pasted up. They're advertising zoo exhibits. I finally catch a whiff of it - the unmistakable stench of animal dung.

'Are we going to the zoo?'

The question sounds absurd.

'Yeah. You like animals. Your room was full of animal pictures. We're going on a nice date, so you can see what it's like for someone to pay attention to you.'

What? Does he think this is a nice date? Being blackmailed and kidnapped? What's a bad date then? No, I don't want to know.

We approach the ticket kiosk. I can't believe this is happening. What's wrong with this guy's head?

'Look. If you play along, I'll give back your documents and delete the photos.'

I stare, dumbfounded. It was all a bluff. He wasn't going to share anything. He was just threatening to be intimidating. I fell for it. Even with people smarter than me warning me what was happening. This guy is just… I don't even know how to describe him.

Is this just what bored rich people do? Come up with hare-brained schemes for some kind of pointless game of one-upmanship?

Idiot! I let myself get involved with this!

'Fine. I'll play along. Provided that nothing you want from me is unreasonable.'

'Good girl.'

I shudder inwardly. Anyone who has ever spoken to me like that has treated me like they thought I was no more than a trained dog. Happy to sit and shake and speak on command.

This man repulses me in every way.

Unaware of my loathing, he waves to the clerk at the kiosk, and we are sent into the zoo with a map each and some basic directions. No ticket needed. I guess we were expected. This outing was planned.

Charles places his hand on my lower back, guiding me down a walkway. I want to slap his hand away. It feels like a leash.

'I'm sorry to pull the unreasonable caveat out so early, but please remove your hand. We're not on good enough terms for physical contact like this.'

He bows with a mocking flourish.

'As you wish, my lady.'

Are Jaq and Lionel going to follow us? Or will they stay outside? This is a pretty public place, though it's not terribly busy at the moment. I don't think they will need to follow.

He looms over me. I feel like a mouse stalked by a lion.

I want them to follow.

We pass through the exhibits, pausing to look at the animals. Charles plays pretend with himself, calling me 'Jojo' and comparing me to the cuter creatures. I try to maintain a pleasant façade. It's unconvincing. I keep noticing burly-looking men with earpieces in, casually loitering in random places. Not really looking at the animals. Not there with anyone.

Do zoos usually have this much security? Maybe they're Charles' security team?

Am I being paranoid?

We pass a cafeteria; he buys us greasy food and soft drinks. The food tastes like styrofoam. After what feels like hours, we sit down in front of the tiger enclosure. I'm exhausted. Even in comfortable shoes, this is too much.

There are massive gashes in the plexiglass windows, probably from the tigers' claws. These animals were never meant to be in tiny boxes like this. I wouldn't blame them if they finally clawed their way through the glass and killed as many humans as they could before someone finally shot them to death. I just hope they take me first.

Charles is seated beside me, pressed close. One arm around my waist, the other gesturing with his half-empty cup. I'm barely aware of what he's saying. All I can think is 'get your hand off me, get your hand off me, get your hand off me.' I try to let it slide, hoping he'll let go on his own, but he doesn't.

'Is this embrace completely necessary? I'm fairly sure I already told you not to touch me.'

'Sorry, sorry, I just thought we were getting to be better friends.'

The arm is withdrawn - but he doesn't shift away from me. Where our thighs touch, my skin crawls. I feel nauseous. I see his smiling face reflected in the glass. There's malice there. For all the talk of 'saving' me, I see no kindness, no empathy, no pity.

He's definitely not being honest about why he brought me here. I don't know why he thought this excuse would work. Did he think he could bully me into falling in love with him?

I close my eyes so I don't have to see his face anymore.

'Tired already, JoJo?'

I glance back at him.

'Yeah.'

'Then let's head out. I know a nice cosy spot we can end our date at.'

Please let this be over. I can't deal with any more of this.

We walk back to the entrance. It's a lot closer than I thought it was. The person at the kiosk waves at us as we leave. I steal glances back at the security guards conspicuously milling about. Their clothes are plain; no markings for a security firm.

I think I need to throw up.

This isn't just anxiety nausea.

I look at the cup in my hand.

I saw it being made. It never left my hand. I can't have been poisoned.

I think he's talking to me. Smiling. My legs betray me, and I stumble. I'm a little confused about how I came to be on the ground. Charles helps me up to my feet and supports me as we walk. One of the burly men comes to assist, but Charles waves him away, taking me back to the car park himself.

We go back up the elevator, back to his little car. He opens my door, all smiles. I don't want to get in - I'll vomit in there. There's no way I could pay to fix that.

When I resist, he grows angry. It feels like it’s happening to someone else. Somewhere else. Some other time. He has me by the arm and neck, forcing me down into the seat. It hurts. A dull echo of pain. The way the sensation travels along my arm is fascinating – like a sort of electrical storm, branching and flowing, gathering here, dissipating there.

‘...you’re hurting me…’

There’s a crash, and he releases me. I have two hands on the car door now, steadying myself against the rocking of the ground. I focus on the words I said;

‘You’re hurting me, you’re hurting me.’

They are collections of meaningless sounds that symbolise concepts I barely understand. I'm not sure why I said them in the first place.

Something warm is around me. Warm is nice. My hands are so cold.

‘…need to throw it up?’

It sounds so faint. Somewhere on the street below.

‘…dilute with water.’

Something is put in my hands. It’s a bottle of water. I assume I'm supposed to drink it. I struggle to hold it steady, but I manage to swallow some. I stumble as we walk towards another car - I see Charles on the ground, his face red. I laugh. He spilt his drink.

----------------------------------------

I awaken to a splitting headache. The descriptor is not figurative; it feels like my skull has literally split into pieces, and they're all trying to fight their way out through my skin. I groan and open my eyes, then abruptly shut them again.

'You're awake!'

Arms are flung tightly around me.

'Can someone close the curtains? It's way too bright for this early in the morning.'

'It's the middle of the night - you were drugged.'

I shake my head to try to drive off the fogginess. Big mistake.

'Bathroom!'

I lurch away from the friendly hugger and stumble into the dark bathroom. I think I'm in my hotel room. I feel a little better for that, though not enough to keep me from sending my last meal back out the way it came. I lean against the bathroom cabinet, eyes shut, feeling sorry for myself.

If I was drugged… I check my clothes. Still fully dressed. The belt is still done to the correct notch, my boots are still tied the right way. Even my bra is still hooked to the right loops. I look into the toilet bowl to see if there is anything suspicious in there - another mistake. Apparently, my gut wasn't completely empty.

Someone gently lifts my hair up, out of my face. It feels like they're tying it with a hair tie.

'Thank you…'

With that, another heave.

When I finally feel safe to leave the bathroom, Lionel is there to support me back to the kitchenette, where he releases me, and takes me by the shoulders.

‘Let’s never ever do this again, okay?’

‘Okay.’ I say, not entirely sure what 'this' is.

Then I remember seeing Charles on the ground, bloody.

‘Oh. Did you hit Pitch?’

Lionel’s tone is bitter.

‘Yeah.’.

'Wow.'

'Yeah.'

I contemplate for a while.

'Won't you get in trouble for assault?'

Lionel shakes his head.

'We have too much proof that he kidnapped you, and I was acting in your defence. He'd be in far more trouble than me if he tried to report anything.'

‘He should talk to Jaq.’

‘Seriously?’ Lionel looks at me, shocked.

‘Yeah. ‘

‘Are you thinking straight?’

‘I think so.’

Lionel hisses through his teeth.

‘You’re probably right.'

We sit in silence for a while.

'He said Jaq said I told him to say... wait, I'm not making sense.'

I rest my head on the table.

'He thinks I'm stealing Jaq from him.'

Lionel shifts behind me.

'Jaq never belonged to him.'

'He doesn't know that.'

I'm not sure why I said it, or what it's supposed to mean, but the words spiral in my head. I feel Lionel gently pat my shoulder.

'I'm going to let the doctor know you're awake. Is there anything I can do for you?'

'Can you tell Casey that I'm okay?'

'Sure, where's your phone?'

Then I'm asleep.