Speak of the Devil: A Psychological Thriller Page 12

  When the timer expires, I lift her from the box and toss her in the trashcan. It’s against protocol—there are strict rules about how test animals can be disposed of, but it’s okay, she’ll die long before she manages to crawl out. Not that she could crawl out. That’s my point. Though it’s cute how hard she tries. As I watch her squirm and fight and try, try, try to climb— it’s impressive how long this goes on— I’m reminded how much I love my job. I’ll take a day in the lab over a day in the office any day of the week and twice on Sunday. Rats don’t speak. They live. Or they die. And that tells you everything you need to know.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Vanessa

  Sean seems pleasant this morning, and Matthew’s up early. He’s called out from the kitchen twice telling me to stay in bed, informing me that he and Daddy have a surprise for me. He doesn’t yet understand the notion that a surprise isn’t something you’re supposed to be warned about beforehand. But I suppose that lesson will come in time.

  I should be grateful. They let me sleep in. I guess everything just sort of caught up with me.

  “You made eggs,” I say to Matthew, when he and Sean deliver me breakfast in bed. I shovel a forkful into my mouth. “You know eggs are my favorite.” I hate eggs. Sean knows I hate eggs. The bacon almost makes up for it. I’m not usually allowed such indulgence. When I lift the glass of orange juice, which is also on my list of forbidden things, two capsules roll down the length of the tray.

  I lift one of them and hold it at eye level. “They’re different,” I say, glancing up at my husband.

  “The church has decided to move onto something new.”

  “Why? The last ones worked just fine…you said so yourself.”

  “These will work better. Adam assured me.”

  I pinch the capsule, watching it flex. “What is it?”

  “You know the church wouldn’t offer us anything that wasn’t to our benefit,” he replies hastily, gesturing at my appearance. Matthew curls up next to me. “Your trip clearly agreed with you,” Sean adds, leaning over to pat Matthew’s head. “Isn’t Mommy pretty?”

  My son scoots in closer. I set the pills on the nightstand. Matthew’s wiggly, and I’m afraid he’s going to spill the precious orange juice so I gulp it down as fast as I can.

  “And doesn’t it make us sad when she leaves?”

  “I cried, Mommy…when you were gone.”

  My stomach flip-flops. “You cried?”

  “Nanny Gina said I’m not a big boy if I cry…”

  As I start to speak, Sean motions toward the capsules. “Hopefully,” he says, “Mommy won’t have to go on any more trips.”

  “You are a big boy,” I say to Matthew. Then I set the tray aside, reach for the pills and toss them back. I wish I’d saved something to drink. They stick in my throat.

  Scooping Matthew into my arms, I groan, pretending to heave and pant like it’s too much, and it is. “See,” I tell him. “You’re getting bigger every day. I can hardly even lift you anymore.”

  He squirms, managing to break free of my grip. I can’t help but smile as he darts off, yelling over his shoulder that he has something he wants to show me. “Enjoy it,” Sean says, motioning toward the tray. “Nothing good lasts.”

  Later in the afternoon, Matthew and I head to the park. It’s crisp and cool out, my favorite kind of day. There’s a friskiness to it; there’s something unquantifiable in the air, something you can’t quite put your finger on but know is there.

  Matthew runs ahead, and I let him. When we reach the park, Melanie is there on a bench, waiting. “Go on,” I say to Matthew, who has stopped and is waiting for me to catch up. I watch as he bolts toward the slide.

  “I know it’s late,” she says as I approach. “But I hope you’ll forgive me.” She stands and hands me the truck I asked her to get for Matthew. “It’s just…Adam is so uptight these days, and Sean reports everything, and well, I guess you can’t really know who you can trust.”

  “No,” I reply. “I guess you can’t.”

  She sits on the bench in her designer dress, and I think back to the first time I saw her. She looks so out of place. She’s always looked a bit that way. Most members of New Hope weren’t born into wealth the way Melanie was, and maybe that’s what makes her different. She’s hungry in the way so many of us were in the beginning, the way some of us still are, but her hunger never seems quite satiated.

  “I know you’re upset, V,” she murmurs, motioning for me to join her on the bench.

  I take a seat next to her, leaving enough space so that I can see her face without having to turn completely. “Why would I be upset?”

  She follows my gaze toward Matthew, who has now moved onto the swings. He’s going to want a push.

  “I know you seduced Marcia Louis.”

  My eyes meet hers.

  “I saw what happened. Everything. I set up a camera of my own…”

  “What for?”

  “Don’t worry,” she assures me. “I didn’t tell Adam.”

  Matthew calls for me.

  When I start to rise from the bench, Melanie reaches over and places her hand on my wrist, causing me to halt. “I need to know I can trust you.”

  “You just said you couldn’t trust anyone.”

  “But come on. This is me you’re talking to.”

  “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “Have you heard about Abigail Johnson?”

  "Who?”

  “You know the Johnsons—Steven and Abigail…”

  “Yeah,” I reply, even though I have no idea who she’s talking about

  “Well, she died last week. They're saying it might have been the new vitamins.”

  I cock my head. “Really?” People die for lots of reasons in this community. It could be anything.

  “Yes, really,” she answers breezily. She scans the park and lowers her voice. “We have to be careful as women. We have to stick together.”

  “They changed the vitamins up…while I was at the center.”

  “Stop calling them vitamins, V. We all know what they really are.”

  “What’s that?”

  She glances at me sideways. “Never mind.”

  “Abigail…wait. Isn’t she the blonde…about forty or so…the one with three kids?”

  “Jesus. What’s wrong with you, V? You know her.” She straightens her back and then rolls her shoulders. “She is…she was… a Siren, too.”

  “Hmmm.” I have a vague idea of who she's talking about. “Is she the one who covered my clients while I was at the center?”

  “Um, yeah, I think so. Why?”

  “Just trying to picture her.”

  “Anyway,” Melanie says. “We have to look out for one another.”

  “Yes,” I agree.

  “Because evil exists, and while some people want to blame the vitamins, the real believers know this is the devil's fault.”

  Matthew calls for me once again. “I have to go.”

  “Let him wait. It’s good for kids.”

  “Just a sec,” I call out to Matthew. Melanie knows nothing about kids. When he protests, I hold up one finger. “Give me one minute. I have to find your juice…”

  She turns to me. “Marcia Louis works for the manufacturer of the drug we were using to—to keep people super productive—the old vitamins…”

  I wait for her to say more, but it takes a bit. It’s almost like she doesn’t know what to say, or rather she does, but isn’t sure how to say it. I know Melanie, and I doubt either is the case.

  “And the thing is…” she finally continues, “We just want to make sure she keeps producing.”

  “Well, there’s always the rejuvenation center.”

  My sarcasm is met with a frown. “Fair point. But Marcia’s not a member. She hasn’t signed the agreement…”

  “So it’s a question of ethics suddenly.”

  “Come on, V. We’ve always been ethical. And who really knows what kill
ed Abigail Johnson…”

  “Right,” I say. It feels like we’re speaking about different things.

  “What I want to know is why you would lie about what happened in the guest house when you’re obviously a fan of the meds. We all were…”

  “Wasn’t it just Adderall?” I ask, shifting the subject. “Can’t you get that anywhere? Any ol’ black market?”

  “It was more than that. A new formula. And honestly, one the church wants to own.” I dig through my bag in search of Matthew’s sippy cup. I don’t ask why, and I know better than to say even a single bit more than what’s absolutely necessary—not to Melanie— and not to anyone else in the New Hope community. It’s too dangerous.

  “What I came here to say is you did the right thing, V.”

  “What makes you say that?” I ask, because a question is not a confession.

  “Just a little something I’m working on.”

  “I see.”

  “Listen—they’re going to ask you to go away with Elliot Parker tonight. In fact, they’re going to demand it. I wanted to give you a heads-up. I don’t trust what Adam—or the Men’s Alliance— is doing there. So—I need you to dig up some dirt on him. Find out about the deal they have going. But whatever you do—be careful—I’ve heard rumors.”

  “What rumors?”

  “I can’t say. I just need you to trust me on this.”

  “I—”

  “Wait. V. Before you go any further…I need to say this…I wanted to know I could trust you. Because if what you’re saying is that I can’t—I’m going to have to tell church leaders what happened with Marcia Louis. Not because I don’t agree with you, because I do. I realize it’s better to have Mrs. Louis as an ally rather than start with blackmail straight out of the gate. But I have a feeling the Men’s Alliance would hardly agree. Don’t you think?”

  I don’t answer her. I get the message, loud and clear.

  I have a client this afternoon, and I’m meant to be getting ready. Nearly every minute of my day must be accounted for, which means my husband knows exactly how much time I have. He’s insisted I dust the entirety of the downstairs first. He has needs too, he’s reminded me. But what he’s really saying is he has a fetish about watching me clean. We learned about those in training. He doesn’t need me to clean. The church would happily provide a cleaning crew as a way of punishment for those involved, but Sean prefers we keep this in house.

  Whatever. Dusting is not such a big deal, and there isn’t a lot of prep work I need to do beforehand, seeing that my client is a regular, so there’s no point in arguing. It helps keep things running smoothly for Matthew, particularly when I have to leave for work, and at least it gives me something to keep my hands busy.

  “It’s time for your next dose,” Sean calls out just as I’ve finished the downstairs bathroom. When I ignore him and go about finishing my chores, he appears in the doorway holding the pill bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

  “I’ve packed your bag,” he says motioning toward the living room. “Have you read Adam’s email?”

  “No, I’ve been cleaning.”

  “Looks like you’re taking a little trip.”

  “A trip. Why?”

  “We need you to get Elliot Parker out of town. Find out as much on him as you can.”

  I should have headed this off before. I wasn’t sure if Melanie was testing me. It could have gone very badly, had her lover put her up to this. “I don’t want to leave Matthew. I can accomplish that here in town.”

  “We know he’s been asking for an overnight, Vanessa. Quite frankly, we need this to happen.”

  “Why?”

  “Look—” he says, his tone exasperated. “I know you’re uneducated and all, but you don’t have to show it.”

  I ball my fists and release them.

  “I’ve packed you something sexy.”

  “I really don’t want to go, Sean. Please.”

  “You like this one. I can tell.”

  “I don’t.”

  He holds out the pills. “Try to get him to rough you up a bit, okay? It’ll help our cause.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t need them. I’m fine.”

  “You will take them or back to the rejuvenation center you go.”

  “I’m—”

  “I will not have disobedience in my household.”

  “Sean—” He can’t send me to the center with plans to send me away with Elliot Parker.

  “This needs to be his idea,” he says, cutting me off. “Let him take you where he wants. The more remote the better.”

  “Remote. Why?”

  He throws up his hands. “Enough with the questions already. Just suggest camping or fishing— something—I don’t know. Be flexible. Surely, you can handle that.”

  “He doesn’t seem like the type.”

  “Make him the type.” He shoots through the doorway, sucking the air from the small space. “Open your mouth.”

  I do as he asks. I want to keep things even-keeled where he is concerned, knowing I have to go to work and leave Matthew behind. But also I remember what Melanie said about being careful. Most everything that comes out of her mouth are lies, but until I have a chance to dig for the truth, it’s best to err on the side of caution.

  He hands me the glass of water and waits for me to swallow. “Good girl.”

  “I don’t understand…” I say, realizing I’ll have to purge the second I’m alone but also want him to stay long enough to hear his answer. “What’s so important about them anyway?”

  He reaches across the small space and pushes my head into the wall. My answer comes in the form of a bloody nose. I don’t even see it coming, which makes it worse.

  “Now, you don’t have to worry quite so much about provoking your trick,” he spits. “I’ve already done half the work.” I pinch my nose to slow the flow of blood dripping from my face down onto the marble floor. I don’t have time to fix my face and the dirty floor. My husband throws a wad of toilet paper at me. “Better get yourself cleaned up. Not that anyone cares much about your face where you’re going.”

  When I turn, Matthew is standing behind him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Elliot

  It starts with one bad decision and then it snowballs. I’m scheduled to go golfing tomorrow with a potential client, and not only have I been informed at the last minute, but I realize I don’t have the right tools. I hate golf; my attorney set this up, but if I have to play I might as well have the advantage of my own clubs.

  I don’t mean to drive by Emily’s house. It’s just that it’s my house, and it’s my name that’s on the mortgage, and every month the payment is drafted from my bank account. Also, I know it’s an arbitrary thing, but it’s almost Christmas, and I fully intend to have my family back together by then. So this is how one wrong turn leads to another, and I decide I have just as much right to be there as she does. Don’t even get me started on the boyfriend.

  Unfortunately, there’s some sort of misunderstanding about that, because the cops have to arrest me for trespassing, even though I can tell they feel very bad about it and also believe that I’m right. Especially when I explain I just wanted to grab my golf clubs from the garage before her boyfriend starts mistaking those for his too.

  Apparently, possession is nine-tenths of the law, says my attorney, and this is why I’m placed in handcuffs, put in a squad car, and getting a free ride downtown. All the while, my neighbors, or rather my former neighbors, stand out on their lawns watching as it unfolds. And as for that wife of mine? Well, she doesn’t even look one bit sad about it.

  I can’t see my daughter on account of a similar misunderstanding to the golf club incident. It’s a rather long story, but the gist is it all unfolded much in the same way as that Sublime song about “putting that barrel straight down Sancho’s throat.” I imagine you get the picture. Only real life, I didn’t pop a cap in Sancho’s ass. Unfortunately. And, in the song, there
isn’t a little girl who was supposed to be in bed but wasn’t, and courts don’t look favorably upon guys who pull guns on people, and if you add a kid to the mix, well…that just makes it worse.

  I was sad my daughter witnessed that song and dance, of course.

  If only my wife had been equally as sad about her witnessing her mother erasing her father from the picture until it was as though he’d never existed in the first place.

  Jail is an awful place. Let’s just get that out of the way. I am lucky that my attorney has me in and out moderately quickly.

  “We need to talk,” he tells me on the ride home.

  I need a shower, and conversation is the last thing on my mind. So I stare out the window and imagine this isn’t my life and instead I’m living in that Sublime song where everything works out as it should. For whatever reason, I’m also thinking about the prostitute. I wonder if she’s ever been to jail. Sometimes I think the system has it backward, and the things that ought to be legal aren’t.

  “Elliot…I don’t know how to say this, but the board is going to ask for your resignation in the morning.”

  Clearly, he does know what to say. I sensed not one bit of hesitation in his voice.

  “This is your second arrest in two months,” he continues. “If this gets out…the deal—all the deals—they’re done.”

  “If what gets out? And where? It’s my company.”

  “Maybe,” he says. “But if you continue like this, it could very well go under.”

  “That’s bullshit, Nathan. And you know it.”

  “It’s too risky keeping you on, Elliot.”

  “Says who?”

  “Says the shareholders. Says everyone.”

  Landscape whisks by. I see only red. “I’m not going to let my company—the company I built— be taken from me.”

  “I’m sorry, man,” he quips as he flips on his blinker. “I’m just the messenger.”