The Time I Died
Chapter Nine
2017
Kate lived in an older building, and her apartment came with a small breakfast nook tucked between the kitchen and the bathroom. She rarely used it, even after promising herself over and over that she would. It soon became little more than a place to dump junk mail and jackets.
She was sitting there now, not that she noticed, or was even capable of doing so.
“Open your eyes, and remain deeply asleep.”
She did as she was told.
The nook came with a charming little table, a built-in unit that folded down from the wall. Someone had swept all of the mail and paperwork and coats away, leaving them in a heap on the tiled floor. In their place was a black box with LED lights that blinked, pulsed, and flashed. Her eyes locked onto the lights, the table fading from her vision and memory.
“Are you tired of the Weltschmerz, Kate?”
“Yes.” So tired. Sleep. Listen. Obey.
“Let’s begin, then.”
“Yes. I am ready for instruction.”
“Look at the photo.”
Someone held up a large photo, blocking her view of the box and its fascinating lights. She dutifully examined it.
“Do you know this man?”
“Yes.”
“What is his name, Kate?”
The answer slowly developed in her mind, much like the photograph in front of her. “His name is James Pendleton.”
“You’re falling in love with him.”
“I’m falling in love with him,” she agreed. Her voice was as flat and vacant as her eyes.
“You are in love with James Pendleton.”
James Pendleton. He lived in Freeport. He owned a house east of the river, near the zoo. She’d met him at that backyard barbecue… God, she loved him.
“I am in love with him.”
“He’s probably the first halfway-normal guy I’ve ever seen you go on a date with. You really know how to pick ’em, Kate. Also, you will forget those last two sentences.”
“Yes. I will forget them.”
“James Pendleton is the most caring, wonderful, attractive man you have ever met in your entire life. You can’t wait to see him again.”
“He is the most caring, wonderful, attractive man I have ever met in my entire life.” How lucky was she? The most perfect man in the world and he lived less than ten minutes from her apartment. “I can’t wait to see him again.”
“ how good it felt to fuck him, Kate.”
He had satisfied her in a way that few men ever had. It was like riding a roller coaster for hours, never stopping, just a non-stop oval of highs and lows and moaning and climaxing and oh God when he finally came inside her…
“Don’t be shy, Kate. Really how it felt.”
Someone—probably the holder of the photo but maybe not—had slapped a vibrator between her legs. It was set up to mimic the angle of attack she would have used on herself, if she’d been anything other than Very Deeply Hypnotized and sitting in this chair, having photos shoved in front of her. The vibrator began buzzing. Kate began to buzz, too.
“You’re madly in love with James Pendleton.”
“I’m mmmad… mad… oh fuck yes, I’m madllleeee in love with J-jamessss… Pen… Pendleton…”
“Say it again.”
“I’m madly… mmmm… that’s… I’m madly in love with James… Pennnnnnnuhnnnn.. dleton yesssss…”
The photo flapped in front of her face, much closer now. “You are in love with this man.”
“Jamessss…” she moaned. “James Pendleton… I want fuck him so bad, oh God, just let me… I love him, I love him…” She threw her head back and closed her eyes. She could still see his face. The face of the most wonderful man ever. “I love him.”
“When you come, you’ll drop into a deeper trance, and open your mind completely and fully.”
Kate sucked in her lips and made a weak attempt at a nod. All she’d really heard was the word come. It reminded her of the time James fucked her senseless on that cheap Ikea bed in her apartment, her hair flying everywhere, his hands on her tits, her moans of pleasure waking up half the building, the way her mind and body melted when he… when he…
“I love him. I love him. I love… I love… I… madly in love…”
She was prepared to scream as she came, but a dark storm cloud arrived as soon as she did, sweeping her and her orgasm and her entire existence into a deep, black void.
June 18
“I met him by accident. Well, the second time, because…”
“The first time was at Finnegan’s?”
“Yeah, we don’t count that one. I officially met James that fall. After he bought the house, he suddenly had a back yard for the first time in his life, so he started inviting everyone over every nice weekend for barbecue and beers. He… um… oh my God.”
“You’re laughing. That’s good! And now I’m curious.”
“He would die if he knew I told you this! Back then he had this huge schoolboy crush on Claire. But he was too shy to do anything about it. I think she intimidated him. That’s pretty normal for Claire, by the way. She can be…”
“Bold?”
“Mmm, accurate. Let’s go with that. Bold.”
“Was Claire your connection to James?”
“Yeah, she broke up with… oh, the guy! I should know his name! He worked in sales. It’s… ugh! Right there on the tip of my tongue! Dammit!”
“It’s okay. He’s just a side character, right? We’ll call him John Doe for now.”
“I hate my memory! I swear, it’s like I forget things I should be able to .”
“Kate, I forgot my phone at the house this morning and had to drive back to get it. We’re all in the same boat sometimes.”
“Fair. It’s just that you get really sensitive about forgetting things when you’ve learned to cling desperately to the ones you have.”
“Tell me more about this barbecue. You that.”
“I do. James found out that Claire had broken up with… John Doe whatever, so he invited her to the next barbecue. ‘Hey, Kate, wanna come along?’ I said yes. I brought along my kinda-boyfriend Tim, which was dumb, but he mostly invited himself. And he did that because he also wanted to get into Claire’s jeans. While he was dating me, I should point out!”
“He doesn’t sound like a nice guy.”
“Kate Thomas wasn’t exactly a picky gal. He had his… assets, let’s leave it at that.”
“So, you went to the barbecue with Claire and Tim. James was there, of course. Did you talk to him?”
“I did! He stopped crushing on Claire after that, ha!”
“What about you? How did you feel, meeting him?”
2017
Autumn in Freeport was always a gamble.
Kate went with a thin sweater that dipped just enough to show off her generous cleavage without causing a scene. She wore it hoping that it would draw James’ attention, without drawing too much attention. She finished the outfit with a pair of skinny jeans, some sensible boots, and a light jacket that went down to her midriff.
The jacket came in handy. It was one of those years, when the winds came early to the valley and Freeport shuddered under weeks of below-average temperatures. The weathermen were already talking about snow, and winter was still months away.
“You look amazing,” James told her. As predicted, his eyes darted to her chest. To her delight, they quickly returned to meet her own orbs. He had a beautiful face, she decided. Not ruggedly handsome like Tim, or chiseled like Matt, but… beautiful all the same.
“You look great, too,” she replied. He did look great. Casual, nothing fancy, but nothing too casual either. Kate had been on her share of dates with guys who preferred sweatpants and dirty t-shirts. James was not one of them.
The art museum’s entrance was just ahead. They’d spoken about art only once, but Kate had been ionate about it, and it warmed her heart to imagine that James had filed that little nugget of conversation away for days like this. To show her things that he knew she would love to see.
You love him. You want him.
I love him. I want him.
James offered his hand, and she gladly took it.
June 18
“It’s hard. It’s really hard. Because the second Decker found out about him, he… he did what he always did. He scrambled my brains, fucked with my emotions. He made me fall in love with James, so I did.”
“But that was after you first met James. How did you feel on that first day, meeting him for the first time? What were your thoughts? Close your eyes for a moment, and say the first three things that come to mind.”
“Hmm… Smile. Cute. Sweet. The last one, especially.”
“Sweet?”
“Put yourself in my heels. My whole life, at least my whole adult life up until then, every guy I’d ever met wanted me for something. I was a tool to use. I was a hot girl to fuck. I was an assassin for hire. Or… okay, maybe an assassin for hire.”
“I will give that last sentence two therapist thumbs up. But, go on.”
“I knew you’d appreciate that! But… um, yeah. Pretty much every man I’d ever had in my life, and a decent number of women as well? Their goal was always to get something out of me. Sex, or money, or both. Tim only wanted me because I was good-looking and good in bed. Decker… well, that’s obvious. And of course Michael Oliver, and all of that nonsense. And now here’s this guy who is… he’s just very happy! Just happy that I was there. No, it was more than that. Happy that I, specifically, alone among the seven billion people on Earth, that I happened to come to his barbecue and that I was there to shake his hand.
When you’re a girl that everyone wants because of what she can do, or what she is, or what she looks like… I thinking how crazy it was that he could be so excited and so nonchalant at the same time.
He tells me that it felt like someone just casually walked up to him and handed him the Mona Lisa, the original painting, and said to him ‘hey, this is for you, you deserve this.’
He did, truth be told. And I did, too.”
Freeport
“And then?”
James dragged his fork across his plate, scraping the last bits of tiramisu onto its tines and, in short order, into his mouth. He leaned back in his chair, satisfied.
“That weekend was the last weekend of the Clyfford Still exhibit. I knew you wanted to see it, so I made sure to snag the tickets when they came up. I’d never heard of the guy, but you had! So, I was doubly excited. I’d learn something new either way, but obviously it was something that would make you happy, so…”
“I that!” She was glowing. I that! wasn’t a phrase she used regularly. “It was a surprise, right?”
“Yeah. The tickets were in addition to the regular ission.”
“They’d sold out, didn’t they?”
“I have my sources. Well, I had them, anyway.”
“I love you.” She did, truly. “But you’re not seriously going to tell me you fell in love with me because of Clyfford Still, are you? Because he’s not that great…”
He shook his head. “No. That was just the start of things. It’s what happened after that counts.”
“Okay,” she said, her cheesecake now forgotten. “Now you’re really pulling me into this. Do continue, lovely husband.”
June 18
“I don’t know how Decker found out . Then again, all he had to do was ask me about the Weltschmerz, and I would tell him anything and everything.
when I talked about smudges? I was pretty smudged-up by that point. It was worse than it had been in California. Even Claire—and God bless Claire, she sugar-coats it for me—even she has some stories about me from those Grant Street days.”
“Such as?”
“Being reckless. Not giving a shit. Bottling up everything so that I could be good at my job, then letting all of that stress out like a deflating balloon on the weekends. And meanwhile Decker is hypnotizing me and sending me out to do… whatever, wherever. Smudges.
And the thing is, even Decker realized how screwed-up that was. And I was. Before he died, told us that he hooked me up with James so that I’d be a little more grounded and a lot less free to be wild and wooly on my days off. Which… makes sense, in a sick and twisted way? If I went off the deep end and got myself arrested, even for something minor, it would have fucked with his whole operation.”
“Why did he pick James? Why not Tim?”
“Brainwashed to love Tim is a nightmare I never thought of until just now. Oof. Now that would have been a horror! But why? Stability, probably. Maybe Decker had better taste in men than I did, who knows?
I bet that he thought he was being so fucking clever, turning the wild child into Suzy Homemaker. I don’t think he ever suspected that I wanted to be Suzy Homemaker. More than anything.”
2017
“Hey, this is Kate! Can I call you back? I’m—”
“Are you tired of the Weltschmerz?”
The color drained from her face. She tightened her grip on her phone even as the rest of her muscles relaxed. “Yes.”
“Are you on a call with someone?”
“Yes. James.”
“You will tell him that you need to take this call and that you will talk to him later. You will end that call and then switch back to me. Then we’ll talk more about James.”
“Yes. I understand.”
“James? Hey, I, uh, I really gotta take this call. I’m sorry! Can I call you back in a bit? Okay, cool. Talk soon!”
Freeport
“We spent the entire day there. Bottom to top. The Still exhibit, and then the rest of the museum. We had coffee and pastries, and you insisted on paying for both of us.”
“And thaaaaat’s why you fell for me, nooooow I get it. ‘Oh boy, this girl’s buying me coffee, I bet she’s loaded!’”
“Y’know, Kate, if you want to dip into that secret fortune of yours at some point, we still need a new furnace.”
She stuck out her tongue. “Okay, less background, more romance. Chop chop!”
James stroked his chin, his index finger extended, coming to rest just below his nose. His eyes darted upwards, pulling memories down from the ceiling. In the background, the restaurant’s music switched from mandolins to folk guitars.
“We were looking at some paintings from the Dutch,” he said, after a long pause. “Not Rembrandt, but Rembrandt-adjacent, still lifes and seashores and stuff.”
2017
“Oh, I love this one,” said Kate. She gestured at the portrait, set in a heavy and ancient frame. “Look at that,” she added. “Just, look at that.”
James, uncertain of what that was, chose to read the museum text instead. “Frans Hals?”
“Mmmhmm. He was a portrait painter. Lived in Haarlem. The, you know. The Dutch one, not the New York one. But look at the way he captures the expressions! Those brushstrokes! God, I wish I could do that! It’s all so… effortless!”
Freeport
“Did I mention that I wasn’t much of an art guy? Because I wasn’t much of an art guy. And I’d never heard of this Frans Hals guy. But you had! I didn’t want to pretend that I was an art expert, and I didn’t want you to think I was a total dummy asking stupid questions like ‘what’s a brushstroke?’ So… I was smooth and I cheated a bit.”
“Of course you were smooth, Mister Smooth.” Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean, cheated a bit?”
“As much as I thought the paintings were cool—and honestly, I think I liked those Dutch paintings the best—I wanted to know more about you than them. So I asked you about you!”
2017
They settled onto a wood bench, beneath the watchful eyes of Saint Matthew. Kate sat with her arms behind her, palms against the bench, a position that allowed her to ire the paintings on the far side of the room. It was late in the afternoon, and the crowds had begun to migrate down to the gift shop. They had the entire Dutch Golden Age to themselves.
“Can I ask you something?” he ventured.
Kate turned her head, and smiled. “Mmm hmm.”
“What’s your favorite thing about art? About painting? Not a genre or style, just painting in general?”
She sunk her teeth into her lower lip to keep the giggles from escaping. It was such a sweet, earnest question. It was also a novelty. Guys rarely asked Kate about her art, being far more interested in some of her other talents. She took a moment to respond.
“I started painting when I was twelve years old. I… I lost both of my parents when I was young.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Kate!”
She shook her head. “It’s okay. My, um, my aunt took care of me after they died, and she was an artist. One day, it was summer, I was home and bored. I was feeling really sad, so I went into the den where my aunt did all of her painting and I just started grabbing things. Paper, brushes, paints… I didn’t know what I was doing, or how, but I decided that I was going to paint a portrait of my mom and dad.”
She began to giggle again, and blushed. “I was definitely not Frans Hals! But my aunt loved every single thing about the painting I made that day. After that, she made it her mission in life to teach me how to paint, and draw, and sculpt, and do all of the art things. She was good like that. Now, when I paint, it makes me think of her. I like to think that she’s up in Heaven watching me, being the proud aunt, just grabbing random angels by the wings and dragging them over, ‘look, look! My sister’s kid is painting! Look how good she is!’”
James nodded. His smile, she decided there and then, was genuine. The kind of smile a person makes when they understand, rather than from amusement, or condescension.
It was a good sign of things to come.
June 18
“Life under Decker was emotionless. Any time he snapped his fingers and had us come running to him, we felt nothing. He gave us orders, and we carried them out. And that was that.
I know you don’t think that Decker programmed me to seduce and sleep with guys, or kill them, but let’s imagine that I did. I never felt anything while I was on those assignments. I was either going through the motions, like a wind-up toy, or I was role-playing whatever personality Decker had programmed me with, like with Alice.
And that’s how it should have been with James. Just a role, just a job, just a post-hypnotic suggestion. I’d sleep with him, and then I’d go straight back to Decker for more orders. And if Decker told me to break up with him, or break his neck, I would have done it, and not felt a single thing.”
“But everything changed when you started spending time with him.”
“Yeah. A lot of that time is part of the Great Blackness, which sucks, because the times that aren’t are usually pretty great. Picking out the memories is hard, though. They’re so wrapped up in everything with Decker and everything Unstable Kate was up to on the weekends. Doctor Kapoor calls it ‘three Kates for the price of one.’ I wish I could filter out the bad two.”
“What are some things you do from that time period?”
“Feelings, mostly. Feeling warm and loved. Feeling respected. Feeling like someone actually gave a shit about me. Oh my God… even… ired? ired! ‘Wow, Kate, that’s so cool!’
I don’t have the memories, but I can still feel the feelings.”
2017
“What do I love about art? If you tied me to a chair and made me choose one thing? It would be… that there’s something really peaceful and calming about it. Escapist, even.”
“How so?”
“You always create your own scene. Your own little world. No matter what’s going on out there, or…” She placed her finger against her forehead. “Or what’s going on in here… it doesn’t matter. All that matters is the blank canvas in front of you, and the paintbrush in your hand. You create the world. You decide what’s in it. And at the end of the day, if you change your mind, you can throw it in the trash and start fresh tomorrow.
That’s one of the things I like best about art museums. So many artists lived in really, really rough times. In poverty, during a war, during a plague.” She raised her hand, and swept it in front of her. “All of these paintings? Sure, they’re portraits and landscapes. But when I look at them, I see someone’s escape. An escape into a place they want to be, inside the perfect place in their mind.”
“Is that true for all of them?”
“It is! It really is!” Her face glowed. She could feel dorky Art Girl rising to the surface, a condition that she normally treated by tossing back a whiskey, or with a roll in the hay, anything to keep anyone from seeing her for who she really was. Guys loved sexy Kate. They didn’t like the nerdy version.
And yet… she pressed forward, ignoring her brain’s futile attempts to make her stop. It felt right. It felt damn good, too.
“It really is! Even when you have a commission! Imagine that someone is paying you to draw some specific thing. Guys like Hals still made it their own creation, even if they were drawing some boring tulip merchant. Or a scene from the Bible. Or a plate full of fruit. Because it was still their mind in charge of everything. They got to decide, ultimately, whether that person in the painting was grinning or smirking. Whether it was sunny at the shoreline or stormy. Clyfford Still chose his colors, his lines, the balance between solid and void.
I love that. I love that choice. Art allows you to be whomever you want to be, go wherever you want to go.”
Now it was his turn to ponder. “Wow, I never thought of it that way! So… where would you go, Kate? If you could escape to anywhere, that is. Whether in your art or in real life? Where would you escape to?”
She reached for his hand, and curled her fingers around it. “I’d escape to this. Exactly this.”
Freeport
James halted the story to look at her. She looked back at him. They sat that way, eyes locked, not saying a word, for more than a minute.
“So, that,” they both began, stumbling over each other’s words. Kate smiled, James laughed.
“Go ahead,” she said.
“No, you were going to say something,” he countered.
“I was waiting for you to say something. What happened next?”
“That was it,” said James. “That was the moment.”
Her eyes widened. “That was it? I told you that I liked art and that was enough you fell hopelessly, madly in love with me? How did you not get swept up ten times over before you got out of college?”
“I don’t know! All I know is that was the moment! My heart just thump-thump-thumped right there and then!”
“James Arthur Pendleton Junior, you are so full of it!” She tapped him on the shin with her foot. “I’m gonna thump-thump-thump you, you butt!”
“We can do that when we get home,” he smirked.
“I’m serious! I thought there was going to be something magical! Or art thieves chose that moment to crash through the skylight and you fought them off!”
He pouted, his sparkling eyes betraying his true feelings. “I’m not done with the story, Kate! Maybe there are art thieves, or maybe terrorists!”
“Kicking an amnesiac when she’s down. Horrible. Horrible! You’re lucky I love you more than air, bucko.”
“Oh, I know!”
June 18
“We don’t have a perfect relationship. Who does, right? We have good and bad moments. James hogs the sheets. I hog the TV. And we’ve always been like that. Brainwashed or not. And now, looking back on it? I really think that’s what did it. It’s why getting bonked on the head led me here.”
“It helped you to break Decker’s hold over you?”
“The arguing, yeah. Decker told me that I was in love with James. But then there’d always be a random day or three when we’d argue about who left the spaghetti on the counter all night and who was supposed to put it in the fridge, and in those times I wasn’t in love. I mean, deep down, still, yeah, but… in those moments, I’d be really mad at him! And that’s the thing. All of those normal emotions, anger and frustration and what have you… Stepford wives don’t do those things. Brainwashed slaves don’t argue about anything!
Alice told me that I needed to be ready. And that was a big part of being ready.”
Freeport
“I dated Michelle for almost three years,” said James. “We talked about moving in together. When I started looking at houses, I did it thinking that she was going to share it with me. I thought I was in love.”
“You were in love,” said Kate. “We all make mistakes, we all think maybe we found The One. It wasn’t your fault that she wasn’t the person for you.”
“I’m really glad she wasn’t! I know I wouldn’t have been as happy with her as I am with you. And believe me, sometimes I’m amazed by how it worked out. If Michelle had been around, I never would have invited Claire to my barbecue, and then she never would have invited you.”
“Okay…” an impish smile spread across her face. “Can you imagine being married to Claire? What if I’d never escaped the…”
She mouthed the word cult, mostly out of habit. It was silly, and she knew it—hell, she’d just spent the entire dinner throwing out words like brainwashed without a care in the world—but old habits die hard. She pushed the thought aside and waited for James to respond.
“If I was married to Claire? No problem, you’d still be in the picture! , she really wants that foursome.”
“Oh, fuck me running.” Kate’s eyes rolled deep into her skull. “I swear, the day she musters up the courage to ask you or Steve about it… should we bet on it? I say she asks you, but not until next year.”
“I give her until Christmas. Winner gets a bottle of wine?”
“Whiskey,” Kate offered. “But, good whiskey. Not that rotgut that Claire loves!”
A wink. “Sounds good.”
She blew him a kiss in return. “Sounds good. Anyway! Michelle?”
“I was scared, Kate. I was having such a great time with you, but in the back of my mind, I kept thinking about how much of a great time I’d had with Michelle, and how I’d thought that she was The One, and then I was having all of those same feelings about you. My brain kept screaming ‘oh no! Crash and burn! Crash and burn!’”
“Fair enough. But… why art?”
“It wasn’t just the art.”
2017
Closing time was still an hour away, but one of the museum’s docents chose that moment to enter their gallery and take up post there, arms behind his back, silently watching them. After a short, awkward battle of wills, James and Kate conceded defeat and gathered their things. They moved on, traveling forward through art history until they reached the Impressionists.
“It looks like they blew all of their museum money on the Dutch stuff,” James noted, surveying the undersized room.
“Well, when I’m rich and famous, I’ll buy a few for them.”
“Put them in the new Kate Thomas Wing?”
Now that was a hoot, she thought. Aunt Eileen would lose her fucking mind. She’d drag Jesus Himself back down to Earth to christen it. Literally! “Look at those brushstrokes, Big J! She’s so talented! I taught her how to do that, you know!”
“Penny for your thoughts,” said James, and she blushed. Here she was on a date with wonderful, you love James, you are falling in love with James and she was ignoring him?
“I, um…” she fumbled.
You love James you want James.
No. NOT that. That weird mantra had been rattling around her skull for weeks, always when she was out with James, or thinking about him. More than once, she had allowed it to seduce her, closing her eyes late at night and letting James is wonderful, you love him whisper to her as she fingered herself into a blissful haze.
But she wasn’t about to it that to him.
I know. Oooh! I know! Another mantra popped up, one much older, much better, much more appropriate in the moment.
“What would Aunt Eileen do?” she whispered.
James caught it. “Hmm?”
“I was thinking about what my Aunt would say, if she were here.”
“What would she say?”
“She’d probably tell me to stop thinking and just say something,” she laughed. “So I’m going to it something… I’ve never told anyone that story before today. About kinda-stealing my aunt’s art supplies, or about wanting to be an artist. Do you know that you’re the first person, other than Eileen, to ever ask me how art makes me feel?”
“Really?” He made a cute surprised face, his eyebrows dashing upwards. She loved it. Maybe the weird little mantra was right about him.
You love James, you wa- “Scout’s honor.”
“I actually was a Scout,” he grinned. “I’ll hold you to that.”
“I have to warn you, I would have been the anti-Scout. Running around, untying all of your knots.”
“Devious!” He feigned shock. “And thank you for trusting me with that story, Kate. I’m honored that I’m the first person to hear it.”
“You know what’s funny? I think you’re the first person I’ve ever felt I could trust to hear it. I’ve always been afraid to share it with anyone.”
“Why?”
“Because people like Spreadsheet Girl. Spreadsheet Girl goes to work every day and makes them money. People don’t like or respect Art Girl, because they assume she’s a money pit. Head in the clouds. The girl who makes your pumpkin spice latte. I stopped painting in college because getting good grades in ‘art’ didn’t feel like enough. For me, or for anyone else.”
“What about your Aunt?”
“She still believed in me, but… um… she died when I was in college.”
“Oh God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to—”
“No! You’re fine! It was a lifetime ago. I don’t ever think about those days. I haven’t thought about Eileen in forever! And talking to you about her today brought back a lot of happy memories. Talking about art this whole day, spending the whole time with you… this was perfect, James. Thank you. It’s been a shit week and you saved it.”
“Well, the… oh, fuck! Don’t look, don’t look!”
She looked. The docent from the Dutch gallery had followed them to the 19th century. He took the same position as before, in the corner, hands behind his back. His stare felt more menacing this time.
“The museum doesn’t close until six,” she protested. “Why is he shooting eyeball daggers at us?”
The docent produced a walkie-talkie and spoke into it. Radio static bounced through the gallery. James stood, pulling Kate to her feet.
“He’s calling in backup,” he whispered to her, a silly grin on his face. “Run, run, RUN!”
Kate laughed hard enough that she doubled over, her auburn hair covering her face and blinding her. Still laughing, she wrapped one arm around James as she righted herself, trusting him to lead her to safety.
They skipped the elevator and took the long way around, circling the atrium one floor at a time until they were back at the main entrance.
Freeport
“And that was it. Happily ever after, Kate. I didn’t save you from any art terrorists, but that docent was pretty suspicious. He might have poked us with his finger or something.”
“Did you just call them ‘art terrorists’?”
“I… yes.” He blushed. “They’re artists who are also terrorists.”
“Gotta have a second job when you’re an artist.”
The bill came. James won the race to retrieve a credit card and slap it on the table. “Oh,” he said, as their waiter retreated into a back room. “Before I forget, there was one last part to the story.”
2017
It was cold. Kate pulled her jacket tight around her, though she kindly refused James’s offer of his own coat. She leaned into him, feeding off of his body heat, enjoying the rustling wind even as it chilled her bones and blew hair into her eyes. Her Honda was at the far end of the lot, near the river
“Did you enjoy it?” James asked.
“I loved it. I loved every second of this. This is my happy place, James. And I kick myself for not going here every single day. My aunt used to say that wasting a day was like lighting a $100 bill on fire. It’s crazy in the moment and it never stops being crazy after.”
“She sounds like she was an amazing person.”
“She was. She really was! By her math, I’ve probably burned through ten million dollars. But not today. This bill’s going straight into my pocket. I’m going to save it forever.”
“I like that!”
“You like everything I say,” she smirked.
“What can I say? You keep doing these magical things, saying magical words, it’s uncanny!”
They approached the Honda, and Kate fished out her keys.
“This is the part of the movie where you kiss me.” Her green eyes sparkled in the fading sunlight. She pressed against him, wrapping her slender arms around his neck and pulling him close.
“Kissing? On the sixth date?” He scrunched a bit, adjusting his frame to better match hers. “Kinda crazy, but we are making our own canvas here, aren’t we?”
“Help me escape? Create my own world? Anything I want?”
“Looking for a partner in crime?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
Her trembling lips met his, and she closed her eyes.
Freeport Hyatt, Room 707
“Hey, Ash! Long time, no talk! How are you?”
The voice on the other end sounded muffled, and distant, and for a moment Michelle Simmons considered the possibility that she had dialed the wrong number. Her thumb hovered over the screen, ready to disconnect. But the voice quickly grew louder and, with a burst of static, Ashley McKenna-Sauls reconnected.
“Hey, darlin’! I haven’t heard from you in a while! Sorry bout that, Chester was trying to claw up the new sofa and… ah! How are you? Are you in town?”
“I’m in Freeport,” said Michelle. She leaned back against the headboard, glancing at the clothes piled at the foot of the bed. The air conditioning raised goosebumps on her skin. “I’m in town for a conference.”
“I forget, is Freeport in Pennsylvania, or New York?”
“Pennsylvania. It’s a quick drive.”
“Well, you need to drive down here where it’s still warm and you can go to the beach. It got up to 85 yesterday, can you believe it? You’re missing out!”
There were four names on the notepad, each taking up two lines, written out in neat, rounded block letters.
Ashley McKennaChandra BeaumontJessica AndoliniLauren Kaminski
Michelle only had phone numbers for Ash and Jess, but the latter lived in the same city as Lauren, and one of the three probably kept in touch with Chandra.
“You’re going to call them, and then you’re going to do exactly what I told you to do, understood?”
“Yes, Kate. Our Master’s will is my command.”
“It feels good to obey, doesn’t it? Every time you’re alone, and you’re obeying these new commands, you’ll know exactly what to say and do.”
“I understand.”
“You still there, Michelle? My phone’s been cutting out. If I lose you, call me right back.”
“Oh, I’m here!” Michelle cradled her phone between her shoulder and head. One hand was already grinding furiously against her sex, but her breasts begged for some attention as well. She let her thumb drift across an erect nipple, trying and mostly succeeding to hide the sharp gasp that followed. She couldn’t screw this up. Master’s orders.
“You won’t be able to come until you do what you’ve been told.”
“I won’t be able to come until I’ve done what I’ve been told.”
“But when you do… when you do! It’ll feel like Master is treating you to the best sex you’ve ever had in your entire life.”
“It’s funny you mention the beach, Ash! Because I have a ton of vacation time I need to burn off, and it’s been so long since I’ve seen any of you…”
“Ohmygod, you know mi casa es su casa, right? Just say the word and I will make up the guest bedroom for you! Or… we can drive down to Tampa? Chandra just moved there, and she’s been asking me about doing a girls trip. Come with me!”
“That sounds fantastic!” Michelle sucked in her lower lip and pressed her teeth against it. She was so close. “Let’s make plans.”