“Mrs. Blanchard?”
Charlotte looked up at another smartly presented man standing in the doorway and her heart skipped a beat. He was fuller in the face and thicker around the middle, but she immediately recognized the ratty little eyes and weak chin. She stood and her eyes dropped down to his official Res Publica necktie.
“Thomas?” she said incredulously.
“That’s right,” he said. “Civic Police Captain Thomas Mosley, to be precise.”
Chapter Three
My God, she hasn’t changed a bit! She still looks the same as the last time I saw her at college! Thomas thought ecstatically.
When Thomas had first hatched his plan to ensnare the woman who still haunted him after so many years, a part of him had feared that she might have let herself go after she had married. He had checked her official records and ascertained that she had no children, and she had looked every bit as wonderful as he had remembered in her identification photos, but now seeing in the flesh how youthful she still was simply took his breath away!
He walked toward her, willing himself to be cool.
No need to be nervous, Thomas–you are holding all the aces now!
“Please sit,” he said, gesturing to the couch.
They sat a respectable distance apart, Thomas savoring the moment. She still wore minimal makeup and he caught just the faintest scent of the same lavender soap–why would she need to bother with cosmetics and perfumes when there was nothing to improve? He quickly checked out the inviting outline of her breasts, her wasp waist, and her slender ankles–and his dick straightened in his underpants.
He said, “You’re looking well, Mrs. Blanchard–or may I call you Charlotte?”
She glanced uncertainly at him, no doubt recalling his many embarrassing attempts to woo her, and of course his ultimate humiliation–and perhaps now trying to put all of that history into its current context.
“I expect you’re a little surprised to see me,” Thomas said.
Charlotte nodded and touched her hair, still that crazy, tousled style from her college days. Thomas wondered if she ever bothered to brush it.
“I had a phone call–”
“I know,” said Thomas.
She looked at him. “A man–Luke–said that you could help.”
“With your husband, you mean?”
“Yes–do you know where he is?” she asked hopefully.
“Oh, yes,” said Thomas.
“Is he–?”
“He’s fine. Nothing will happen to him without my say so.”
She frowned and said, “I don’t understand.”
“Come now, Charlotte, do you really think this is all a coincidence?”
She looked off to one side and her rosebud lips parted as she processed his words.
“You?” she said softly.
“Yes. Me. I had him arrested.”
She looked up at him with those bewitching eyes.
“But why?”
Thomas swiveled toward her and took hold of her hand.
“Do you really need to ask?”
She looked at him incredulously.
“Thomas–I have a husband.”
“I know,” Thomas said. “But it won’t be much of a marriage if Peter spends the next twenty years in jail, will it?”
“Twenty years? For what? He hasn’t done anything.”
Thomas chuckled. “Do you really think that has anything to do with it?”
Charlotte pulled her hand free.
“But that’s not fair,” she mumbled.
“That is true,” Thomas said. “The whole world has gone mad, but that doesn’t make it any less real.”
“Maybe I should find a lawyer,” Charlotte said, mostly to herself.
“You should think very carefully about that,” Thomas said. “Because I can assure you that there isn’t a lawyer in this city who can help Peter right now.”
She looked at him quizzically.
“In fact, there is only one person who can possibly secure his release,” Thomas said.
“You?” she said.
“No,” Thomas said. “The only person who can help your husband is you, Charlotte.”
***
It was coming back to her now, this hue of craziness that darkened his eyes and gave her a glimpse of the mania within. It had revealed itself on a few occasions at college, when her would-be paramour had turned stalker and she had been forced to block him on social media and notify campus security. And it was here now, the tightening jaw muscles, the flickering pupils, the flaring nostrils. Alarmed, she looked down and saw the telltale bump in his pants and remembered the day he had sent her a revolting photo of his thin, white manhood–still etched in her mind all these years later.
She tore her eyes away from his crotch and forced herself to look into his eyes.
“How?” she said, dreading the answer.
Thomas reached for her hand again, and although it made her skin crawl, this time she let him hold onto it.
“You and I have unfinished business,” Thomas said.
Charlotte tried to play dumb.
“Business?”
“Do you remember when campus security arrested me?” Thomas said.
Charlotte nodded. How could she forget?
“That was a very painful time in my life,” Thomas said.
“I didn’t call them,” Charlotte said.
“I know. But Peter did, didn’t he?”
Charlotte didn’t reply.
“They locked me up for two days,” Thomas said. “They told me you weren’t going to press charges but they wanted to give me time to think about my life. And I did. I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”
Charlotte’s eyes stung and she blinked away a tear. She had no idea what this weirdo wanted from her, but she already knew that she would have no choice but to humor him if she ever wanted to see Peter again.
“I nearly went insane thinking about you being with him while I was locked up, unable to do anything to stop it,” Thomas said.
Charlotte squeezed his sweaty palm, trying to calm him.
“He was my boyfriend, Thomas,” she said softly. “He was trying to protect me.”
Thomas snatched his hand away and stood.
“And then you married him. How long has it been now?”
“Five years,” Charlotte said.
“Five years indeed,” said Thomas. “Your anniversary is next Tuesday.”
Dear God! Why does he even know that?
He turned away from her, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Mrs. Blanchard,” he said. “If you want to see your husband again, you are going to have to stay here for a while.”
Charlotte’s stomach tightened. There it was. The beast was in control now.
“Why?”
“Think of it as a test. How badly do you want to help your husband?”
Charlotte swallowed.
“I will do anything,” she said.
“Then all you have to do is agree to stay here, and I promise that your husband will be released.”
“Y-You can do that?”
“You have my word.”
“How long will I have to stay here?” she asked.
He turned back to her.
“Two weeks, Mrs. Blanchard.”
***
Thomas turned the key in the door and stepped into the basement.
“Come inside,” he said.
She stood timidly in the center of the barren room, taking in the bed, the table and chair, the refrigerator, the camcorder–and the tall wooden door set in the back wall.
“What is this place?” she said.
“This will be your home for the next two weeks,” Thomas said.
“My home?”
Her eyes flickered toward the metal bed.
“Thomas,” she said. “Why can’t we do this upstairs?”
Thomas sat at the table.
“Do what?’ he said.
Charlotte shifted uncomfortably, her cheeks glowing, and Thomas’s erection intensified. She looked around the basement and then up at the low ceiling.
“What you want,” she said softly.
“And what is it that you think I want?” Thomas said.