The man lay naked, snoring on the bed. His arms were tied to the headboard, one with a nylon rope, loosely bound, the other with the tie he had been wearing the night before. His legs were stretched wide and tied to the foot of the bed. One with the same nylon rope that had bound his arm, the other with the shoelaces from his shoes. This foot was swollen, turning a dangerous shade of blue as he slept.
His clothes, such as were left, were scattered around the room. The neat white shirt had been torn and was covered in blood. His pants were in pieces in the bathroom, blocking the drains and toilet. His jacket was nowhere to be found. His socks and shoes – without laces – were on someone elses feet, a few hundred yards away, huddled in the doorway of a Walmart.
The sleeping mans eyes twitched as something flicked by in a dream and his body writhed slowly, his bindings making it hard to move more than a few inches in any direction. Along the side of his abdomen, just under his ribs, a fresh scar, amateurishly sutured, oozed blood as he moved. On the table next to the bed, an unlabelled bottle of pills lay spilled, scattered, along the surface.
There was one other person in the room, the one responsible for the mess; the room itself looked like a bomb had gone off, or, more accurately, Hunter S. Thompson had spent the weekend here covering a motorcycle race.
She was currently in the bathroom fixing her outfit. A simple pastel blue blouse, and straight black slacks. Her feet were bare and a pair of stilettos were parked by the door next to a small evening bag. She whistled quietly to herself as she arranged the buttons on her shirt so as to distract people from her face as she left this dingy little motel.
She looked around, satisfied, and turned all the taps on in the bathroom. As the tub and basin were filling, she opened the cistern to the toilet and broke the valve in such a way that it, too, continued to fill without shutting off. As she left the bathroom, the toilet and basin started to overflow onto the floor.
She slipped her feet into her heels, grabbed the bag, looked back at the man who was just starting to come out of his daze, blew him a kiss and left. No one else was around at this hour – the sun had barely peeked over the horizon – and she left the motel unmolested. A few hundred yards down the road, a nondescript white sedan was waiting for her. She carefully placed the bag in the trunk and got in the drivers seat.
She had driven nearly 150 miles in the two hours before anyone entered the motel room. The man had died by this point, and the room was flooded to such a point that any evidence of her presence on the floor was completely obliterated. She smiled to herself as she sped down the freeway. Another nail in the coffin.
Her hair was in a tight ponytail and she wore a office appropriate outfit – costume, she would say if anyone asked – and sat at her desk, in a quiet office on the 30th floor of a building in downtown Los Angeles.
Across from her, with a sheath of paper between them, was one of her clients. He was in his mid fifties, but looked as if he was 70. He wore a poorly fitted suit, a tie loose around his neck and his top most button undone. His sleeves were rolled up and patches of sweat soaked through the poor quality cotton.
He had been sitting there for nearly an hour now, detailing his complaints about her office and how she had managed all his affairs. His arguments, despite how he may have presented himself, were solid and if she limited herself to the truth, she had no recourse for any answers she might have for him.
She repositioned herself and leaned forward, attentively listening. That this manoeuvre gave the man an unimpeded view down her blouse was immaterial. She knew he lusted for her, but he was doing an admirable job of ignoring it while he presented his case.
She saw his eyes flicker as she moved and his throat bulge as he swallowed hard. But he carried on laying out why she should reimburse him for services not rendered and a small flash of disappointment, the first in a long time, ripped through her body. Her smug satisfaction at the position she had arranged for this man was replaced with a sharp anger. He hadnt taken her advances in the way she wanted. He was ignoring her. He had no right to do this.
But she waited. She knew how to deal with men like this. How to properly deal with the anger she felt. She had been an expert in it for some time now. So she waited. He would finish speaking soon and then she could say what she had always planned on saying, ever since he had made the appointment just before she had escaped for a small working vacation in the Nevada desert.
After another five minutes or so, his tone of voice changed, his body posture relaxed and she heard him start to summarise all the things he had gone over. She gave him credit, he was doing as much as he could for his own clients. He was being the consummate professional. Had he been here for any other reason than to complain about her services, she might have hired him herself. But, alas, he had to be a good one. Standing up for the small guy.
With the practice of an award winning actor, she sighed and leaned back in her chair, removing the source of his lust for a moment, while also mirroring his actions. She locked eyes with him and explained that, while she felt for his clients, the just-below-the-poverty-line residents of the three apartment buildings he owned, there was no way that the contract that she and he had would allow for any of the reparations that he had demanded.
She was surprised when he pulled out another sheath of paper – their contract – and explained back to her that he had come prepared for that and placed the new paper on the desk. Like all the rest, she didnt move to read or take it. He continued to explain that he would use the terms listed therein in court to make her pay.
She shrugged and told him that he was free to do as he pleases. She even, lightheartedly, recommended a suite of lawyers a few floors lower in the building. She then explained that even if he did manage to get his complaints in front of a judge, the wording of their contract would be enough for any judge to throw his complaint out. She finished by stating that she, and by extension, her company had, in the strictest of terms, abided by the contract. That he still owed money by the same contract and they expected payment by the end of the month. Her eyes flicked conspicuously towards the calendar which was set to the 25th.
She guided him to the door, handed him his brown jacket which had been hanging on the rack next to the door since he arrived and bid him farewell. Once he had entered the elevator, she walked back to her desk and rung a colleague in the courthouse a few miles away. She explained her perspective of the mans visit and nodded in satisfaction when the other person assured her that they would take care of things if he did file a suit.
The weather was definitely cooler now. She paid the taxi driver, without tipping, and pulled her suitcase up the frosty, but not yet snow covered, path to the front door of her parents suburban house. A large, brand new, SUV was parked behind her parents small hatchback and she frowned. She didnt recognise the new vehicle, but she knew instinctively that her sister and brother-in-law had already arrived.
She took a deep breath, arranged her deliberately casual outfit and pressed the doorbell firmly. Despite it still being November, she heard a distinct Christmas tune blare through the house. From the far end, she heard a dog start barking and frowned again. Her parents did not have pets. Another unwelcome surprise from the favourite sibling.
Quiet padded footsteps approached the door and it swung open silently. Before her stood her mother, in her normal winter attire, not smiling as her younger daughter waited. Without a word, but a grunt of acknowledgement, her mother stood aside and let her in. She greeted the older woman as friendly as she could muster and headed towards the stairs with her suitcase.
Her mother stopped her before getting there and explained that her usual space had been taken up by her fathers new hobby room. She would have to head down to the basement, where a bed had been made for her. She went on to explain that because they had not expected her to arrive with anyone, as usual, that the bed was only a single and she would have to make do. Also the dog would be down there over night as well.
She opened her mouth to say something, thought better of it, and nodded. Downstairs she went, her suitcase bouncing on each step behind her. She placed the suitcase on the bed and immediately went back up. Her mother had already rejoined everyone out the back and so she went too. Her sister and handsome husband were explaining some esoteric aspect of their shared job to rapt attention from both her parents. The dog, a German Shepherd, lay at her sisters feet and growled gently as she approached. Her sister admonished the dog half-heartedly and rolled her eyes at her sister approaching as if it was her fault the beloved dog was acting up.
She sat at the table and pretended to listen to her brother-in-law go on about something or other. He did not include her in the discussion and she didnt care.
The only time she was treated as even close to being part of the family was during the dinner preparations. She helped her mother with certain parts of the meal – she was a trained chef, after all – and carried all the dishes out to the table. She smiled, as she was supposed to, as everyone complimented how good everything looked, even though some of it was vegan – a new feature this year for her sisters quote health unquote.
As everyone ate, and reiterated their compliments as they got to taste everything, the conversation once again become four people talking about something with one listening. She didnt mind, not really. She would have if she hadnt added some non-vegan ingredients to everything that was meant for her sister.
She smiled politely and said what she was meant to on the rare occasion someone asked her something.
Dinner was over, and because she had helped to cook everything, her sister and her husband, reluctantly agreed that they would be the ones to clean up. She watched from the edge of the sofa in the living room as the two of them cleaned the table and packaged up all the leftovers. She couldnt help but look smug. Receiving a satisfying look of disgust each time one of them looked over at her.
After an hour of the worst holiday movie she had ever seen, she excused herself and retired to the basement. She shut the door, knowing someone would open it later ‘for the dog’ and settled herself on the bed. She sighed in her solitude and made a quick prayer to the one person who actually mattered.
“Lord,” she said, “I have spent the last year living a life you would desire. I have spent my days living by your word and in your name. At this most sacred time of year, I implore you to come and remove me from this forsaken world. Bring me into your arms in the way I deserve.”
She waited in the darkness and the silence. She didnt expect a reply but she still waited.
“Child,” a voice said, deep in the bowels of her head. Coming from a place even she did not know she had. “You wish for my embrace. You do things that you think I desire. You are mistaken. I do not cherish those who sin for their own sake. You sin for my approval. I desire those who sin against their own hearts. Those who are tricked into sin, or coerced. You do not do me honor. You do me a disservice.”