Taboo Unchained(17)

Well, now. Things have certainly gotten interesting.



My first instinct is to rush off after Audra, chase her down and shake her. I want to find out why she's following me, why there was blood on her shoes.

I don't.

I make the right decision, the one that the sane, emboldened, self-assured Lucas Carter would make. I don't feel at all like myself however, and I can tell Lauren knows it. When we're finished with our session, she doesn't even invite me to stay for a drink as I've often done. Wrapped in a towel, legs shaking and covered in her own blood, Dr. Houssard puts on a grim face and kicks me out with a large check clutched in my palm.

I even pay a visit to Leslie Catsitch, but she isn't home. In the end, I return back to my own house, pausing in the driveway with my hands on the wheel and my breath shaky. Robbie finds that moment the most opportune to walk out and casually check the mailbox, never mind that it's Sunday. She waves to me, and I wave back, not at all in the mood to play the perfect neighbor. I feel better, much better than I did earlier in the day, but not like myself.

I climb out of the car and lock the doors with my key fob, not bothering to glance over into the other yard or make conversation with Robbie. As soon as the door is closed behind me, I switch off my cell and toss it onto the coffee table, retreating to my room and collapsing onto my carefully made bed.

My mind swims with images of Isadora in her wedding night attire, decked out in white, face eager and open. I'm reminded of our first kiss that evening, the sultry spiciness of it. How her long nails clawed the skin on my back and her neck arched for my kisses. I bit her flesh and she reveled in it, drawing me down into a black pit that I just couldn't crawl out of. I spanked her, slapped her face with gentle playfulness. And then I pulled her hair. Hard. Harder.

I knew the moment the game changed for her, saw it in her eyes when I tied my belt around her wrists and bound her to the bed. I remember that first cut, across her inner thigh, my pocket knife gleaming with the ruby red of her blood. Isadora's screams were so loud that I was soon overrun with fucking do-gooders and concerned bridesmaids. Her drunken friends led her out of that room in tears, and I never saw her again. The sad part is, I hadn't even come close to showing her what I show even my lightest clients.

After that, I walked away and ended up here, doing this. The job is in no way what I'd envisioned for myself at age twenty-eight, but it certainly beats being a slave to a corporate god. Corporations are for worker bees, and I'm a wasp. My dream with Isadora devolves into a swarm of bees blanketing my skin, stinging me, dragging me to my knees until her screams become my screams, and I wake up drenched in sweat.

A nightmare. I can't claim I've never had one. I'm a monster; it's what we do. But there was something unsettling about this particular play of imagery.

“Get yourself together, you fucking fool,” I chastise myself as I rise to my feet with a growl and a sneer. I forgot to shower. Again. And I'm covered in Lauren's filth. I despise leaving my client's essence on my skin. It simply doesn't feel right.

I strip my clothes and my bedding, jamming it all into the washing machine before I hit the shower. I let the water scald my body, and when I get out, dress myself in a fresh suit, I feel right again. My sins have been washed away with the soap.

I brush my sleeves off and head into the living room, pausing when I find a body lying across my couch.





“Fuck.”

That's the only appropriate word for my situation.

“Fuck.” I say it again and jam my fingers through my hair. How on earth did this get here? I move over to the body and push at it with my foot. Most definitely a corpse. If the bloody shirt and the gaping wound across the throat weren't enough to tell me, the smell most certainly would. “Oh, Mark,” I say with a wrinkled nose. “What on earth did you do now?”

I frown down at the body, the waxen skin, the stiff limbs. My couch is ruined. I tilt my head and gaze at the taupe and beige stripes, frown deepening into a glower.

“Fuck.” I run my hand down my face and do my best to stay calm. The front door is locked, the curtains closed, and I don't expect any visitors. I have time to deal with this properly, provided I don't panic. Not that I would. Panic denotes a sense of fear, and that emotion still lies dormant inside my chest – if it's even there at all. “At least I have some answers to my questions. Audra, you silly, silly girl.” I grab the afghan off the back of the couch, spreading it over Mark's body as I think about the bloody footprints on Lauren's floor. Did Audra kill Mark right after I left? Did she come seeking some sort of council from me? If so, I could've taught her the first rule of being a monster: never bleed your pain where you sleep. Now there's DNA evidence slathered all over my living room. Wonderful.