Page 119 of The Secretary Volume II

I knelt beside her.Watched her try to speak.Watched her try to understand.

She asked why.

I said, “You already know.”

She said she was loyal.She said she didn’t have a choice.She said she was scared.

I told her fear doesn’t make you innocent.It just makes you useful.

Then I asked her where they were.The journals.

She blinked.Told me I was confused.Said I’d already taken them.Said they never existed.

I reached into the inside pocket of my coat and pulled out the bone clamp.She saw it.Didn’t know what it was at first.Just a piece of steel.Clean.Cold.

I asked again.Politely.

She backed away slightly, said she didn’t have anything.That I should calm down.

I didn’t raise my voice.I didn’t move fast.I stepped around the island, forcing her to back into the corner of her own kitchen.Told her she had one chance to tell me the truth.

She said she didn’t know what I was talking about.

So I clamped the bone setter onto her pinky.

She screamed, finally.

It wasn’t about the pain.Not really.It was about taking something small and making it feel permanent.That’s what they do.That’s what she did.One injury at a time.One lie.One reset.One manipulation.

I tightened the clamp until the joint gave, then asked again.

She didn’t answer me.Or if she did, I couldn’t make it out over all the sobbing.

So I took her hand.Flattened it against the countertop.Used a meat mallet from her drawer.Just once.Her middle finger.She fell to the ground when it broke.

I crouched beside her and spoke calmly.Told her she wasn’t going to die.Not yet.That I just wanted her to understand what she’d done.What she allowed.What she helped cover up.

She started to cry harder.Wailing, you could call it.

I told her crying was a response, not an answer.

And then I pulled out the bag.

69

Gillian

She saw it—just a standard plastic grocery bag.Nothing special.I told her she had three minutes to give me what I wanted.I was being generous, seeing as that was two too many.As ungrateful as ever, she didn’t even thank me.She didn’t even speak.Just shook her head.Like she thought she was still in control.Like she still believed in the system that built her.

I put the bag over her head and held it tight.Just long enough to send a message.Then I let her breathe.Just once.Let her suck in air like it would save her.I told her I’d do it again.And again.Until she gave me the location.

The third time, she cracked.

Back bedroom.Closet.Behind the shoe boxes.

I left her gasping on the floor while I checked.She didn’t lie.

There were eight journals.

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