Page 11 of Just Now

“Dance for me!” he insisted. He wanted to see her dance. When he’d watched her through the window last night, she’d been dancing alone in her living room. It hadn’t been for joy. He’d thought she was practicing some steps for the Latin American dancing class she took, but it had still been intriguing, enrapturing even, and he’d absorbed the sight with greedy eyes.

“Please, I can’t do this,” she pleaded, her voice shaking. “I refuse!”

He frowned. He didn’t like when they didn’t comply.

“I said dance,” he growled. “And you’d better do what I say. There is no room for negotiation. Not any at all.”

Slowly, she stood up and began to move. Her body was rigid with fear, but she was doing her best to comply with his twisted request. He watched her every move, his eyes gleaming with pleasure. It wasn’t the dancing that he loved. It was the fact that he was making her do it. He was removing her from her world.

Watching her, waiting for the moment when she’d have to wear those old, shabby clothes, he felt as if he was about to leave the memories of his old life behind for good this time. For a moment, he was a different person. It was an intense surge of joy through him.

As she danced, he moved along with her, hidden from her sight. He wanted to feel every step she took, every move she made. He wanted to be as close to her as possible, to feel her fear and her pain. His heart was pounding in his chest with excitement. He felt alive, more than he had felt in years. This was his masterpiece, his project, his passion. And he wanted to enjoy every moment of it.

Even though she wasn’t really dancing very well, but then, nor was he. He wasn’t much of a dancer either, but it was the thought that mattered.

In any case, it was now time for the next step.

“You can stop,” he said, and watched her. Like a puppet whose strings were cut, she collapsed down.

More to come. This was the next challenge he needed from her. It wasn’t time for her to rest yet, although he knew she would rest soon. Her time was nearly done. But he craved more.

“Put on the clothes on the bed,” he commanded her.

She looked toward him.

“The clothes?”

“Yes. The ones on the bed.”

He’d left a different set of clothes. A set of scruffy old clothes more suited to a man. Plain jeans, a flannel shirt, heavy shoes. She needed to put those on, to step out of her life and to be the sad, struggling person he was long ago. It was a deeply symbolic gesture for him.

“I’m not putting those on,” she said. “Dancing is one thing. But taking my clothes off and putting this on? Are you joking? Why should I do that?” Her voice was high. Shrill.

He felt his patience slipping away. This one was proving to be difficult. They always started out that way, but eventually, they all complied. He just had to be patient.

“You will do as I say,” he warned her, his voice low and menacing. “Or you will suffer the consequences.”

“The consequences?” she repeated, a note of fear creeping into her voice.

“I’m a violent man,” he told her. He didn’t want it to, but his voice rose to a shout. “I’m a violent man and I love what I do. I won’t hesitate to hurt you. Don’t make me! Don’t make me!”

She stared at him, her eyes wide with fear. Tears glistened on her cheeks.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Okay, I’ll do it. I’m doing it.”

She reached for the clothes with shaking hands, her eyes never straying away from him.

For a moment, he felt a strange twinge of guilt. He pushed it aside quickly. What happened in his own past, the things he’d been forced to do long ago, need not trouble him now. He had moved past that and become his own person. And now she had to do as he said.

She did as ordered, slowly and shakily, her movements jerky and her eyes still wide with fear. She ripped off her clothing with her back to the wall with the holes, not that he was interested in her body. It meant nothing to him. It was her mind that he wanted to see, to sense. That was what gave him the flashbacks, and made him realize with a crumb of comfort that he was on the other side now. The winning one.

When she was done, he nodded.

“That’s fine. No, no. Keep them on. Keep them on. You can rest now.”

She sank down on the bed, wearing the man’s clothes. He could see her shoulders shaking, her face a mess of tears.

“Rest,” he said again, more softly this time. “We’ll go soon.”

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