Page 36 of Caution Tape

Well, shit. There goes that. The paperweight lands on the carpet with a dull thud. Fuming, I swipe my arm across his desk, knocking over the glass vase as it collides with the wall, shattering it into pieces.

“Fucking bastard!” I yell out, images of the deer crashing through my mind like bloody waves against the shore.

Chapter Fifteen

Nolan

Michael takes her away from the city and into the serene, upper-middle class township area where expensive houses sit tucked back deep in wooded estates surrounded by thick trees that blocks the view from the road. Winding hills and hidden drives begin to appear, and the cars thin out. I drop back, watching as he turns down one of these long driveways.

I park along the road, pulling my car into a thin scraggle of low hanging trees. It wasn’t much, but it was enough cover to keep the car fairly hidden.

My phone buzzes as I’m creeping up the drive—gloves on, knife in hand—crouching low to keep out of view of the house’s bright glow.

It’s a new contact I never added.

Unknown: I think I might want to be unhealthy.

Unknown: Scratch that. I want to be a lunatic.

Well, there’s only one person who would text me something like that.

Cora.

The house is a long, single story ranch home with blue shutters. I see a kids swing set in the back, along with a firepit and a trampoline. The image of Michael the predatory therapist is complete. A husband and family man with a respected career. It’s clear that this is his night drive, his shadow life. Coercing the vulnerable and lording his power over them like a self-made God to women.

I hear muffled shouting in the home, stomping footsteps as the light flickers with shadows that pace back and forth.

The back door is locked; it makes a loud click when I turn the knob. I freeze, sure that I have been heard, but the voices simply rise in tenor.

There’s a garage connected to the house. The side door is a flimsy, single lock that I manage to wedge a plastic shopping card between, releasing the mechanism. It pops open with a satisfyingclunkand I’m in the dark garage, slinking along Michael’s silver car. I hear more thunderous footsteps in the house; the sound of glass breaking.

I’m climbing the steps and about to enter through the kitchen when I see a long strand of rope hanging on the garage wall. I take it in my hands and grip it, pulling it taut.

A wonderful idea strikes me.

The kitchen is one of those minimalist Ikea designs that make it seem like no one actually lives there. It bothers me how much I like it. Flat stainless-steel countertops; glittering digital readouts on the microwave and oven. Everything is metal and gleaming. The cabinets are a dark wood and produce a soothing effect.

Somewhere in the house, I hear Cora yell, “Fucking bastard!”

I edge into the hallway, keeping close to the walls, my shoulder blades bumping family pictures and ski-trip collages. Michael the smiling father, Michael the cross-country skier, Michael dancing with a breezy, smiling woman who looks a bit like Natalie.

The living room features glass tables, a fireplace, an off-white carpet, and very few decorations. There’s no dust, no paintings, and certainly no splash of color. No glasses half full linger on the coffee table. No magazines flipped halfway through. It would almost appear that a ghost lives here.

To think, I might have been Michael in another life.

Is that what hiding all the malice does? Hollows you out until your only thrill is seducing your patients?

How boring.

How…

Normal.

It is now very important to me that I kill this man, and not only that. I want to make him suffer.

Through the living room, into another hallway, and past a child’s bedroom full of Lego toys, I hear Michael shouting. He’s telling Cora to calm down, that this is just an episode she’s having, and that she needs to contextualize her emotions and recognize she’s having an “extreme response.”

Cora’s voice lowers to a breathy murmur, and I hear the rasp of clothing being taken off, and the sounds of kissing. Michael’s tone shift from a pedantic voice to a gratified purr.

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