It was somewhere around three in the morning when Erica arrived back at her apartment. She couldn't remember where she'd been, or how she had gotten back. She had simple walked or run for hours. Her stomach was empty, but the thought of food made her nauseous. Juan would be mad at her about that, she thought to herself. He always called her scrawny, nagged her to eat. And he would know. Even over Skype, he could tell if she hadn't been eating. She paused at the bottom of the stairs up to her apartment. Just like he would know she'd been with someone else, had let some other man touch her. Erica closed her eyes and leaned her head against the cool stonework faΓ§ade of the building. He would know and he would hurt her. She glanced around at the darkened street, the cars parked here and there, the even darker Green Lake park across the street. A car drove by on the street and slowed. She could make out faces looking her way. She turned and ran up the stairs.
When she opened her apartment door, a slip of paper floated to the ground. For a moment, she just stared at it, but then she remembered the car out front, and she grabbed the paper and dashed inside, pushing locks into place. Once inside, she flipped a light switch and looked at the paper. All it said was 'Call Me' and gave a phone number. She knew it had to be either Juan or Eric. She wasn't even sure anymore if they weren't just one and the same, full of rosy promises and pain. She pulled her cell phone out and glanced at it. She had muted the ringer at some point when the incessant beeping became too much to bear. The screen was full of missed calls and voice mails and partial text messages. She ignored them all and tossed it onto the couch.
Wearily, she made her way to the bathroom and then to the bed, staring at the wall. It felt like the wall was staring back at her in the darkness, watching her, waiting for her to fall asleep. She rolled onto her back, hoping the ceiling would prove more empathetic, but it only seemed to hang more heavily over her as if a great weight sheltered in the attic, restlessly waiting to crash down on her. She knew its name; memories. It had stirred from its slumber and it was angry at being denied so long. Erica rolled to her stomach, sure she would not be able to sleep with the room closing in on her. Her eyes wanted to close, she was so tired from hours and hours of fear and running, but memories threatened behind her eyelids, dripping down from the ceiling like rain seeping through the damaged roof that was her life. The memories were visions; racks of canes and whips, ropes and shackles. The memories were pain. She lay, her head buried in her arms, her back exposed because it hurt so much more when they struck her front; her nipples, her clit, the skin stretched tight over her ribs.
She could feel them there; Juan, calling her vile names in Spanish through the whistling of a cane; Eric, telling her to breathe between the slapping of leather; and others, shadow figures watching, applauding, laughing, vying for a turn. And then HIM, waiting until her sobbing turned to moaning and her writhing became more urgent, until she begged to come, her desperation voiced in incoherent screams. HE always waited, not letting her come until the pain was blinding, became her whole world. In the beginning, HE was the pain. But now, it came from everyone, everywhere, at all times. Only mindless orgasm freed her from the pain, but ever so briefly. Then it would start again, by others, with different sources and causes. HE set few rules, innovation was rewarded. Her entire world was fear, and pain, and need. Her reward came when her need was fed. Her punishment was when she was driven to famished need and then denied.
Erica was screaming hoarsely and thrashed, until she fell from the bed, flailing even more frantically as she was caught between the far side of the bed and the wall. As she slowly realized where she was, she curled into a ball, kneeling on the floor, trembling but finally fully awake. Her fingers crept between her legs, found the waistband of her sleeping shorts, slid down her belly and between her pussy lips. She rubbed, softly at first, groaning with need, then harder, her fingers slick with the moisture of her overwhelming desire. Her fingers plunged inside as her palm rocked hard against her clit. But the pain was gone with the dream, and she didn't know how to come without pain. Only Eric held that secret. It was nearly a half hour before she climbed back onto the bed, though she didn't sleep again. She simply stared wide-eyed at the wall of her bedroom until it was time to get up.
When she did climb off the bed a couple hours later, fully intending to follow her usual morning routine, muscles that had been thoroughly abused for hours on end last night screamed in protest and she gave up any notion of running. It was so hard to figure out what she should do next, when she couldn't mindlessly follow her routine, but somehow she managed to get ready for work, even though early. When she crossed the street, the bus to downtown was just there, as if called to order. Once she had settled into a seat, things began to feel like they were on their way back to normal. All a bad dream, she thought, never even missing the cell phone she'd left lying on the couch.
Erica stopped at the corner Starbucks and got a mocha and a muffin, though she only made it halfway through the muffin before her stomach started to protest. She walked the half block to her office building and headed for her cubicle. Normal was getting even closer, almost in reach. Except there was someone waiting by her cubicle for her. She stopped at the entrance to the HR department. She was at least a half hour early. No one else was around. Someone - security? - had let a woman into the department. The stranger was an African-American woman in a dark pantsuit. Not particularly threatening, save it wasn't normal, and Erica desperately needed normal. She started to back out of the department just as the woman turned and spotted her. The woman immediately started her way. There was a guest badge hanging on a pocket of her suit jacket.
Erica turned and ran for the elevator, vaguely aware that the woman was calling her name. When she reached the elevator bank, she pushed furiously at the call button, but it was a big building and people were pouring in to work. The woman reached her before an elevator did. She was holding out an ID even as Erica backed away from her.
"Erica, my name is Joann Majors. I'm with the FBI. I'm on the task force with Eric. I just want to talk to you. Erica, please, I know your upset. I'm not going to touch you, okay? Just talk."
An elevator dinged and Erica looked hopefully for escape, but it was on its way up, packed with people even after her company's Finance Manager got off. He glanced at the tense confrontation before him. "Everything okay, Erica?"
Erica nodded, but the man looked at the two women for another moment, before he turned to head to his own department. The FBI agent waited till he was out of earshot. "You have interview carrels in your department. We can use one of those. Just to talk. Please, Erica. Let's keep this informal."
Erica stared at her, not even wanting to think what 'formal' might consist of. The woman gestured back toward the HR department. When an elevator dinged again, disgorging more co-workers, Erica finally broke free of her paralysis and headed reluctantly back to the department. One of the other HR specialists had just arrived and watched with undisguised curiosity as Erica led the agent to one of the carrels. Inside the tiny glass room, Erica stood with her back to a wall, hugging herself, staring at the floor. The woman gestured toward one of the two chairs, but Erica only shook her head. The agent gave a soft sigh, and continued to stand herself.
"Eric called me and said he had done something stupid that upset you. He asked me to find you. To convince you that we still needed your help."
"What did he tell you?" Erica asked softly.
"He didn't give me any details. Do you want to?"
"No."
"Okay. If that changes at any point, you just call me." She laid a business card on the little desk in the carrel.
"Is that all?" Erica asked hopefully.
"No, there's the matter of the Skype call. It's been set in motion. It's too late to change that. We need you to talk to Juan on that call." Erica closed her eyes wearily, suddenly feeling the fatigue of not sleeping last night.
"Will Eric be there?"
"Not if you don't want him to. You call the shots, Erica."
"Okay. Is that all?"
The woman studied her. "Have you slept? Maybe you should go home."