20

11

I sat there in the comfort of the driver's seat of my old Camry, staring once again at the door to the convenience store. I should have just gone home and taken a cold shower like I would normally do to fight off my sexual urges, but I couldn't. I'd seen the condoms on that shelf and held them in my hands, and now all I could think about was how getting relief would feel so much better than trying to pretend I didn't have an urge in the first place. Anxiety glued my ass to the seat and my hands to the steering wheel though, and my heart raced out of control, whether from the buildup of arousal-laden testosterone or panic-inducing social anxiety I'll never know.

It had only been about fifteen minutes since I'd sat down but the minutes had ticked by like a tortoise crawling on the beach, slow and painful to watch--you know, you want to rush over and dangle a carrot in front of it hoping it will go faster? In fact, I sat there long enough the elevator doors opened and out popped Daphne--Dr. Fox. Seeing her in that tight-fitting skirt, the way she moved, I struggled to maintain my composure, feeling heat shoot up my neck and into my face as my groin began throbbing again.

But she wasn't alone. A lanky younger man followed her out of the elevator. The way he watched her move put me on edge and heightened my sense of protectiveness over her--not that I had any cause to be. She didn't belong to me; I had no reason to feel protective, let alone to act protective. Still, I sat there watching as she turned and said something to him. The look on his face revealed a familiarity with her I was not comfortable with, and her expression conveyed an emotion I couldn't place, one I don't think I'd ever seen grace her beautiful face before. Was it anger? Frustration? Fear even?

I waited until she was safely in her car and he was headed toward the convenience store before I reached for the handle to open my car door, and without a moment's hesitation, I got out of the car and headed for the store, determined to find out who this guy was and what he was doing with Daphne. The fears she had placed in my hands concerning the recent rash of disappearances would not go unheeded. I resolved right then and there I would track down every lead that might even come close to being related to this case and how it may or may not connect to her.

As I stumbled my way across the parking garage, one foot after the other, getting heavier and heavier the closer I got to the door, I felt my anxieties weigh my gut down like cement boots in the ocean. For a moment I stood frozen, eyes wide as I stared through the window, not realizing I was standing directly in the driving lane until Daphne tooted the horn on her BMW, which not only grabbed my attention, but startled me enough I nearly lost my bladder. Jerking my eyes the direction of the sound, I saw her perfect lips curl up into a sheepish smile as she waved her hand indicating I should move out of the way.

Once again feeling my face flush, I scurried out of the way and stood between her car and the small well-lit convenience store, facing the perfectly waxed and polished vehicle. The window lowered slowly, and I leaned down to peer in. The smell of a lilac air freshener wafted my way and Daphne's smile brightened.

"Going to the shop again? Twice in one day?" she asked, the tone in her voice was that of a proud parent whose child just took their first steps.

I couldn't for a second tell her I was actually following the person she had just been talking with. What if it was one of her patients and I was breaking some strange doctor-patient rule by even having seen them together? Then again what if it wasn't one of her patients but instead someone who may be stalking her or worse--hunting her for their murderous plot? My mind ran away with that thought faster than my heart beat against my ribcage. An image of Daphne walking next to a strange man toward the van pictured in the news article of the man who'd disappeared flashed in my mind, and all I could think of was what if they took my Daphne from me--I mean, my doctor from me.

"Kenji?"

I blinked a few times, snapping back to full consciousness and nodded, not knowing how to answer her. Should I tell her I was just going to buy condoms? What then? She would think I was seeing someone and that would just lead to a really awkward conversation at our next session. But if I told her the truth about the strange man would she think I was following her? I made up a bold-faced lie on the spot. I never lie. I was always an ethical, moral man. But in this case a lie was the only thing that would do.

"I need milk." I choked on the last word as if were a sour grape that got stuck in my throat because that is exactly what that lie did, made me choke.

I gagged for a second and then forced a smile before turning and abruptly marching away. I heard the car speed off but not before I saw the man who'd followed Daphne out of the elevator through the glass. Ducking behind a poster taped to the window, I peered around the corner and watched him interacting with an elderly man near the register. Then it dawned on me this was the same man who I'd seen arguing with the store clerk earlier that day before my appointment.

I glanced over my shoulder at Daphne's taillights disappearing out into the street just past the guard shack and then back to the men who were now arguing again. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it was very clear the older man was enraged. His face was red, and his eyes bulged out like two balloons near ready to burst open. Veins snaked out across his temples beneath his skin and up under his thin wispy hair. The younger man held his hands in a defensive posture, his eyebrows raised, his mouth slightly agape.

Realizing I would not gather any more information by watching the man be scolded by what appeared to be an older relative, perhaps a father, I hurried back to my car, my once overwhelming need for sexual gratification now vanished. I decided my time would be better spent trying to use the dark web to search as much information about this man as I could.

Betty shuttled me home as quickly as she could given her propensity toward sputtering out and such. Traffic was a bit worse than it had been on the way to my session, but I zipped down a few side streets and cut through a residential neighborhood a few blocks from mine, which at the time seemed wise, but when I got stuck behind a garbage truck and had to follow as bits of rubbish and decomposing food bounced out the back and smashed into my windshield, I quickly realized I should have stuck to the main roads and just dealt with the normal traffic.

I'd driven through this neighborhood a dozen times to escape the traffic on the main drag and never had I even seen a garbage truck. It stopped in front of a light blue house with a white picket fence around the front yard, and with cars parked on both sides of the street I had no choice but to sit and wait as the truck driver slid out of his seat and onto the street, lazily strolling to the color-coded cans sitting on the curb.

A breeze outside blew more garbage from the back end of the truck, and I turned away, refusing to sit and stare at other people's refuse. I noticed some flowers growing inside that picket fence, roses, wisteria on a nice garden arch above the gate to the sidewalk, foxglove by the front porch, even delphinium grew there in the shade--purple ones, just like Jessica loved to grow with her mother.

The scent of the wisteria had me reminiscing of watching mother digging in the dirt with Jess, their gloved hands covered in fertilizer, their faces beaming with pride and happiness. It was one of the few times I saw the darkness leave Jessica's face, when they were growing things. Our house was surrounded and invaded by beautiful plants, and thus I had been unable to escape a thorough education when it came to gardening.

I didn't have the same green thumb. I couldn't even keep a cactus alive--and I'd tried. After their deaths I'd tried so hard. It was difficult watching those plants fade, whither, dry up like the lives of those who'd loved them and cared for them so delicately. One by one all of their plants died that fall and into winter. The oleander bush they had in a large pot on the deck caught a frost one time and it was brown the next day, drooping like the ears on a basset hound. Not at all like the similar plant on this person's front porch. An oleander of a different color, but definitely the kind mother treasured. In that instance I felt grief well up in my chest and tears threaten my eyes, but an alarm on the back of the garbage truck broke me from my trance.

The large metal teeth of the beast in front of me began slowly lowering, chomping down on its disgusting feast of rotten food, empty packaging, even soiled feminine products. It crushed down on the bags causing them to burst open and their contents to gush out like a taco that's been wrapped too tightly and the guacamole squeezes from the crack like toothpaste being squeezed from a tube. Once again I felt I might wretch, but the truck pulled forward slightly and to the side of the street, allowing me just enough space to finagle old Betty through. I had never been more glad to push that gas pedal.

Back at home, I followed my routine: park in the garage, garage door down, open car door, scurry to the house--pausing only for a moment to make a mental note that I would need to put Betty through the Zip-wash before I went anywhere in public again. And I needed to call the mechanic to come investigate the stalling issue again--damn air intake valve.

I tossed my phone on my desk and settled into my chair, my fingers already furiously hunting for the USB stick hidden in the small recess of the wall behind my office's central air vent. I plugged it into my computer and opened the Tor browser, connecting myself to the dark web. Oh, one of the things I loved and hated about YouTube was instructional videos that showed tips like this, especially when it was a big channel like Linus Tek Tips. Within moments I was connected and in search of any hint of the mysterious man from the parking garage and happily knowing the moment I pulled the USB all history would be gone.

I searched the name of the convenience store clerk--turned out he was the owner. That made me wonder how he knew this kid and if they were related, so I dug a little deeper, discovering it was in fact his son, Hyun-woo (Kevin) Myung. The elderly man, Ye-jun Myung, had owned the store for a few decades after emigrating from Korea following the Korean war. The more I searched the less and less this kid seemed likely to be connected to anything, until I hit the motherload.

Only a year prior Hyun-woo Myung's name appeared in the news for a very shocking arrest following a fender bender with a school bus carrying a full load of children on the way to a field trip to Niagara Falls. The incident caused Kevin's delivery truck to tip over and land on its side after the right tires hit the curb. Investigators said the truck was loaded too heavy on the left side, and Kevin did not handle the vehicle well. No one was injured, but Kevin's stash of ecstasy, methamphetamines, and a few other Class-A felony drugs had been strewn out on the street, and he'd been arrested.

Now, a year later after serving a shortened sentence because he turned state's evidence for the prosecution, Kevin was in court-ordered therapy and on parole. I couldn't believe what I was reading. I searched deeper and found only sealed juvenile records, nothing else of use, though I did learn where he lived and how often he was ordered to see his therapist. I could only deduce that was Daphne because I'd seen him leaving her office building with her only moments after I'd left. I wondered if he had gone to pay his bill, as there had been no time for a session that day as quickly as she'd come out of the elevator after I had left her office.

"Hyun-woo," I said aloud, letting my mind begin to throw together possible scenarios of how he may be connected to the disappearances, but other than perhaps a drug dealer to the missing folks I could come up with no connection to each individual. And I highly doubted these four missing folks all did drugs and got their drugs from the same person. Still, I would keep my eye on him for a while, maybe drive past his house and see what I could find out there. If not him, at least I would know Daphne wasn't being threatened or harmed by a drug dealer, and I had to rule that out.

Movement outside the window caught my eye and I turned my gaze out to the small chair that sat on the fenced-in cement slab. The damn squirrel sat there mocking me, its tail flicking in the sunlight. It munched on a seed or nut while I stewed in anger over my own stupidity and leaving the door open for it to invade the privacy of my own home. I refused to allow yet another fear to entertain my thoughts for even a second. Germs, things touching my hands that were gross, the outside, talking to people, embarrassment--those were enough. I didn't need to add rodents to my list too.

No, that squirrel would go down. I would make it a point to search online and find a nice rodent cage to trap the damn thing in and escort it out to the great outdoors--or pay the neighbor kid to do it. Either way, I would rid my patio of that monster and it would stop mocking me. After all, he was the only one who knew my true shame. I'd left out the really disgusting parts when I told Daphne. She didn't need to know that about me, not if there may be something more there, and based on the way her eyes sparkled when she spoke with me, leaned forward, inches from my face, her hand in mine, my eyes capturing a glimpse of her perfect breasts peeking out of her shirt--man I wish I'd had the nerve to buy those condoms.

12

I slumped down onto the red leather lounge in the far back corner of the club, the new drug already kicking in. I'd looked all evening for a score, but it was the regular crowd, and God knows I didn't want one of the regulars horning in on my game. It would get messy, screw 'em once and then every time I came back to the club after that they'd expect something. No thank you. I didn't need the drama that came along with that mess. Of course, there was always a chance with every score that the guy would show up later on, that he wasn't just a random visitor to the town, a tourist or passing through. But for the most part I had a way of knowing who would be a good no-strings-attached lay.

I sipped my fireball and wished I hadn't bumped. Two pinches made the high even better, but it also kicked in sooner and made me go wild with urges. The plaid miniskirt I'd chosen for the evening kept riding up, and I continually pulled it down, hiding my Beretta--this time on my hip instead of between my legs--the plaid cotton material a bit more forgiving than the mini dress I'd worn last time. I sat there watching the crowd move, the music blaring. I almost got up and went home to masturbate--not the most ideal ending for my night but better than walking home feeling like a cat in heat. Instead, I just lounged, surveying the crowd, allowing the drug to consume my senses--silently cursing Kevin for not having my E.

Siphon ventured over and sat by me for a few minutes, but I was kind of out of it. I didn't remember what he said to me, but I remembered how he made me feel, a bit uncomfortable like I shouldn't have taken the drugs. I was really vulnerable in that state, and I might easily have been convinced by one single brush of his fingers against my exposed skin to climb on his lap and fuck him right there on the sofa in front of everyone. Still he was a gentleman, and when I was like this I knew he watched out for me. He patted my knee after shouting something I couldn't understand and walked away.

A few moments later a woman rocked up beside me and plopped on the end of the lounge. She wore tight-fitting jeans and a red top, her cropped black hair coiled around her ears perfectly as if she'd visited a salon just for the evening's festivities. Striking blue eyes looked back at me, though at times I wondered if there were two or four of them. I thought she looked familiar, though I couldn't place where, my mind so altered by the drugs.

"Daphne," I said, offering my hand to her.

"Mira," she replied, taking it gently. Her hands were soft, a sign that she moisturized well, probably had an office job, definitely not anything physically demanding, though the chiseled muscles in her legs put mine to shame, and I ran three miles a day a couple times a week. She looked at me with a knowing look, like she had come with a specific intent to speak with me, but I still could not place her.

I glanced around the room again, thinking maybe her date was at the bar buying her a drink. She didn't appear like the kind of woman who would come to a club alone. But Siphon wasn't serving a customer. He stood caressing a glass with a hand towel, his eyes locked on me. If I didn't know better I'd say he looked jealous, but then maybe I did know better. Maybe he was just one of those guys who got off on watching two women. Was that what this was? Was she there to hit on me?

Turning back to the slender beauty beside me, I noticed she'd scooted closer, and upon further inspection I noticed her chest barely peeking out of the deep V created by the parted fabric. I'd never had a thing for women specifically. Don't get me wrong, I thought women were a thing of beauty. I mean who wants to look a giant penis, erect or otherwise? When the good Lord made men's genitals, he wasn't thinking of visually stimulating a woman.

Breasts, on the other hand, were exquisite. And the teasing way only the very center of her cleavage peeked out was very arousing. I almost couldn't pull my eyes away, but she spoke again, and it was as if my ears had become magnetic and her voice pulled me in.

"Daphne."

It was like her words were whispered, through a megaphone that skipped the vibrating air of the music-filled club and got hardwired directly to my ear drums. Like every sensation was magnified, my senses suddenly heightened. It must have been the alcohol or the drug, because women weren't really my go-to score. I'd done it, but it wasn't my preferred MO. I mean Jaymee down the street would have a field day if she knew what I was thinking.

"Daphne, we need to talk..."

The words snapped me to attention, and I locked eyes on her familiar face. Her lips turned to a pout and then I could see the way her eyes glistened as if they were full of tears. A thousand needles poked at my brain as I forced myself to blink and look at her closer. Suddenly the fog of drugs parted and I saw her with fresh eyes.

"Mira?" Nanette's best friend? Why was my sister's best friend here and how did she find me? I made very certain to erase any trace of my former life so no one would follow me, even disowning my parents. Complete shock befell me as she began to whisper directly into my ear how she had found me--private investigator, name change records, lengthy and expensive. Her hot breaths against my skin were like the caress of the gods, teasing my body and eliciting a release of sex hormones until I thought I'd claw my own eyes out.

"We need to talk, Daph," she said, resting her hand on my knee.

My gaze turned back to the bartender, still making love to the glass he dried as his pouty face turned even more sour. He blinked a few times but didn't turn away. I felt dazed and high. My mind was racing. What would Siphon think of me anyway? If he found out about Nanette, about what had happened. I had to get Mira out of the club as fast as I could.

I stood, a bit wobbly at first, but then gaining my equilibrium, I grabbed my clutch and moved toward Siphon, Mira right behind me. "Help," I mouthed his direction, and he nodded upward, jerking his chin toward me. I held up a single finger to Mira and then stepped up to the bar, setting my glass down along with a hundred-dollar bill, my payment for tonight's drinks along with the past several nights I hadn't even thought to pay for. Siphon looked at me disapprovingly and frowned.